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The Madness Of July

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He laughed and his eyes gave Flemyng a slinky scan from top to toe, unblinking. He seemed to balance his weight on one foot in an ugly pirouette, drops of sweat springing from his broad brow. His cream shirt was too heavy for the heat, and he wore a purple brocade tie. ‘What brings you out in the sun?’ he said, and didn’t wait for an answer. Swinging round, he gave a merry wave and steadily climbed the steps to his club. There was a rattle of glass from the tall door as it closed behind him. That meant there was danger, and his second encounter came less than three minutes after Lucy disappeared. Plot is secondary to he emotional life of the characters. Naughtie’s chosen epigraph is a quotation from The Great Gatsby – “I was unjustly accused of being a politician, because I was privy to the griefs of wild, unknown men” – and it is these buried griefs that he seeks to unearth, showing that the political class is ruled far more by private passion than cool logic. The “madness” is that which haunts every public figure, their smooth professional façade concealing unknown inner turmoil. Government, in Naughtie’s depiction, is a mess of muddled loyalties and dark arts, all invisible to the plebeian eye. Sam tried a joke. ‘That’s a change for you.’ But there was no response from Flemyng. Sam’s shoulders rose as he pressed on. ‘If you’re wondering why I summoned you to these parts, I have an appointment across the street...

Sam would be punctual, reaching their rendezvous at the appointed minute and moving on if Flemyng didn’t appear. He had in mind the last scribbled words on the postcard he had destroyed in the early hours of the morning: ‘Don’t dawdle.’ They were playing their old game. A friendly voice, welcome in any other circumstances. No one he knew, and no one who knew him, because there was no giveaway smile. A guy on the street in helpful mood, no more. An innocent. MLA style: "The Madness of July.." The Free Library. 2014 Midwest Book Review 26 Nov. 2023 https://www.thefreelibrary.com/The+Madness+of+July.-a0386436667 The first thing you'll notice (between metaphorical nail biting) is the language. This is a rare thing: a spy novel that can maintain excitement while employing moments of mellifluous phrasing that almost melt on the tongue and demand to be read aloud. but it was grim. Despite some lovely descriptions of the Highlands it was slow, melodramatic and not at all enhanced by the style of the narrator ( it was also odd the way he changed accent with the geography of the plot rather than just with each character..) surely an editor could have suggested that there was a little more show and alot less tell? every thought, motive and reaction was detailed - perhaps that would work as notes for a film script but it left nothing to the imagination. I dont know any.siblings who dont interrupt , over talk, spar and compete. The brothers talk to one.another Iike geriatric strangers playing chess.I will try. Be sure of it.’ There was a brief silence, then Flemyng said, lightly, ‘One thing... I wondered if you’ve heard from Abel.’

It’s why I rang. I may be delayed a little. The weekend should work out, but I can’t be sure. You know what it’s like here in summer. Politics goes haywire; a little daft. So I’m afraid I can’t promise.’ We are, I’m glad to say, little brother. And all the better for hearing you.’ His voice was reassuring. The sun was on the hill, the bees in the lavender. All calm. They spoke for a minute about the heat, stifling London and the cooling shimmer on the loch at home, before Mungo said, ‘You are still coming north, aren’t you?’ His change of tone betrayed a suspicion that something had gone wrong. Happy days,’ he said, and realized that he had spoken louder than he’d meant to. A barrow boy on the corner laughed, unbuttoning his shirt and scratching himself in the heat. Flemyng raised a hand in friendly farewell and hurried across Oxford Street, which he disliked more than any other in London, striking westwards for a few minutes. He looked at the sign on the corner. Harley Street, Sam’s choice. Just in case, Flemyng carried on to the next turning, where his discipline faltered for a moment. At the last, when he should be keeping on the move, he paused. I was unjustly accused of being a politician, because I was privy to the secret griefs of wild, unknown men.’ It's also a clever idea to provide Will with American brothers. (The way the familial nationality difference is explained is seamless while providing another layer of contortion.) As readers we then have feet in both camps as Will becomes more and more conflicted between what he wants to do and what, increasingly, the prevailing tide is forcing him towards.

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I thought that I might be comparing it too much to Le Carré so left it for a while and started again but it was like homework. There are some lyrical passages, especially describing Scotland, and some deft touches where the relationships between the three brothers are concerned. Overall, though, I felt this reached well beyond the capacity of the author to deliver. Masterfully weaving together espionage, political intrigue, and family drama, James Naughtie has written a spy novel for the ages, worthy of comparison to the finest work of Charles McCarry and Robert Littell.

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