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El intocable
Victor Maskell, homosexual y esteta, es un eminente historiador del arte, experto en Pussin y conservador de la colección de pinturas de la reina de Inglaterra, y también fue un topo de los rusos infiltrado en el corazón del establishment británico. Ahora acaba de ser públicamente expuesto como un traidor en la Cámara de los Comunes y se dispone a enfrentarse a la humillación pública o simplemente a soportarla, convertido para siempre en un paria, un «intocable». Pero ya es un hombre viejo, y en un último acto de desvelamiento, o quizás de suprema venganza, decide escribir sus memorias. Será éste un proceso semejante a la restauración de uno de los cuadros que tanto amó, y página tras página irá des-pojando a la tela de su vida de las capas de mugre, bar-niz y pinturas que ocultan otras pinturas, hasta que por fin reaparezca la figura auténtica, o al menos la que más se parece a la verdad. «La mejor ficción contemporánea no puede llegar más alto» (Patrick McGrath, The New York Times Book Review); «Banville es el escritor de lengua inglesa más inteligente, el estilista más elegante» (George Steiner); «Una novela asombrosa, de una imaginación y una belleza notables» (Edward W. Said).
432 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1997
784 people are currently reading
8971 people want to read
About the author
John Banville
134 books2,411 followersWilliam John Banville is an Irish novelist, short story writer, adapter of dramas and screenwriter. Though he has been described as "the heir to Proust, via Nabokov", Banville himself maintains that W.B. Yeats and Henry James are the two real influences on his work.
Banville has won the 1976 James Tait Black Memorial Prize, the 2003 International Nonino Prize, the 2005 Booker Prize, the 2011 Franz Kafka Prize, the 2013 Austrian State Prize for European Literature and the 2014 Prince of Asturias Award for Literature. He was elected a Fellow of the Royal Society of Literature in 2007. Italy made him a Cavaliere of the Ordine della Stella d'Italia (essentially a knighthood) in 2017. He is a former member of Aosdána, having voluntarily relinquished the financial stipend in 2001 to another, more impoverished, writer.
Banville was born and grew up in Wexford town in south-east Ireland. He published his first novel, Nightspawn, in 1971. A second, Birchwood, followed two years later. "The Revolutions Trilogy", published between 1976 and 1982, comprises three works, each named in reference to a renowned scientist: Doctor Copernicus, Kepler and The Newton Letter. His next work, Mefisto, had a mathematical theme. His 1989 novel The Book of Evidence, shortlisted for the Booker Prize and winner of that year's Guinness Peat Aviation award, heralded a second trilogy, three works which deal in common with the work of art. "The Frames Trilogy" is completed by Ghosts and Athena, both published during the 1990s. Banville's thirteenth novel, The Sea, won the Booker Prize in 2005. In addition, he publishes crime novels as Benjamin Black — most of these feature the character of Quirke, an Irish pathologist based in Dublin.
Banville is considered a contender for the Nobel Prize in Literature. He lives in Dublin.
Banville has won the 1976 James Tait Black Memorial Prize, the 2003 International Nonino Prize, the 2005 Booker Prize, the 2011 Franz Kafka Prize, the 2013 Austrian State Prize for European Literature and the 2014 Prince of Asturias Award for Literature. He was elected a Fellow of the Royal Society of Literature in 2007. Italy made him a Cavaliere of the Ordine della Stella d'Italia (essentially a knighthood) in 2017. He is a former member of Aosdána, having voluntarily relinquished the financial stipend in 2001 to another, more impoverished, writer.
Banville was born and grew up in Wexford town in south-east Ireland. He published his first novel, Nightspawn, in 1971. A second, Birchwood, followed two years later. "The Revolutions Trilogy", published between 1976 and 1982, comprises three works, each named in reference to a renowned scientist: Doctor Copernicus, Kepler and The Newton Letter. His next work, Mefisto, had a mathematical theme. His 1989 novel The Book of Evidence, shortlisted for the Booker Prize and winner of that year's Guinness Peat Aviation award, heralded a second trilogy, three works which deal in common with the work of art. "The Frames Trilogy" is completed by Ghosts and Athena, both published during the 1990s. Banville's thirteenth novel, The Sea, won the Booker Prize in 2005. In addition, he publishes crime novels as Benjamin Black — most of these feature the character of Quirke, an Irish pathologist based in Dublin.
Banville is considered a contender for the Nobel Prize in Literature. He lives in Dublin.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 483 reviews
September 14, 2022
I'm afraid I'm on a John Banville bender and I will not stop until I've come a little bit closer to understanding how his prose is so relentlessly good.
January 23, 2022
What forces a person to betray one’s country? Where do all the spies come from? What makes them ticking?
Some true espionage stories are much stranger than fiction, especially when the tale is told by such master as John Banville.
To achieve our own ideals we are ready to betray any ideals of others.
Now, such words – spy, agent, espionage, etc. – have always given me trouble. They conjure in my mind images of low taverns and cobbled laneways at night with skulking figures in doublet and hose and the flash of poniards. I could never think of myself as a part of that dashing, subfusc world.
Some true espionage stories are much stranger than fiction, especially when the tale is told by such master as John Banville.
To take possession of a city of which you are not a native you must first fall in love there.
To achieve our own ideals we are ready to betray any ideals of others.
July 16, 2017
It took a while for the magic of this to work on me. Initially I thought Banville’s prose had the quality of bracken on a forest floor – the light picks out some beautiful tones and textures but there was a pervading sense of brittle lifelessness. I felt he wrote like someone who never leaves his study - or perhaps never leaves his head. But, then, all of a sudden, just before world war two arrives, it jumped into life and I very much doubt if I’ll read a more beautifully written novel this year.
It’s not going to be everyone’s cup of tea. The narrator is just about as world weary and cynical as any voice in literature I’ve come across. The mood is very much autumnal. Banville has created a fictitious Anthony Blunt, one of the Cambridge spies, and told his story in the form of a memoir – what used to be called a roman-a-clef but now seems to be known as biographical fiction. I guess the first question one asks is why bother giving Blunt a fictitious name? It gives Banville licence to make things up – which means you end up more curious about Blunt than feeling secure he’s been explained to you. This was a little about annoying, as if I now have to read another book about him! At the same time Banville’s character is one of the most memorable and thought provoking I’ve encountered for ages. He's given us a brilliantly complex portrait of a man who defines many characteristics and contradictions of the age in which he lived.
The most fascinating thing about Banville’s Blunt is that there’s nothing passionate about his politics. He doesn’t at any point come across as a man driven by ideology. It’s more like being a spy for the communists is a thrilling dangerous game for him. And that the subterfuge fulfils a deep need of his nature. Blunt was also homosexual and the two “occupations” have many parallels – the need of a bogus convincing façade, the necessity of whispering, of being vigilant to your surroundings, of gravitating towards dark secret places, of carrying around the tension of imminent catastrophic betrayal at every moment. At the heart of this novel is a painting Blunt buys and loves as a young man. It’s believed to be a Poussin but has never been authenticated. The authenticity or not of this painting becomes more and more related to the authenticity of Blunt himself as the novel progresses – is there any connection between his inner and outer life? Does he even have an inner life? At times it seems not. He takes no interest in his children (I don’t think Anthony Blunt had a wife or children in real life); he is driven by lust not love; he is a snob; he notices surfaces, especially weather, but seems to have little empathy for people. His only true passion is for art, and particularly Poussin, who he writes about and becomes an expert on. So you have the sense that the only thing holding Blunt together is the hope that his painting is authentic. It’s an exciting moment in the novel when we find out if it’s authentic or not.
It’s not going to be everyone’s cup of tea. The narrator is just about as world weary and cynical as any voice in literature I’ve come across. The mood is very much autumnal. Banville has created a fictitious Anthony Blunt, one of the Cambridge spies, and told his story in the form of a memoir – what used to be called a roman-a-clef but now seems to be known as biographical fiction. I guess the first question one asks is why bother giving Blunt a fictitious name? It gives Banville licence to make things up – which means you end up more curious about Blunt than feeling secure he’s been explained to you. This was a little about annoying, as if I now have to read another book about him! At the same time Banville’s character is one of the most memorable and thought provoking I’ve encountered for ages. He's given us a brilliantly complex portrait of a man who defines many characteristics and contradictions of the age in which he lived.
The most fascinating thing about Banville’s Blunt is that there’s nothing passionate about his politics. He doesn’t at any point come across as a man driven by ideology. It’s more like being a spy for the communists is a thrilling dangerous game for him. And that the subterfuge fulfils a deep need of his nature. Blunt was also homosexual and the two “occupations” have many parallels – the need of a bogus convincing façade, the necessity of whispering, of being vigilant to your surroundings, of gravitating towards dark secret places, of carrying around the tension of imminent catastrophic betrayal at every moment. At the heart of this novel is a painting Blunt buys and loves as a young man. It’s believed to be a Poussin but has never been authenticated. The authenticity or not of this painting becomes more and more related to the authenticity of Blunt himself as the novel progresses – is there any connection between his inner and outer life? Does he even have an inner life? At times it seems not. He takes no interest in his children (I don’t think Anthony Blunt had a wife or children in real life); he is driven by lust not love; he is a snob; he notices surfaces, especially weather, but seems to have little empathy for people. His only true passion is for art, and particularly Poussin, who he writes about and becomes an expert on. So you have the sense that the only thing holding Blunt together is the hope that his painting is authentic. It’s an exciting moment in the novel when we find out if it’s authentic or not.
