The astonishing new portrait of the master of spy fiction, by the woman he kept secret for almost half his life
John le Carré led a life entirely constructed of secrets. First as a British ‘spook’ during the Cold War, then as a world-renowned writer of espionage fiction, but also in his personal involvements. He guarded his private life with fierce determination, so that even when he finally permitted his life story to be written, there was still one element he insisted be excluded: the women.
Married with children for virtually all his adult life, le Carré – David Cornwell – had a number of secret affairs, usually conducted abroad with women encountered by chance on his travels. These relationships were always intense, dramatic, even tragic, yet each was destined to last no more than a few months. But there was one love affair that withstood the test of time; just one woman in all his life whom he took into the innermost sanctum of his writing and his heart.
I had heard of Le Carre but never read any of his books, so I went into this memoir with open eyes not really knowing much. I feel as though he may have written best selling books but he spun the same line to each and every women who so much as looked in his direction. It is an honest account of love and betrayal and one that people might not be able to get their heads around. I still don’t really get it after reading the book, I just don’t feel I learnt much about him. I just feel sorry for his family.
I received an ARC copy of this book for an honest review.
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