My Book Report: Going Deep on Jackson Lamb
By Deidre Depke
Allow me to be absolutely the last person in your life to recommend the British spy thriller Slow Horses, a limited series produced by Apple TV+ and launched in 2022. Season Four dropped last week, and Apple will roll out each of the six episodes on Wednesdays.
The fantastic Gary Oldman plays the noxious and obnoxious Jackson Lamb, chief of a handful of agents who have been sidelined to MI5’s Slough House, a purgatory for dysfunctional spies. (Fans of the British version of The Office will recognize Slough as the backdrop for the branch employees of the Wernham Hogg paper company.) The Slow Horses cast also includes the excellent Jack Lowden, Kristin Scott Thomas, and Jonathan Pryce.
Slow Horses is based on a highly worthwhile series of eight books by the British author Mick Herron. The Herron novels haven’t been widely reviewed (or read) in the United States, though his U.S. publisher (Soho Press) reissued the books as trade paperbacks in 2020. The Brits seem to love Herron, nominating him for all sorts of prizes, including the delightfully named Ian Fleming Steel Dagger and the Last Laugh awards.
The first of the novels is (naturally) Slow Horses (2010). It establishes the story lines and backstories of the Slough House spies and MI5 brass.
Lamb’s been banished.
Where’ve they sent him? Somewhere awful?
Bad as it gets.
God, not Slough?
Might as well be.
Hence Slough House. At the novel’s heart is a hostage drama, in which a (nominally) Muslim Londoner, Hassan, is threatened with a televised beheading by anti-immigrant thugs. The Irish Times nails the book in its review, calling it a “deliciously sleazy and sophisticated spy thriller.” It’s also quite funny.
Herron’s spy novels are the very best kind: They feature complex plots and characters and also have something to say. Slow Horses builds on the 7/7 (2005) terror attacks in London and shines a light on Western xenophobia and the craven pols ready to embrace reactionary populism for their own gains. In this book, Herron nails Brexit before Brexit was a thing. Donald Trump, too.
[Hassan] wondered now how many people there were, including those not under threat of execution in a damp cellar, who were living their back-up plan; who were office drones or office cleaners, teachers, plumbers, shop assistants, IT mavens, priests and accountants only because rock and roll, football, movies and authordom hadn’t worked out. And decided that the answer was everyone. Everyone wanted a life less ordinary. And only a tiny minority ever got it, and even then they probably didn’t appreciate it much.
I’m looking forward to reading on in the series to see how Herron deals with the pandemic, Putinist Russia, the actual Trump White House, etc. The Apple version is fun, but Herron’s work is worth more than an hour of telly once a week.
In the related category of crime novels: Kate Atkinson is out this week with Death at the Sign of the Rook, the sixth in her Jackson Brodie detective stories. Here’s the plot: While investigating a string of art thefts, Brodie lands at an English estate hosting a Murder Mystery weekend. Mayhem ensues.
I was surprised to find five Kate Atkinson novels on my bookshelves. I’m not sure I recall reading many of them, with the exception of the standalone Life After Life, in which heroine Ursula Todd lives and dies multiple times, often at the center of the 20th century’s most significant moments. It’s fantastic. But Atkinson is always well-reviewed for her serpentine plots and steady pace. I suspect this new murder mystery is an engaging way to spend a weekend of your own.
The Awful & Odious
The Cat in His Hat
The morning after the debate between Donald Trump and Kamala Harris on Tuesday, I was popping a can of Fancy Feast for my favorite feline when she surprised me by saying she is now planning to vote Republican and maybe even register as one.
Since like most cats, she has always been an independent and rarely scampers to the polls, I was curious about the sudden embrace of a large stranger she would normally hiss at and try to swat viciously (her nickname is “Bad Cat”).
“Why?” asked I while shaking yesterday’s coffee grounds out of the drip basket.
“I don’t think he’ll let them eat me,” she said though a mouthful of Rachael Ray kibble (she likes the umami of alternating between wet and dry).