October 1, 2009
After reading something written so well, it’s a disappointment having only my own less eloquent words available to praise it. Maybe it’s better to let Banville’s passages sell themselves. I’ll get to those soon, but first a bit of context. The book, I learned only today, is a Roman a clef -- more or less a true account of the infamous Cambridge spies disguised as a novel. The focus is on Victor Maskell, a composite figure based primarily on real-life Anthony Blunt. It’s structured as a memoir by Victor in his mature years reflecting back on his days as a would-be ideologue in the socialists' camp (stoicists', really), an intelligence officer in WWII, a spy for the Russians, a renowned art historian, an uninvolved family man, and a fancier of men. Finding conflict in a life like that was no challenge. Breathing life into an inherently cold fish was. Victor was undeniably complex, but there was not a lot of empathy to endear him to anyone. The pleasure in reading the book was not in witnessing any ultimate humanization, but in the language and intelligence of the author. Here are some samples. Judge for yourself.
Illustrating one aspect of the man Victor was: “[T:]he crowd was so large it had overflowed from the gallery, and people were standing about the pavement in the evening sunshine, drinking white wine and sneering at passers-by, and producing that self-congratulatory low roar that is the natural collective voice of imbibers at the fount of art. Ah, what heights of contempt I was capable of in those days! Now, in old age, I have largely lost that faculty, and I miss it, for it was passion of a sort.”
And another, as mentioned by a friend: “The trouble with you, Vic, is that you think of the world as a sort of huge museum with too many visitors allowed in.”
Victor comparing his Irish upbringing with that of a Jewish friend: “[W:]e shared the innate, bleak romanticism of our two very different races, the legacy of dispossession, and, especially, the lively anticipation of eventual revenge, which, when it came to politics, could be made to pass for optimism.”
On his evolving views, speaking about: “the American system itself, so demanding, so merciless, undeluded as to the fundamental murderousness and venality of humankind and at the same time so grimly, unflaggingly optimistic. More heresy, I know, more apostasy; soon I shall have no beliefs left at all, only a cluster of fiercely held denials.”
Victor reminiscing with old friend, Nick: “’Do you remember,’ I said, ‘that summer when we first came down to London, and we used to walk through Soho at night, reciting Blake aloud, to the amusement of the tarts? The tygers of wrath are wiser than the horses of instruction. He was our hero, do you remember? Scourge of hypocrisy, the champion of freedom and truth.’ ‘We were usually drunk, as I recall,’ he said, and laughed; Nick does not really laugh, it is only a noise that he makes which he has learned to imitate from others. […:] ‘The tygers of wrath,’ he said. ‘Is that what you thought we were?’”
“How to Write” books tell you to use adverbs and adjectives sparingly. When you’re John Banville, though, and know all the right ones, maybe the rule shouldn’t apply. He may not be to your taste if, say, Hemingway shots are your beverage of choice, but as cups of tea go, for English Lit types, this guy’s well worth a try.
Illustrating one aspect of the man Victor was: “[T:]he crowd was so large it had overflowed from the gallery, and people were standing about the pavement in the evening sunshine, drinking white wine and sneering at passers-by, and producing that self-congratulatory low roar that is the natural collective voice of imbibers at the fount of art. Ah, what heights of contempt I was capable of in those days! Now, in old age, I have largely lost that faculty, and I miss it, for it was passion of a sort.”
And another, as mentioned by a friend: “The trouble with you, Vic, is that you think of the world as a sort of huge museum with too many visitors allowed in.”
Victor comparing his Irish upbringing with that of a Jewish friend: “[W:]e shared the innate, bleak romanticism of our two very different races, the legacy of dispossession, and, especially, the lively anticipation of eventual revenge, which, when it came to politics, could be made to pass for optimism.”
On his evolving views, speaking about: “the American system itself, so demanding, so merciless, undeluded as to the fundamental murderousness and venality of humankind and at the same time so grimly, unflaggingly optimistic. More heresy, I know, more apostasy; soon I shall have no beliefs left at all, only a cluster of fiercely held denials.”
Victor reminiscing with old friend, Nick: “’Do you remember,’ I said, ‘that summer when we first came down to London, and we used to walk through Soho at night, reciting Blake aloud, to the amusement of the tarts? The tygers of wrath are wiser than the horses of instruction. He was our hero, do you remember? Scourge of hypocrisy, the champion of freedom and truth.’ ‘We were usually drunk, as I recall,’ he said, and laughed; Nick does not really laugh, it is only a noise that he makes which he has learned to imitate from others. […:] ‘The tygers of wrath,’ he said. ‘Is that what you thought we were?’”
“How to Write” books tell you to use adverbs and adjectives sparingly. When you’re John Banville, though, and know all the right ones, maybe the rule shouldn’t apply. He may not be to your taste if, say, Hemingway shots are your beverage of choice, but as cups of tea go, for English Lit types, this guy’s well worth a try.
November 11, 2025
This is a great novel based on a blending of the lives of several real-life British men, “The Cambridge Five,” who were spies for the Soviets in the 1930’s through the 1950’s. Our main character, given the name Victor Maskell, is a gay man who found out he was gay only after being married and having two kids. This was a time when homosexuality was a crime in Britain and gay men had to resort to meetings in public restrooms. One character commits suicide after he was arrested in police sting.
Despite the threat of blackmail (by either side) that being gay presented, why does it seem that so many British spies were later revealed to be gay? Perhaps because of all their practice at dissimulation?
Given all this, it seems odd to say that first of all, I found the book loaded with humor. Victor is an academic, an art historian, and he knows King George VI personally from their meetings in libraries where King George spends his time researching architecture books. (Shades of Charles, Prince of Wales.) The Soviets are interested in Victor telling them things like the King’s opinions (not realizing those don’t matter); cocktail party gossip (inane) and -- this will induce hysteria in anyone who has spent time in academia -- “minutes from the Faculty Council meetings at Oxbridge.” Victor happily gives them all.
Why be a spy and betray your country? Victor’s reasons sound like all those that your teenage son came up with when he took the family car without permission. OK, he’s a Marxist, as many intellectuals were right after the Spanish Civil War when they were still flush with enthusiasm for the proletariat. But you’re betraying your country. “No I’m not, I’m from Northern Ireland.” But you’re supporting Stalin, a brutal butcher. “The theology of the Church transcends a bad Pope.” The Soviets are criminals. “They are fighting Hitler; don’t you want to defeat Hitler?” He claims most of what he gives the Soviets is stuff he takes out of the newspapers or will shortly be in the papers.
Here are a few quotes that I liked, illustrating the humor:
“Alastair heaved a happy sigh; gardeners have a particularly irritating way of sighing when they contemplate their handiwork.”
“…the crowd was so large it had overflowed from the gallery, and people were standing about the pavement in the evening sunshine, drinking white wine and sneering at passers-by, and producing that self-congratulatory low roar that is the natural collective voice of imbibers at the fount of art.”
“…it must be a mark of true grace to be able to sit in a deckchair without looking like a discommoded frog.”
“The fact is, the majority of us had no more than the sketchiest grasp of [Marxist] theory. We did not bother to read the texts; we had others do that for us.”
Much of the novel is structured as a memoir that Victor is dictating to a young woman interested in writing his biography. Being a spy involves constant suspicion, then and now, in retrospect. You can’t trust anybody. Even as you look back, you wonder “Was he a spy then?” “Did he know then that I was?” “Did the British know back then and were feeding him stuff to mislead the Soviets?”
There is quite a diverse cast of characters. The main character is a Northern Irish Protestant, interacting with Catholics, Jews and Russians. The title, “Untouchable,” comes from Victor’s ability to ingratiate himself with everyone – including the Royal Family, so much so that when his spying is revealed, he suffers no consequences because he even has the goods on them. Until the end, because there are always consequences.
A good read. I really enjoyed it.
John Banville is a prolific author; by my count 36 novels and a couple of non-fiction books. Many are in series and some were written under pseudonyms. I still like his Booker Prize winner, The Sea, the best. Here are links to ones I have reviewed:
The Sea
Mrs Osmond
The Blue Guitar
The Infinities
Snow (#2 in the St. John Strafford detective series)
April in Spain (#3 in the St. John Strafford detective series)
Kepler: The Revolutions Trilogy (fictionalized biographies. The other two are Copernicus and Newton.)
Shroud (# 2 in The Cleave Trilogy. Cleave is a pathologist in 1950s Dublin)
Movie still from Bridge of Spies, blu-ray.com
Despite the threat of blackmail (by either side) that being gay presented, why does it seem that so many British spies were later revealed to be gay? Perhaps because of all their practice at dissimulation?
Given all this, it seems odd to say that first of all, I found the book loaded with humor. Victor is an academic, an art historian, and he knows King George VI personally from their meetings in libraries where King George spends his time researching architecture books. (Shades of Charles, Prince of Wales.) The Soviets are interested in Victor telling them things like the King’s opinions (not realizing those don’t matter); cocktail party gossip (inane) and -- this will induce hysteria in anyone who has spent time in academia -- “minutes from the Faculty Council meetings at Oxbridge.” Victor happily gives them all.
Why be a spy and betray your country? Victor’s reasons sound like all those that your teenage son came up with when he took the family car without permission. OK, he’s a Marxist, as many intellectuals were right after the Spanish Civil War when they were still flush with enthusiasm for the proletariat. But you’re betraying your country. “No I’m not, I’m from Northern Ireland.” But you’re supporting Stalin, a brutal butcher. “The theology of the Church transcends a bad Pope.” The Soviets are criminals. “They are fighting Hitler; don’t you want to defeat Hitler?” He claims most of what he gives the Soviets is stuff he takes out of the newspapers or will shortly be in the papers.
Here are a few quotes that I liked, illustrating the humor:
“Alastair heaved a happy sigh; gardeners have a particularly irritating way of sighing when they contemplate their handiwork.”
“…the crowd was so large it had overflowed from the gallery, and people were standing about the pavement in the evening sunshine, drinking white wine and sneering at passers-by, and producing that self-congratulatory low roar that is the natural collective voice of imbibers at the fount of art.”
“…it must be a mark of true grace to be able to sit in a deckchair without looking like a discommoded frog.”
“The fact is, the majority of us had no more than the sketchiest grasp of [Marxist] theory. We did not bother to read the texts; we had others do that for us.”
Much of the novel is structured as a memoir that Victor is dictating to a young woman interested in writing his biography. Being a spy involves constant suspicion, then and now, in retrospect. You can’t trust anybody. Even as you look back, you wonder “Was he a spy then?” “Did he know then that I was?” “Did the British know back then and were feeding him stuff to mislead the Soviets?”
There is quite a diverse cast of characters. The main character is a Northern Irish Protestant, interacting with Catholics, Jews and Russians. The title, “Untouchable,” comes from Victor’s ability to ingratiate himself with everyone – including the Royal Family, so much so that when his spying is revealed, he suffers no consequences because he even has the goods on them. Until the end, because there are always consequences.
A good read. I really enjoyed it.
John Banville is a prolific author; by my count 36 novels and a couple of non-fiction books. Many are in series and some were written under pseudonyms. I still like his Booker Prize winner, The Sea, the best. Here are links to ones I have reviewed:
The Sea
Mrs Osmond
The Blue Guitar
The Infinities
Snow (#2 in the St. John Strafford detective series)
April in Spain (#3 in the St. John Strafford detective series)
Kepler: The Revolutions Trilogy (fictionalized biographies. The other two are Copernicus and Newton.)
Shroud (# 2 in The Cleave Trilogy. Cleave is a pathologist in 1950s Dublin)
Movie still from Bridge of Spies, blu-ray.com
November 21, 2022
The Untouchable is a book that earned top ratings from many of my GR friends, but it irked me and left me untouched. It is a book that will appeal to readers of spy thrillers. Banville’s prose is polished, controlled, and penetrating. His use of vocabulary is opulent and rather intimidating. It is a pity that this story of a disgraced double agent held no personal interest for me.
The novel opened with 72-year-old Sir Victor Maskell writing his memoir, which he called ‘my last testament.’ He was giving a retrospective account of his life as a Soviet spy to a young woman who was writing his biography. In his reminiscence, we become privy to the motivations, impulses, and ambitions of this Irish Protestant Cambridge man who was a renowned art historian appointed as the Keeper of the King’s Pictures.
Along with his fellow Cambridge contemporaries, Maskell worked for British intelligence but was also recruited by Moscow to spy for Russia in the years leading up to World War II. Maskell was a complex character and the impetus for becoming a Russian spy equally complex. On the one hand, Maskell believed in an ideal linked to his one untainted love – Art. He was opposed to the bourgeois interpretation of art as luxury. He wanted art to be appreciated by the populace and rooted in ordinary life. On the other hand, he was moved by a reckless impulse for mind-numbing activity as a cure for boredom. A colorful group of friends he admired such as Nick Brevoort and Boy Bannister in the Intelligence Service, their late night parties and drinking, rendered his double existence a natural way of life.
This story was set in the 1940s through 1970s when homosexuality was a crime. A happily closeted homosexual, Maskell suffered from satyriasis and was always on the prowl, hanging around public lavatories. He was more in love with his brother-in-law than his wife. Raffish and disreputable (‘dangerously louche’) in his private life, Maskell was hard to like. By his own admission, he cared more about things than people. In recalling his past, he was made to confront his own shortcomings and regrets. The ending was sad but not unexpected.
Take my rating of this book with more than a pinch of salt. Banville deserves a more sympathetic reader.
The novel opened with 72-year-old Sir Victor Maskell writing his memoir, which he called ‘my last testament.’ He was giving a retrospective account of his life as a Soviet spy to a young woman who was writing his biography. In his reminiscence, we become privy to the motivations, impulses, and ambitions of this Irish Protestant Cambridge man who was a renowned art historian appointed as the Keeper of the King’s Pictures.
Along with his fellow Cambridge contemporaries, Maskell worked for British intelligence but was also recruited by Moscow to spy for Russia in the years leading up to World War II. Maskell was a complex character and the impetus for becoming a Russian spy equally complex. On the one hand, Maskell believed in an ideal linked to his one untainted love – Art. He was opposed to the bourgeois interpretation of art as luxury. He wanted art to be appreciated by the populace and rooted in ordinary life. On the other hand, he was moved by a reckless impulse for mind-numbing activity as a cure for boredom. A colorful group of friends he admired such as Nick Brevoort and Boy Bannister in the Intelligence Service, their late night parties and drinking, rendered his double existence a natural way of life.
This story was set in the 1940s through 1970s when homosexuality was a crime. A happily closeted homosexual, Maskell suffered from satyriasis and was always on the prowl, hanging around public lavatories. He was more in love with his brother-in-law than his wife. Raffish and disreputable (‘dangerously louche’) in his private life, Maskell was hard to like. By his own admission, he cared more about things than people. In recalling his past, he was made to confront his own shortcomings and regrets. The ending was sad but not unexpected.
Take my rating of this book with more than a pinch of salt. Banville deserves a more sympathetic reader.
November 4, 2021
ALL HIGH TALK AND LOW FROLICS:
Part I ("My Other Secret Life")
I first encountered the Judge, professionally, in Court.
Early in my career, I appeared in the Family Court 400 times over two years. 50 or so appearances would have been before him.
He was a precise and impatient judge. He had little tolerance for fools or the lazy or the unprepared. My reputation, some of which he would have contributed to, was that I anticipated what a judge wanted and I gave it to him. I use the masculine pronoun, because although the Chief Justice was a woman, all of the local judges with whom I dealt were men.
At the same time, I was the Deputy Chairman of the Institute of Modern Art. The Judge's wife, Nancy, was a lecturer in Art at the University, and frequently attended our monthly openings. On one occasion, she introduced me to her guest, an academic and writer from New York called Lucy, whose specialty was Pop Art. They invited me to Lucy's lecture later that week, and I duely attended.
Afterwards, at drinks, Nancy made to introduce me to her husband, but he stopped her suddenly, saying, "I'm well acquainted with Mr Graye's other side. He's one of the few I can rely on to do his job."
I replied that he was one of the few judges who made it a pleasure and a privilege. I had never lost a case in front of him, even though it wasn't meant to be an adversarial jurisdiction.
Later, Lucy mentioned that, if I was ever in New York, I should feel free to visit her. As it turned out, I was planning a visit to San Francisco, New York and London the following March, in 1982.
At this point, the Judge offered to give me a letter of introduction to a friend of his, who was the director of an art institute in London.
He also hinted that he might ask a reciprocal favour of me. As it turned out, his friend, Victor Maskell wished to give him a much treasured work of art, and the Judge was hoping I would deliver it back to him at the end of my trip. I was, in effect, to be an art courier for the Judge and his friend.
"The Admirable Detachment of the Scholar"
Victor Maskell was sitting at the desk in his study. He was a well-known art historian, Keeper of the Queen's Pictures, and Director of the highest profile art institute in Britain.
However, outside, the turbulence of life continued. A writer (a contemporary historian, "whatever that is") had exposed his long-term spying activities in a book that was about to be published, and the newspapers had got onto the story. What would he do? Defect? Commit suicide? Confess? Make a fool of himself? Disgrace himself?
No, he sat down at his desk to write a version of the events. He doesn't necessarily seek to make himself look good or to add "yet another burnished mask" to the collection he has already assembled.
Instead, he adopts a metaphor from the world of art:
"Attribution, verification, restoration. I shall strip away layer after layer of grime - the toffee-coloured varnish and caked soot left by a lifetime of dissembling - until I come to the very thing itself and know it for what it is. My soul. My self."
Inevitably, he laughs at his pretence, so that, as beautifully written as this work is, we don't know whether it is genuine or whether it is the product of a truly unreliable narrator.
He's more than capable of misleading us. He has been interrogated for years and never broken down. A journalist (or is she a writer or a spy?) (Serena Vandeleur) approaches him to obtain his cooperation in writing a biography, so, ironically, this work is his bid to pre-empt hers. He wants to define himself his way, rather than simply supply answers to someone else's probing questions. He wants to paint his own picture, make his own self-portrait, rather than sit for someone else's version.
Like everybody else, Miss Vandeleur just wants to know "Why did you do it?"
To which Maskell responds:
"Why? Oh, cowboys and indians, my dear. Cowboys and indians."
Then he adds: "It was true, in a way. The need for amusement, the fear of boredom: was the whole thing much more than that, really, despite all the grand theorising? And hatred of America, of course...The defence of European culture."
Describing him as a spy underestimates him:
"I was a connoisseur, you know, before I was anything else."
Maskell thinks of his work as an edifice that he is building. Though, it's hard to tell whether it's a construction or a fabrication or a realisation of something hidden from view:
"We were latterday Gnostics, keepers of a secret knowledge, for whom the world of appearances was only a gross manifestation of an infinitely subtler, more real reality known only to the chosen few, but the iron, ineluctable laws of which were everywhere at work. This gnosis was, on the material level, the equivalent of the Freudian conception of the unconscious, that unacknowledged and irresistible legislator, that spy in the heart...