Delilah (her real name) is a pussy, yes, but she’s no scaredy-cat and regularly faces down larger beasts, including those lesser beings called dogs. In fact, the only recent time Bad Cat has ever cowered was this summer when a bobcat with no sense of community was about ten feet away from her mottled tail.
“Didn’t you hear what he said?” she asked in a reference to Trump’s latest red alert to his deep-red cult about Haitian migrants chomping on kittys. “We let these people in, and me and all those dumb Fidos are on the menu.”
“Look,” I said, “when was the last time you even read a news story or kept tabbys on national politics? You’re too busy watching cat videos. But now there is one inane comment by a man who famously dislikes domesticated animals, except the ones inside a hamburger bun, and you’ve got your cat dander up.”
“You make a good point,” she said, which in and of itself was an unheard-of concession. “But much as I’d like to see what a woman can do as Commander-in-Chief and her history as a hard-ass prosecutor, I feel Kamala might be soft on cuddly crime, even cat-o-cide.”
We argued further, but there was no changing her mind. I guess I could leash her on Election Day. But then I got frightened. Suppose Trump wins and she rats me out to some MAGA freak with a 3D-printed AR-15. Everyone knows that cats and burly men in red baseball caps atop their chronic scowls aren’t to be trusted.
Of course, Trump loves to zig and zag and maybe was just riling up his base with scare talk about migrants or toying with the crowd all in a hairball over the comments of his running mate JD Vance about “childless cat ladies.”
The man who sometimes looks like he has a furry friend on his head already seems to have made room under the GOP’s big tent for lovers of roadkill and the occasional nip of cat. After all, he has welcomed the support of Robert F. Kennedy Jr., who reportedly once enjoyed a dog roast (he says it was a goat in Patagonia).
Whatever the case, it’s encouraging that the truly important issues affecting the electorate are coming to the paw.
Dump, The Musical
Nota bene: From now until November 5, The Constant Tribune will feature excerpts from a musical about the Election of 2016 and its aftermath. Some scenes include songs from an album available on Spotify. Others will be linked to animated videos.
ACT I, SCENE 1
NEW YORK CITY, 2015
RONALD DUMP is ushered into the boardroom of NBZ. The skyline of Manhattan glistens through floor-to-ceiling windows. Awaiting him are CANDY SILOWITZ, programming chief, and TEDDY KNOX, head of the entertainment division.
CANDY Ronald! You look amazing.
DUMP Of course I do. How are you, Teddy, Candy?
CANDY So good to see you. What a tan. Have you been away at Far-a-Longo?
DUMP Lot of time on the links. Played with Tiger yesterday. He said I’ve never played better. Probably should be on the Tour. Good guy. Very rough treatment by the media.
TEDDY Thanks for coming in on such short notice. Shall we sit? Already got the Diet Coke. Can we get you anything else?
DUMP I don’t know, how about a piece of Candy? Just kidding, Candy.
(Teddy and Candy force a laugh.)
DUMP You know, all this #MeToo stuff, you can’t say anything anymore. Not like the old days. Anyway, so I’ve spent a lot of time...well at least fifteen minutes...thinking about the next season. It’s going to be beautiful. More beautiful than all the others seasons combined. It’ll be a beautiful, beautiful season.
TEDDY Ah, Ronald....
DUMP I’ve persuaded Fellania to join the cast. Can you see her in a business suit? Low cut, I mean. Knockout. Classy. Camera loves her. She’ll make Jennifer Anniston look like a street hooker.
(Awkward silence.)
TEDDY Ronald, there is something we need to talk about. I mean you have had an incredible run, what is it now, six, seven years? But....
DUMP Hey, where’s Marty? Why isn’t Marty here?
TEDDY Marty sends his apologies. He’s in LA for his mother-in-law’s birthday. You know how it is. Anyway, as I was saying it’s one helluva a track record, but....
CANDY The thing is...
(Teddy raises his hand but can’t stop Candy.)
CANDY It’s the ratings, Ronald. Last season kind of limped along and we’re getting killed by Fox.