"At our lightest we seemed to ourselves possessed of a seriousness far more deep, partly because it was hidden, than anything our parents could manage, with their vagueness and lack of any certainty, any rigour, above all, their contemptibly feeble efforts at being good. Let the whole sham fortress fall, we said, and if we can give it a good hard shove, we will. 'Destruam et aedificabo', as Proudhon was wont to cry."
I destroy in order to build. This is the rationale behind support of a revolutionary cause. Though Maskell himself is more of a theorist than an activist. Even then he refers to the "crassness" of "trying to turn theory into action, in the same way that I despised the Cambridge physicists of my day for translating pure mathematics into applied science."
Still, Maskell confesses that even the theory was sketchy at best. He was no philosopher-spy:
"'There must be action,' I said, with the doggedness of the dogmatist. 'We must act, or perish.'
"That is, I'm afraid, the way we talked.
"'Oh, action!' Nick said, and this time he did laugh. 'Words, for you, are action. That's all you do - jaw jaw jaw.'"
"It was all selfishness, of course; we did not care a damn about the world, much as we might shout about freedom and justice and the plight of the masses. All selfishness...Time for a gin, I think."
What Maskell most cared about was art, even more so than gin:
"Here [in Russia] was being built a society which would apply to its own workings the rules of order and harmony by which art works; a society in which the artist would no longer be dilettante or romantic rebel, pariah or parasite; a society whose art would be more deeply rooted in ordinary life than since medieval times. What a prospect, for a sensibility as hungry for certainties as mine was!"
Eventually, Maskell starts to see himself as an actor, a character in a play (if not a novel). His friends are an ensemble, to whom he is more loyal than his country or even his ostensible cause.
Together they indulge in "some glorious transgressive moments."
Part II ("We'll Have Some Fun with this Courier Lark, Won't We?")
I phoned Maskell when I arrived in London. I anticipated that he might be reluctant to see me, but it was clear that the Judge had already written or spoken to him, and he greeted me enthusiastically, as he did when I arrived at the door of his apartment a week later.
I handed him the letter of introduction and he smiled after he read it.
His apartment was sparse, if elegantly furnished. He led me into the lounge room, where a gas heater was radiating warmth in the fireplace.
We sat opposite each other in comfortable chairs.
He asked me about my taste in art. When it appeared that it was more modern and modernist than his, he simply remarked, "Never mind." He didn't ask me about my relationship with the Judge. He seemed to know enough from the letter or their previous communications.
After that, conversation flowed easily, without either of us overtly directing it. After an hour or so, he looked at his watch and asked whether I'd like a cup of tea, or was it too early for a gin and tonic? The latter had become my favourite summer drink, and I eagerly accepted, despite the time of year in the northern hemisphere.
As was my habit, I drank the G&T fairly quickly, then noticed that Maskell had too. Without being asked, he took my empty glass and filled both of our glasses at the bar.
Nicolas Poussin - "Eliezer And Rebecca At The Well"
Part III ("The Fizz and Swirl of the Queer Life")
Though I was familiar with his past according to the newspaper accounts in the last couple of years, I didn't raise it, not wanting to undo the rapport we seemed to have built.
Instead, Maskell finally asked me into his study, because he wanted to "show me something".
When we entered, I noticed a desk with an old typewriter. Against the opposite wall was a couch. Above the desk was a painting that I could imagine Maskell scrutinising from the comfort of the couch opposite it.
He took a position at the far end of the couch and patted the cushion next to him. "Here," he suggested. "Come and share the view with me."
The painting was a work by his obsession, Nicolas Poussin. It was the one he wanted the Judge to have. "The Death of Seneca" (in truth, "Eliezer And Rebecca At The Well"). I observed it in silence. Perhaps it was expected of me that I would make some kind of assessment. However, I suspect that Maskell realised that my opinions would be both uninformed and impressionistic. Nevertheless, by the end of our meeting, it would be understood that I was to take it with me.
Maskell continued to talk of his teaching days at the Institute, then placed his hand on my inner thigh. It came as a surprise, even though it shouldn't have, given what I knew about his sexuality. I noticed that, for some reason, I had an erection. Was I reacting to some sense of imminent danger? Had he discovered or prompted some kind of repressed tendency?
It was then, dear reader, that he undressed me, and used me as he would his catamite.
Afterwards, he removed the picture from its hanger, wrapped it in brown paper and plastic, and handed it to me.
We shook hands, then as I turned to go, I noticed his smile again. There was a sense of accomplishment in it. He was coming to the end of his journey, while mine had just begun.
Part I ("My Other Secret Life")
I first encountered the Judge, professionally, in Court.
Early in my career, I appeared in the Family Court 400 times over two years. 50 or so appearances would have been before him.
He was a precise and impatient judge. He had little tolerance for fools or the lazy or the unprepared. My reputation, some of which he would have contributed to, was that I anticipated what a judge wanted and I gave it to him. I use the masculine pronoun, because although the Chief Justice was a woman, all of the local judges with whom I dealt were men.
At the same time, I was the Deputy Chairman of the Institute of Modern Art. The Judge's wife, Nancy, was a lecturer in Art at the University, and frequently attended our monthly openings. On one occasion, she introduced me to her guest, an academic and writer from New York called Lucy, whose specialty was Pop Art. They invited me to Lucy's lecture later that week, and I duely attended.
Afterwards, at drinks, Nancy made to introduce me to her husband, but he stopped her suddenly, saying, "I'm well acquainted with Mr Graye's other side. He's one of the few I can rely on to do his job."
I replied that he was one of the few judges who made it a pleasure and a privilege. I had never lost a case in front of him, even though it wasn't meant to be an adversarial jurisdiction.
Later, Lucy mentioned that, if I was ever in New York, I should feel free to visit her. As it turned out, I was planning a visit to San Francisco, New York and London the following March, in 1982.
At this point, the Judge offered to give me a letter of introduction to a friend of his, who was the director of an art institute in London.
He also hinted that he might ask a reciprocal favour of me. As it turned out, his friend, Victor Maskell wished to give him a much treasured work of art, and the Judge was hoping I would deliver it back to him at the end of my trip. I was, in effect, to be an art courier for the Judge and his friend.
"The Admirable Detachment of the Scholar"
Victor Maskell was sitting at the desk in his study. He was a well-known art historian, Keeper of the Queen's Pictures, and Director of the highest profile art institute in Britain.
However, outside, the turbulence of life continued. A writer (a contemporary historian, "whatever that is") had exposed his long-term spying activities in a book that was about to be published, and the newspapers had got onto the story. What would he do? Defect? Commit suicide? Confess? Make a fool of himself? Disgrace himself?
No, he sat down at his desk to write a version of the events. He doesn't necessarily seek to make himself look good or to add "yet another burnished mask" to the collection he has already assembled.
Instead, he adopts a metaphor from the world of art:
"Attribution, verification, restoration. I shall strip away layer after layer of grime - the toffee-coloured varnish and caked soot left by a lifetime of dissembling - until I come to the very thing itself and know it for what it is. My soul. My self."
Inevitably, he laughs at his pretence, so that, as beautifully written as this work is, we don't know whether it is genuine or whether it is the product of a truly unreliable narrator.
He's more than capable of misleading us. He has been interrogated for years and never broken down. A journalist (or is she a writer or a spy?) (Serena Vandeleur) approaches him to obtain his cooperation in writing a biography, so, ironically, this work is his bid to pre-empt hers. He wants to define himself his way, rather than simply supply answers to someone else's probing questions. He wants to paint his own picture, make his own self-portrait, rather than sit for someone else's version.
Like everybody else, Miss Vandeleur just wants to know "Why did you do it?"
To which Maskell responds:
"Why? Oh, cowboys and indians, my dear. Cowboys and indians."
Then he adds: "It was true, in a way. The need for amusement, the fear of boredom: was the whole thing much more than that, really, despite all the grand theorising? And hatred of America, of course...The defence of European culture."
Describing him as a spy underestimates him:
"I was a connoisseur, you know, before I was anything else."
Maskell thinks of his work as an edifice that he is building. Though, it's hard to tell whether it's a construction or a fabrication or a realisation of something hidden from view:
"We were latterday Gnostics, keepers of a secret knowledge, for whom the world of appearances was only a gross manifestation of an infinitely subtler, more real reality known only to the chosen few, but the iron, ineluctable laws of which were everywhere at work. This gnosis was, on the material level, the equivalent of the Freudian conception of the unconscious, that unacknowledged and irresistible legislator, that spy in the heart...
"At our lightest we seemed to ourselves possessed of a seriousness far more deep, partly because it was hidden, than anything our parents could manage, with their vagueness and lack of any certainty, any rigour, above all, their contemptibly feeble efforts at being good. Let the whole sham fortress fall, we said, and if we can give it a good hard shove, we will. 'Destruam et aedificabo', as Proudhon was wont to cry."
I destroy in order to build. This is the rationale behind support of a revolutionary cause. Though Maskell himself is more of a theorist than an activist. Even then he refers to the "crassness" of "trying to turn theory into action, in the same way that I despised the Cambridge physicists of my day for translating pure mathematics into applied science."
Still, Maskell confesses that even the theory was sketchy at best. He was no philosopher-spy:
"'There must be action,' I said, with the doggedness of the dogmatist. 'We must act, or perish.'
"That is, I'm afraid, the way we talked.
"'Oh, action!' Nick said, and this time he did laugh. 'Words, for you, are action. That's all you do - jaw jaw jaw.'"
"It was all selfishness, of course; we did not care a damn about the world, much as we might shout about freedom and justice and the plight of the masses. All selfishness...Time for a gin, I think."
What Maskell most cared about was art, even more so than gin:
"Here [in Russia] was being built a society which would apply to its own workings the rules of order and harmony by which art works; a society in which the artist would no longer be dilettante or romantic rebel, pariah or parasite; a society whose art would be more deeply rooted in ordinary life than since medieval times. What a prospect, for a sensibility as hungry for certainties as mine was!"
Eventually, Maskell starts to see himself as an actor, a character in a play (if not a novel). His friends are an ensemble, to whom he is more loyal than his country or even his ostensible cause.
Together they indulge in "some glorious transgressive moments."
Part II ("We'll Have Some Fun with this Courier Lark, Won't We?")
I phoned Maskell when I arrived in London. I anticipated that he might be reluctant to see me, but it was clear that the Judge had already written or spoken to him, and he greeted me enthusiastically, as he did when I arrived at the door of his apartment a week later.
I handed him the letter of introduction and he smiled after he read it.
His apartment was sparse, if elegantly furnished. He led me into the lounge room, where a gas heater was radiating warmth in the fireplace.
We sat opposite each other in comfortable chairs.
He asked me about my taste in art. When it appeared that it was more modern and modernist than his, he simply remarked, "Never mind." He didn't ask me about my relationship with the Judge. He seemed to know enough from the letter or their previous communications.
After that, conversation flowed easily, without either of us overtly directing it. After an hour or so, he looked at his watch and asked whether I'd like a cup of tea, or was it too early for a gin and tonic? The latter had become my favourite summer drink, and I eagerly accepted, despite the time of year in the northern hemisphere.
As was my habit, I drank the G&T fairly quickly, then noticed that Maskell had too. Without being asked, he took my empty glass and filled both of our glasses at the bar.
Nicolas Poussin - "Eliezer And Rebecca At The Well"
Part III ("The Fizz and Swirl of the Queer Life")
Though I was familiar with his past according to the newspaper accounts in the last couple of years, I didn't raise it, not wanting to undo the rapport we seemed to have built.
Instead, Maskell finally asked me into his study, because he wanted to "show me something".
When we entered, I noticed a desk with an old typewriter. Against the opposite wall was a couch. Above the desk was a painting that I could imagine Maskell scrutinising from the comfort of the couch opposite it.
He took a position at the far end of the couch and patted the cushion next to him. "Here," he suggested. "Come and share the view with me."
The painting was a work by his obsession, Nicolas Poussin. It was the one he wanted the Judge to have. "The Death of Seneca" (in truth, "Eliezer And Rebecca At The Well"). I observed it in silence. Perhaps it was expected of me that I would make some kind of assessment. However, I suspect that Maskell realised that my opinions would be both uninformed and impressionistic. Nevertheless, by the end of our meeting, it would be understood that I was to take it with me.
Maskell continued to talk of his teaching days at the Institute, then placed his hand on my inner thigh. It came as a surprise, even though it shouldn't have, given what I knew about his sexuality. I noticed that, for some reason, I had an erection. Was I reacting to some sense of imminent danger? Had he discovered or prompted some kind of repressed tendency?
It was then, dear reader, that he undressed me, and used me as he would his catamite.
Afterwards, he removed the picture from its hanger, wrapped it in brown paper and plastic, and handed it to me.
We shook hands, then as I turned to go, I noticed his smile again. There was a sense of accomplishment in it. He was coming to the end of his journey, while mine had just begun.
August 22, 2022
UPDATE 8/22/22 ... I have stopped reading this book again (for the last time) ... the story is impenetrable and even Banville's sparkling writing can't overcome the lack of a plot
***
It seems like I have been reading this forever. The story is confusing, but the writing is glorious. Reading Banville is like reading a text book for writers. But you have to read slowly, savoring the word choices and images. It's best to read on kindle, with dictionary at hand.
***
It seems like I have been reading this forever. The story is confusing, but the writing is glorious. Reading Banville is like reading a text book for writers. But you have to read slowly, savoring the word choices and images. It's best to read on kindle, with dictionary at hand.
December 30, 2014
This is my second try with John Banville. Once again, he impresses me with his ability to write nearly perfect prose and characters who are as flesh and blood and flawed as any who ever breathed, while completely boring me. That's strike two, Mr. Banville, and two is all most authors get from me.
Banville is a serious Literary Dude, and this is a serious Literary Dude's novel. The Untouchable is written as a memoir by one Victor Maskell, who is based on real-life Cambridge spy Anthony Blunt; although this is a novel, it's only loosely fictionalized history. Maskell, as he tells his story, was, like Blunt, formerly the keeper of the British royal family's art collection, and has recently been exposed as a Soviet spy since before World War II. Maskell is also a homosexual, which plays a large part of his narrative - he describes his sexual encounters with the same precise elegant prose as he talks about watersheds in history and his role as a Soviet double-agent.
Maskell is wry, cynical, sometimes humorous, and a bit depressive, looking back on a career that's been generally distinguished while always overshadowed by these twin secrets: he has lived his entire life in two closets, as a homosexual and a double-agent. He has few regrets, and he seems as much amused as he is upset by his public disgrace, the shock of his friends, the shame of his family.
As brilliantly narrated as Maskell's story is, the problem is that it isn't much of a story. It's an old man reminiscing about being a young Marxist and a gay blade back when either one could get you hard prison time. There are no dramatic "spy" moments — even during World War II, he's just passing on not-very-important information to the Russians, until eventually he gets tired of the whole thing and rather anticlimactically (as much as a book that's had no suspense to begin with can have an anticlimax) drops out of the spy game. Then, years later, he's thrown under the bus by some of his former associates. (Figuratively, not literally; if anyone were actually thrown under a bus in this book, it would have been more exciting.)
Most excellently written? Yes. Banville wins literary prizes — go John Banville. Did I care about Victor Maskell and his whiny, cynical, misogynistic moping after decades of being a Soviet spy? Noooo. If you have a real interest in this era, particularly with a realistically (if not particularly sympathetically) depicted gay character, then you probably won't regret reading this, but don't make the mistake of thinking that because it's about spies it's thrilling.
Banville is a serious Literary Dude, and this is a serious Literary Dude's novel. The Untouchable is written as a memoir by one Victor Maskell, who is based on real-life Cambridge spy Anthony Blunt; although this is a novel, it's only loosely fictionalized history. Maskell, as he tells his story, was, like Blunt, formerly the keeper of the British royal family's art collection, and has recently been exposed as a Soviet spy since before World War II. Maskell is also a homosexual, which plays a large part of his narrative - he describes his sexual encounters with the same precise elegant prose as he talks about watersheds in history and his role as a Soviet double-agent.
Everybody nowadays disparages the 1950s, saying what a dreary decade it was. And they are right, if you think of McCarthyism and Korea, the Hungarian rebellion, all that serious historical stuff. I expect, however, that it is not public but private affairs that people are complaining of. Quite simply, I think they did not get enough of sex. All that fumbling with corsetry and woolen undergarments and all those grim couplings in the back seats of motorcars. The complaints and tears and resentful silences, while the wireless crooned callously of everlasting love. Feh! What dinginess! What soul-sapping desperation! The best that could be hoped for was a shabby deal marked by the exchange of a cheap ring followed by a life of furtive relievings on one side and of ill-paid prostitution on the other.
Whereas, oh my friends, to be queer was the very bliss! The Fifties were the last grace age of queerdom. All the talk now is of freedom and pride. Pride! But these young hotheads in their pink bellbottoms, clamoring for the right to do it in the street if they feel like it, do not seem to appreciate, or at least seem to wish to deny, the aphrodisiac properties of secrecy and fear.
Maskell is wry, cynical, sometimes humorous, and a bit depressive, looking back on a career that's been generally distinguished while always overshadowed by these twin secrets: he has lived his entire life in two closets, as a homosexual and a double-agent. He has few regrets, and he seems as much amused as he is upset by his public disgrace, the shock of his friends, the shame of his family.
As brilliantly narrated as Maskell's story is, the problem is that it isn't much of a story. It's an old man reminiscing about being a young Marxist and a gay blade back when either one could get you hard prison time. There are no dramatic "spy" moments — even during World War II, he's just passing on not-very-important information to the Russians, until eventually he gets tired of the whole thing and rather anticlimactically (as much as a book that's had no suspense to begin with can have an anticlimax) drops out of the spy game. Then, years later, he's thrown under the bus by some of his former associates. (Figuratively, not literally; if anyone were actually thrown under a bus in this book, it would have been more exciting.)
Most excellently written? Yes. Banville wins literary prizes — go John Banville. Did I care about Victor Maskell and his whiny, cynical, misogynistic moping after decades of being a Soviet spy? Noooo. If you have a real interest in this era, particularly with a realistically (if not particularly sympathetically) depicted gay character, then you probably won't regret reading this, but don't make the mistake of thinking that because it's about spies it's thrilling.
October 30, 2025
I really do love books about spies and this is a good one -- albeit, one with almost no cloak and dagger, Boris and Natasha shenanigans. Instead, it's a deep dive character study into a fictional version of Anthony Blunt, one of the "Cambridge spies" who worked for the Kremlin from the 1930s through the 1970s. (The others included Guy Burgess and Kim Philby.) In this novel, his name is Victor Maskell, and I don't know enough of Blunt's actual history to know how much license John Banville has taken with the story. But this is a novel, so it matters not at all. And because this is a Banville novel, the tale has moments that are tense and moments that are (by design) absurd, and every sentence and aside is a gem. Banville has given his narrator, Maskell, a voice that sounds at once authentic and wistful and flippant, with a steady undercurrent of. . .why. Why does one become a communist spy? Why is one willing to lead such a double life? (In this case, it's a life with lots of masks and lies, because Maskell is not merely a spy, he's a gay spy with a wife and children.) Another smart, wry novel from a modern master.