DUMP That wasn’t my fault, Candy. You’re the head of programming. Did you see the losers your people lined up? It was the D-list. Not even the C-list. Very big losers. Kirstie Alley. I know she loves me, but what a mess. Geraldo Rivera. Look, I like Geraldo. Known him for years. His real name is Jerry Rivers? Changed it to sound more Puerto Rican. True story. But his sell-by date was like 2010. Then you had whatshisname, Joey Pantoliano. That’s another one. Stunk up The Sopranos. I’ll pick the celebs this year and it will be huge again. Really huge.
TEDDY We’re sorry, Ronald, but we’re not sure that is going to work.
DUMP What the hell are you talking about?
TEDDY It’s over, Ronald. Our general counsel will work things out with your people.
DUMP Over? I’m Dump. You can’t dump Dump. I’ll talk to Marty.
TEDDY I’m sorry, Ronald. Marty made the decision. You’re fired.
ACT 1, SCENE 2
In the gauche and gaudy Dump Tower dining room, the clan gathers for dinner.
SHRILANKA What’s the matter, Daddy? Why so glum?
DUMP It’s the losers at NBZ, Shri-Shri. They cancelled the show. They get me guests leaking embalming fluid, and then they blame me for low ratings. SHRILANKA Oh, poor Daddy.
(RIC raises his hand.)
DUMP [sighing] Yes, Ric.
RIC Hey, Pop, I’ve got an idea.
DUMP Really? What’s that?
RIC Why don’t you buy NBZ, fire all those losers, and put the show back on? SMUGLY [softly] Have you ever heard of a market cap, Ric? NBZ is worth north of thirty billion. Your dad is worth south of three.
DUMP Hey, that’s fake news. Don’t believe the turkeys at Forbes who write the billionaires list. They just make those numbers up. Have you ever met Steve Forbes? Boring! Very boring guy, Steve. Yes, Junior.
JUNIOR How about this, Pop? You call up Murdoch and say you’ll get him a date with Stormy if he puts the show on Fox?
(Long silence as Dump glares at Junior, who glances down the table at Fellania. She thankfully appears not to be listening.)
JUNIOR Oh, yeah. That wouldn’t work. Never mind. Wait, I know. How about Naked Celebrity Intern?
SHRILANKA Gary Busey naked? Ooo!
JUNIOR I was thinking more like Kate Upton.
SHRILANKA I’ve got it, Daddy! You go back to NBZ and pitch a new show. Something like Wheel of Fortune only just for rich people. We’ll call it Wheel of the Fortunate, and we’ll have wealthy contestants who get a chance to get even filthier rich. You be Pat Sajak, and I’ll spin the wheel and be Vanna White.
(DUMP stares vacantly into space.)
FELLANIA [softly] Ronald, you can always run for president again.
SHRILANKA Daddy! Daddy! Daddy! Please do it! It would be so fun. Smuggles, can you see Harlem Madison’s face?
SMUGLY That would almost be worth it. Seriously, though, my sense is that the electorate is ready for a change agent. And what a change you would be, Dad.
JUNIOR That would be so rad.
(Whispers to the stone-faced Stepford Wife at his side.)
Rad, right?
(She nods robotically.)
JUNIOR Me and Ric could have Secret Service protection while we hunt rhinos.
(High-fives with Ric across the table)
Pop, could I wear a uniform?
DUMP I dunno. It costs a lot to run. Where would we get the cash? Who would run the business while I’m running to run the world? And what if I won? What if I actually became president?
(As the kids and their spouses jabber happily, Dump speaks to the audience)
DUMP They don’t understand the sacrifice involved. I’d have to live in that old white house. Where would I golf? There’d be no women. No getting away. Could’ve been beautiful, but that idiot Jefferson Madison ruined everything. Who knows how the takeout is in Washington? And I’d have to walk away from the incredible empire I’ve built.
(Dump sits on a stool, head in hands, and imagines a nightmare scenario: his sons trying to cadge a loan from a roomful of bankers.)
(Fellania moves to a window and stares out at the city lights.)
*Songs performed by Tari Kelly and Mike McGowan
TO BE CONTINUED.