January 12, 2019
"Metamorphosis is a painful process" for Victor, an art expert and ambitious man who turns to the life of a spy. In the end, his ambitions ruin him and his friends betray him. His journey of exploration begins late: when he has been ousted in public, deserted, and he tries to make sense of his life through his memoirs:
What makes a person want to live a disguised life that the truth is elusive even to himself? This seems to be the exploration for both character and reader, a question never really answered and one that cannot be fully explained. What is both appealing and shocking is to see Victor, at one stage of his life, try to find his truth, even at the detriment of those he love. This is a grim story about betrayal and trust, booze and love, sexuality and personal evolution, and of course, spies.
The older Victor looks retrospectively at his life with remarkable calm and wisdom for someone who is incredibly turmoiled and at a cross-road; his present-tense narration is one I wanted to follow, one I wish had more grounding in the narrative:
This has been a surprising fourth John Banville read for me. The novel is layered in both narrative perspective and style that sometimes the switch in styles can be offsetting, as if one is being thrown into another book. Although it explored similar nuances of identity, self, and rumination (like most of his novels), this one had more of an austere texture. So far Shroud has been my favorite.
I imagine the exquisite agony of the caterpillar turning itself into a butterfly, pushing out eye-stalks, pounding its fat-cells into iridescent wing-dust, at last cracking the mother-of-pearl sheath and staggering upright on sticky, hair's-breadth legs, drunken, gasping, dazed by the light.
What makes a person want to live a disguised life that the truth is elusive even to himself? This seems to be the exploration for both character and reader, a question never really answered and one that cannot be fully explained. What is both appealing and shocking is to see Victor, at one stage of his life, try to find his truth, even at the detriment of those he love. This is a grim story about betrayal and trust, booze and love, sexuality and personal evolution, and of course, spies.
The older Victor looks retrospectively at his life with remarkable calm and wisdom for someone who is incredibly turmoiled and at a cross-road; his present-tense narration is one I wanted to follow, one I wish had more grounding in the narrative:
Great hot waves of remembrance wash through me, bringing images and sensations I would have thought I had entirely forgotten or successfully extirpated, yet so sharp and vivid are they that I falter in my tracks with an inward gasp, assailed by a sort of rapturous sorrow.
This has been a surprising fourth John Banville read for me. The novel is layered in both narrative perspective and style that sometimes the switch in styles can be offsetting, as if one is being thrown into another book. Although it explored similar nuances of identity, self, and rumination (like most of his novels), this one had more of an austere texture. So far Shroud has been my favorite.
March 23, 2017
As readers we have all experienced or come across books that either make a siren call to us, which we can’t ignore, or speak to us in a way that makes us drown within its pages, or even sing to us, a beautiful melody that soothes our spirit and enthralls us in a way nothing else does. This book had a combination of all those whilst also painting vivid pictures that would definitely give artists around the world a run for their money. Honestly, I am not exaggerating when I say this, as it was my own personal experience.
The Untouchable by John Banville is a Roman à clef that is written from the point of view of Victor Maskell, an exemplary art historian, a Queen’s man, a double agent and a homosexual, whose character is loosely based on Anthony Blunt, a Cambridge spy. Narrated by Maskell, this book is part memoir and part confession, taking us to that period in England where the educated often amused themselves with espionage and the erudite were often vociferous supporters of Marxism, where to drink and debate passionately on all topics was considered the fashion, where homosexuality was considered a crime and worse a thing of shame. Those were the days when the youth rebelled at everything and experienced a certain amusement from it, for all their rebellions were not really because they believed in the cause but was more because it amused them. Everything of that period amused them, at least that’s what one gets from reading this book. Be it political affiliation, sexual orientation, criminal dealings, cheating, betrayal, love, friendship, just about everything was a matter of amusement and thrown about to suit their present needs, changed to fit their goals and ambitions, never giving thought to the other. We can call it a callous world, cynical and selfish times, we can even go further and look at those times with the disdain that is prevalent today but what we can’t do is to ignore it. Oh no, it is a world and time that we can never ignore, it is a time and world that is exciting even to those who disdain it, it is a time that may have perhaps been the originator of the rebel movement, an exciting time when the world was fraught with war and history that one has to acknowledge it and maybe salute those who lived in those perilous times and survived.
The book begins with Maskell, a former British spy, being uncovered as a double agent working for Russia during WWII. Facing disgrace for his double role as well as for his sexual orientation, Maskell is going through intense criticism from the community, which is both angry and disgusted with the lies, and which has resulted in the taking away of his Knighthood and also his removal from the position of Director. Under these circumstances, it is obvious that Maskell is beseeched by the press for an illumination on his exact role. While he mostly remains silent, he does get intrigued by a young woman who comes across to him as not belonging to this sect. Being so intrigued, he does accept her request for a private meeting, where he learns that she wants to write a book on him. What then began as an amusing game of cat and mouse between the young lady and Maskell, where Maskell believes that he is simply stringing her along, turns into a confession of sorts, written by him as a memoir, deeply affected by his own mortality.
Maskell, perhaps feeling a need to cleanse his soul, or maybe with a need to shock the young lady, or even for reasons that could be as simple as being bored of all the secrecy and limitations, gives forth an account that is as thrilling as any book on espionage written by the masters of that genre. Banville brings alive those times in Cambridge, where there was no thought or concern about right or wrong but life was all about living on the edge and indulging in the pleasures as if there was no tomorrow.
While the book is based on the story of the real life Cambridge Spies, it is a fictional account, where Banville takes the advantage of bringing in various tropes to suit the mood and create a flavor that is bursting with uniqueness whilst also being familiar. With Maskell’s Irish roots, Rothstein and Nick’s Jewish ones, Boy’s boisterous nature and open admission of homosexuality, Banville covers a wide range of subjects, prejudices, ideologies and a whole lot of history in a manner that is exciting, thrilling and vivid.
The beauty of this book lies not in the subject or the tale, although it does play an important role; but in its language. Banville brings to life the characters, their individual and collective nature; the often grimy and often sordid nature of the times; the beauty of the surroundings, even when it is bleak and grim; the duplicity of espionage, the threats, the fears and the excitement; and finally the subject of sexual orientation, where disease and coming out were only fears that lurked below the surface. Banville brings to life the debauchery, the heartless and often cruel relationships that were maintained, and the ennui that most inhabitants felt, which led to dangerous pastimes. Using dark humour as a tool, Banville creates a story of espionage that throws light on everything from moral complexities in society to individual cynicism, attitudes and vanity, giving the reader a few laugh out loud moments whilst also making them experience a whole host of other emotions. What makes this even more special is the fact that nowhere does the pace flag or the story less suspenseful, although I have to say that I did guess correctly in the beginning but was kept on my proverbial toes by giving way to constant doubts, making it in short, a wonderful suspense thriller.
Characters are the main crux of this story, where you can actually say that this narration is character driven as opposed to being plot driven. When a lot depends on the characters, it is often difficult to maintain consistent growth or deterioration of the various characters that play a part in the story. Here Banville shows his mastery by ensuring that every character, even the smallest of them, is developed beautifully. While all the characters are seen through the eyes of the narrator, Maskell, they are so vivid in their description and portrayal that they actually come alive. I can safely say that I lived this book instead of merely reading it. Boy, Nick, Leo, Maskell, Vivienne, Querrel, Serena, Danny and the myriad others weren’t just names that I read but people I came to know and either liked or disliked, depending on their actions or words. You laugh with them, you feel their pain, you get angry and you feel proud; these characters weren’t mere characters to me but my friends and my enemies, such was their portrayal. The best part of the characters was that most of them were depictions of real life people, given that this fictional tale had a founding in reality. Trying to match the fictional with the real was a fun game that I had going while reading this book, making it a fun read.
As with the broad outline of the story, the author has also stayed true to the various historical references that are given, which again added a special flavor. A book which doesn’t limit its scope to itself but actually makes you want to read more and learn more is a good book in my mind, which this did, making it a real pleasure to read. Given that this book has adventure, suspense, history and covers a wide range of topics, I don’t think I need to say anything more but to say that give this one a try and you might be surprised at what you find.
The Untouchable by John Banville is a Roman à clef that is written from the point of view of Victor Maskell, an exemplary art historian, a Queen’s man, a double agent and a homosexual, whose character is loosely based on Anthony Blunt, a Cambridge spy. Narrated by Maskell, this book is part memoir and part confession, taking us to that period in England where the educated often amused themselves with espionage and the erudite were often vociferous supporters of Marxism, where to drink and debate passionately on all topics was considered the fashion, where homosexuality was considered a crime and worse a thing of shame. Those were the days when the youth rebelled at everything and experienced a certain amusement from it, for all their rebellions were not really because they believed in the cause but was more because it amused them. Everything of that period amused them, at least that’s what one gets from reading this book. Be it political affiliation, sexual orientation, criminal dealings, cheating, betrayal, love, friendship, just about everything was a matter of amusement and thrown about to suit their present needs, changed to fit their goals and ambitions, never giving thought to the other. We can call it a callous world, cynical and selfish times, we can even go further and look at those times with the disdain that is prevalent today but what we can’t do is to ignore it. Oh no, it is a world and time that we can never ignore, it is a time and world that is exciting even to those who disdain it, it is a time that may have perhaps been the originator of the rebel movement, an exciting time when the world was fraught with war and history that one has to acknowledge it and maybe salute those who lived in those perilous times and survived.
The book begins with Maskell, a former British spy, being uncovered as a double agent working for Russia during WWII. Facing disgrace for his double role as well as for his sexual orientation, Maskell is going through intense criticism from the community, which is both angry and disgusted with the lies, and which has resulted in the taking away of his Knighthood and also his removal from the position of Director. Under these circumstances, it is obvious that Maskell is beseeched by the press for an illumination on his exact role. While he mostly remains silent, he does get intrigued by a young woman who comes across to him as not belonging to this sect. Being so intrigued, he does accept her request for a private meeting, where he learns that she wants to write a book on him. What then began as an amusing game of cat and mouse between the young lady and Maskell, where Maskell believes that he is simply stringing her along, turns into a confession of sorts, written by him as a memoir, deeply affected by his own mortality.
Maskell, perhaps feeling a need to cleanse his soul, or maybe with a need to shock the young lady, or even for reasons that could be as simple as being bored of all the secrecy and limitations, gives forth an account that is as thrilling as any book on espionage written by the masters of that genre. Banville brings alive those times in Cambridge, where there was no thought or concern about right or wrong but life was all about living on the edge and indulging in the pleasures as if there was no tomorrow.
While the book is based on the story of the real life Cambridge Spies, it is a fictional account, where Banville takes the advantage of bringing in various tropes to suit the mood and create a flavor that is bursting with uniqueness whilst also being familiar. With Maskell’s Irish roots, Rothstein and Nick’s Jewish ones, Boy’s boisterous nature and open admission of homosexuality, Banville covers a wide range of subjects, prejudices, ideologies and a whole lot of history in a manner that is exciting, thrilling and vivid.
The beauty of this book lies not in the subject or the tale, although it does play an important role; but in its language. Banville brings to life the characters, their individual and collective nature; the often grimy and often sordid nature of the times; the beauty of the surroundings, even when it is bleak and grim; the duplicity of espionage, the threats, the fears and the excitement; and finally the subject of sexual orientation, where disease and coming out were only fears that lurked below the surface. Banville brings to life the debauchery, the heartless and often cruel relationships that were maintained, and the ennui that most inhabitants felt, which led to dangerous pastimes. Using dark humour as a tool, Banville creates a story of espionage that throws light on everything from moral complexities in society to individual cynicism, attitudes and vanity, giving the reader a few laugh out loud moments whilst also making them experience a whole host of other emotions. What makes this even more special is the fact that nowhere does the pace flag or the story less suspenseful, although I have to say that I did guess correctly in the beginning but was kept on my proverbial toes by giving way to constant doubts, making it in short, a wonderful suspense thriller.
Characters are the main crux of this story, where you can actually say that this narration is character driven as opposed to being plot driven. When a lot depends on the characters, it is often difficult to maintain consistent growth or deterioration of the various characters that play a part in the story. Here Banville shows his mastery by ensuring that every character, even the smallest of them, is developed beautifully. While all the characters are seen through the eyes of the narrator, Maskell, they are so vivid in their description and portrayal that they actually come alive. I can safely say that I lived this book instead of merely reading it. Boy, Nick, Leo, Maskell, Vivienne, Querrel, Serena, Danny and the myriad others weren’t just names that I read but people I came to know and either liked or disliked, depending on their actions or words. You laugh with them, you feel their pain, you get angry and you feel proud; these characters weren’t mere characters to me but my friends and my enemies, such was their portrayal. The best part of the characters was that most of them were depictions of real life people, given that this fictional tale had a founding in reality. Trying to match the fictional with the real was a fun game that I had going while reading this book, making it a fun read.
As with the broad outline of the story, the author has also stayed true to the various historical references that are given, which again added a special flavor. A book which doesn’t limit its scope to itself but actually makes you want to read more and learn more is a good book in my mind, which this did, making it a real pleasure to read. Given that this book has adventure, suspense, history and covers a wide range of topics, I don’t think I need to say anything more but to say that give this one a try and you might be surprised at what you find.
February 22, 2022
There is a Portuguese song from the 80s that goes something like this:
I am free and you are free
And there’s a night to be spent
Why don’t we go together?
Why don’t we stay in the adventure of the senses?
This song, written by a gay man who would die of AIDS, flies me over to a world I never knew. A freshly liberated Lisbon, free from the constraints of a right-wing dictatorship, ready to embrace democracy and modernity. Many of Lisbon’s most famous bars and discos appeared around this time. Everyone who knows anyone who frequented Lisbon’s nightlife in the 80s and 90s will share the same references: the same places, songs, haircuts, and the belief in a brighter future.
The Untouchable, although about a very different gay man from the hairdresser who wrote the quoted song, also pulls me back to a world I never knew. Yet I can see the dark pavement of a dripping Bloomsbury night, the seedy bars just off Edgware Road, and crowds of former public-school pupils cruising Hyde Park, looking for a quick fumble in a public bathroom.
This is the London Anthony Blunt…pardon me, Victor Maskell dwelt in. The mistake is almost inevitable. Building another character based on Blunt was a smart decision; it drags the plot away from the dungeons of History, and grants Banville the freedom to do what he likes. Maskell becomes an Irishman – solidly Protestant and well-connected, but still a man born on the wrong side of the Irish sea. He is raised by a kind stepmother and an absent-minded father who loves him, and alongside a brother with Down’s Syndrome (just like the Belfast-born poet, Louis MacNeice). Just like Blunt, Maskell becomes a prominent Art Historian, a member of the Cambridge’s Apostles, the surveyor of the Queen’s pictures, and finally a spy for the Soviet Union, particularly active during the WWII years. His justification, which retains astonishing prescience, is that he did it all in name of Western – European, really – civilization. The Brits with their good intentions and heroic retreats from France would never be enough to fight off fascism; they hadn’t been of much use, after all, when fascists were burning Spain to cinders.
The book is conspicuously timid about Maskell’s motivations, however. He was a spy; he had his reasons. The theme of his homosexuality looms over the novel, and the conclusion seems to be that even after he ceased to be a spy, his trysts with men – as forbidden and damaging as spying for the enemy – provided much needed adrenaline and a sense of purpose. Maskell is a man hiding from himself, yet constantly daring himself to be found. One can know oneself too well, as he says.
Keeping in line with many other books, which are not nearly as well written as The Untouchable, all characters are realistically unpleasant. Banville captures the vocabulary and the tone of a very specific class placed in a very specific historical period. Maskell, his friends and his family, whether they are Marxists or fascists, all share in the same vices of the upper-classes which reared them. You can’t escape your class, not even when you’re spying for the Soviet Union. This is where Banville’s novel becomes a triumph: he invokes an England which no longer exists and generations of people who are almost unimaginable now. Certainly, they are unlikely to be recognized by modern readers. Yet in Banville’s hands they become as familiar as the London I know, familiar as bygone cities fleshed out from popular songs.
I am free and you are free
And there’s a night to be spent
Why don’t we go together?
Why don’t we stay in the adventure of the senses?
This song, written by a gay man who would die of AIDS, flies me over to a world I never knew. A freshly liberated Lisbon, free from the constraints of a right-wing dictatorship, ready to embrace democracy and modernity. Many of Lisbon’s most famous bars and discos appeared around this time. Everyone who knows anyone who frequented Lisbon’s nightlife in the 80s and 90s will share the same references: the same places, songs, haircuts, and the belief in a brighter future.
The Untouchable, although about a very different gay man from the hairdresser who wrote the quoted song, also pulls me back to a world I never knew. Yet I can see the dark pavement of a dripping Bloomsbury night, the seedy bars just off Edgware Road, and crowds of former public-school pupils cruising Hyde Park, looking for a quick fumble in a public bathroom.
This is the London Anthony Blunt…pardon me, Victor Maskell dwelt in. The mistake is almost inevitable. Building another character based on Blunt was a smart decision; it drags the plot away from the dungeons of History, and grants Banville the freedom to do what he likes. Maskell becomes an Irishman – solidly Protestant and well-connected, but still a man born on the wrong side of the Irish sea. He is raised by a kind stepmother and an absent-minded father who loves him, and alongside a brother with Down’s Syndrome (just like the Belfast-born poet, Louis MacNeice). Just like Blunt, Maskell becomes a prominent Art Historian, a member of the Cambridge’s Apostles, the surveyor of the Queen’s pictures, and finally a spy for the Soviet Union, particularly active during the WWII years. His justification, which retains astonishing prescience, is that he did it all in name of Western – European, really – civilization. The Brits with their good intentions and heroic retreats from France would never be enough to fight off fascism; they hadn’t been of much use, after all, when fascists were burning Spain to cinders.
The book is conspicuously timid about Maskell’s motivations, however. He was a spy; he had his reasons. The theme of his homosexuality looms over the novel, and the conclusion seems to be that even after he ceased to be a spy, his trysts with men – as forbidden and damaging as spying for the enemy – provided much needed adrenaline and a sense of purpose. Maskell is a man hiding from himself, yet constantly daring himself to be found. One can know oneself too well, as he says.
Keeping in line with many other books, which are not nearly as well written as The Untouchable, all characters are realistically unpleasant. Banville captures the vocabulary and the tone of a very specific class placed in a very specific historical period. Maskell, his friends and his family, whether they are Marxists or fascists, all share in the same vices of the upper-classes which reared them. You can’t escape your class, not even when you’re spying for the Soviet Union. This is where Banville’s novel becomes a triumph: he invokes an England which no longer exists and generations of people who are almost unimaginable now. Certainly, they are unlikely to be recognized by modern readers. Yet in Banville’s hands they become as familiar as the London I know, familiar as bygone cities fleshed out from popular songs.
August 19, 2020
En los años 30, un pequeño grupo de estudiantes de Cambridge, convencidos socialistas, establecieron una célula que pasaba información a la Unión Soviética. Pertenecientes a la élite intelectual y social, llegaron a ocupar cargos cercanos a las esferas del poder y no fueron descubiertos hasta bien entrados los años 60.
Los nombres están cambiados, pero esta novela reconstruye los hechos a partir de la trayectoria vital de uno de ellos, Víctor Maskell – en la realidad Anthony Blunt – quizá el personaje más especial del grupo. Estudioso de Arte, llegó a ser conservador de la pinacoteca real y durante años tuvo acceso, no sólo a la familia real, sino a altos cargos de la cultura y el poder.
La novela empieza en los años 70 con el anuncio público de su traición, que conmocionó al país, y vemos cómo el ya anciano personaje caído en desgracia empieza a dictar sus memorias que abarcan desde su época universitaria, pasando por la guerra en España, la guerra mundial y la consolidación posterior de la guerra fría.
Ciertamente no es una novela de espías al uso, el lector que busque acción o aventura se encontrará en cambio con largas reflexiones y monólogos interiores que nos retratan plenamente a una persona llena de conflictos y contradicciones en una época turbulenta.
La homosexualidad encubierta del protagonista y de otros miembros del grupo aparece como otro factor que los desarraiga de una sociedad donde saben que no son aceptados, una sociedad que ellos aspiran a cambiar. ¿Qué es lo que te lleva a traicionar a tu país? Creo que ésta es la pregunta que John Banville intenta contestar a través de un estudio minucioso de una de las figuras más interesantes del siglo XX.
El estilo de John Banville es cuidado, denso, de gran calidad literaria pero la lectura requiere esfuerzo y a veces los saltos temporales pueden desorientar, así como algunos temas que quedan insinuados más que descritos - con una narración más abstracta que convencional.
En conjunto, una buena novela sobre un tema que retrata admirablemente las tensiones ideológicas del pasado siglo.
Los nombres están cambiados, pero esta novela reconstruye los hechos a partir de la trayectoria vital de uno de ellos, Víctor Maskell – en la realidad Anthony Blunt – quizá el personaje más especial del grupo. Estudioso de Arte, llegó a ser conservador de la pinacoteca real y durante años tuvo acceso, no sólo a la familia real, sino a altos cargos de la cultura y el poder.
La novela empieza en los años 70 con el anuncio público de su traición, que conmocionó al país, y vemos cómo el ya anciano personaje caído en desgracia empieza a dictar sus memorias que abarcan desde su época universitaria, pasando por la guerra en España, la guerra mundial y la consolidación posterior de la guerra fría.
Ciertamente no es una novela de espías al uso, el lector que busque acción o aventura se encontrará en cambio con largas reflexiones y monólogos interiores que nos retratan plenamente a una persona llena de conflictos y contradicciones en una época turbulenta.
La homosexualidad encubierta del protagonista y de otros miembros del grupo aparece como otro factor que los desarraiga de una sociedad donde saben que no son aceptados, una sociedad que ellos aspiran a cambiar. ¿Qué es lo que te lleva a traicionar a tu país? Creo que ésta es la pregunta que John Banville intenta contestar a través de un estudio minucioso de una de las figuras más interesantes del siglo XX.
El estilo de John Banville es cuidado, denso, de gran calidad literaria pero la lectura requiere esfuerzo y a veces los saltos temporales pueden desorientar, así como algunos temas que quedan insinuados más que descritos - con una narración más abstracta que convencional.
En conjunto, una buena novela sobre un tema que retrata admirablemente las tensiones ideológicas del pasado siglo.
Read
August 14, 2022DNF at 28%.
One does not wade into Banville territory expecting nonstop fistfights and explosions; his particular genius is in rendering times and places past. Maybe, in less pressed circumstances, I would have continued this one, but when I'd been reading it for days and discovered that I wasn't even a third of the way through, I decided to put this on hold. It wasn't really grabbing me.
One does not wade into Banville territory expecting nonstop fistfights and explosions; his particular genius is in rendering times and places past. Maybe, in less pressed circumstances, I would have continued this one, but when I'd been reading it for days and discovered that I wasn't even a third of the way through, I decided to put this on hold. It wasn't really grabbing me.
September 21, 2020
3.5/5 Estrellas.
Ejercicio literario impresionante. Largo y en determinados momentos tedioso monólogo, que hace que engancharse a la lectura requiera una considerable dosis de motivación.
El libro se plantea como las memorias de uno de los 5 topos que la Unión Soviética reclutó entre los Universitarios de la Universidad de Cambridge durante los años 30, Antonhy Blunt, aunque en el libro aparece con otro nombre. Estos 5 hombres, pertenecientes a las élites británicas, se infiltraron durante años en los servicios secretos, el Foreing Office e instituciones próximas a la Corona, de tal forma que su desenmascaramiento o deserción durante la segunda mitad del siglo XX, convulsionaron hasta sus cimientos a la sociedad británica.
Espectacular ejercicio introspectivo del personaje, desde sus raíces en la clase media-alta de provincias (Belfast), sus estudios en Cambridge, sus coqueteos con los movimientos antifascistas que lo llevan a ser captado por los Servicios secretos soviéticos, su participación en la Segunda Guerra Mundial como agente de los servicios secretos británicos, el doble juego entre unos y otros que nos envuelve, que nos confunde durante todo el libro, que ni él mismo consigue explicarse.
Las múltiples facetas del personaje se entrecruzan durante toda la novela llevándonos a una vorágine que desemboca en su caída en desgracia, cuando se hace público su papel de agente infiltrado al servicio de la URSS: su faceta de vividor, padre de familia y luego homosexual tardío, de experto en arte, de profesor, marxista.........
¿Espía doble manipulador o pobre hombre manipulado por otros para constituir la pantalla tras la que se ocultan los personajes verdaderamente importantes de la trama?
¿Porqué personajes cultos y muy inteligentes, se pusieron al servicio de la Unión Soviética, cuando de sobra sabían la realidad que allí se cocía? ¿Odio al fascismo encarnado por Hitler, odio al capitalismo americano, odio al clasismo inglés en el que ellos mismos estaban cómodamente instalados, idealismo socialista, ganas de aventuras, inconsciencia? Estas y muchas otras incógnitas son planteadas por el personaje, ninguna de ellas satisfactoriamente resuelta, quizá porque no tienen explicación. Interrogantes interesantes también para el lector, que puesto en la piel del personaje, ya acabado y condenado, se plantea qué hubiera hecho él en muchas de estas situaciones.
No se trata de una lectura fácil, pero es recomendable para sumergirnos en uno de los aspectos más importantes de la Guerra Fría: El juego de espías entre las potencias occidentales y el bloque del este.
Ejercicio literario impresionante. Largo y en determinados momentos tedioso monólogo, que hace que engancharse a la lectura requiera una considerable dosis de motivación.
El libro se plantea como las memorias de uno de los 5 topos que la Unión Soviética reclutó entre los Universitarios de la Universidad de Cambridge durante los años 30, Antonhy Blunt, aunque en el libro aparece con otro nombre. Estos 5 hombres, pertenecientes a las élites británicas, se infiltraron durante años en los servicios secretos, el Foreing Office e instituciones próximas a la Corona, de tal forma que su desenmascaramiento o deserción durante la segunda mitad del siglo XX, convulsionaron hasta sus cimientos a la sociedad británica.
Espectacular ejercicio introspectivo del personaje, desde sus raíces en la clase media-alta de provincias (Belfast), sus estudios en Cambridge, sus coqueteos con los movimientos antifascistas que lo llevan a ser captado por los Servicios secretos soviéticos, su participación en la Segunda Guerra Mundial como agente de los servicios secretos británicos, el doble juego entre unos y otros que nos envuelve, que nos confunde durante todo el libro, que ni él mismo consigue explicarse.
Las múltiples facetas del personaje se entrecruzan durante toda la novela llevándonos a una vorágine que desemboca en su caída en desgracia, cuando se hace público su papel de agente infiltrado al servicio de la URSS: su faceta de vividor, padre de familia y luego homosexual tardío, de experto en arte, de profesor, marxista.........
¿Espía doble manipulador o pobre hombre manipulado por otros para constituir la pantalla tras la que se ocultan los personajes verdaderamente importantes de la trama?
¿Porqué personajes cultos y muy inteligentes, se pusieron al servicio de la Unión Soviética, cuando de sobra sabían la realidad que allí se cocía? ¿Odio al fascismo encarnado por Hitler, odio al capitalismo americano, odio al clasismo inglés en el que ellos mismos estaban cómodamente instalados, idealismo socialista, ganas de aventuras, inconsciencia? Estas y muchas otras incógnitas son planteadas por el personaje, ninguna de ellas satisfactoriamente resuelta, quizá porque no tienen explicación. Interrogantes interesantes también para el lector, que puesto en la piel del personaje, ya acabado y condenado, se plantea qué hubiera hecho él en muchas de estas situaciones.
No se trata de una lectura fácil, pero es recomendable para sumergirnos en uno de los aspectos más importantes de la Guerra Fría: El juego de espías entre las potencias occidentales y el bloque del este.
August 21, 2014
I've been spending the last month reading novels written by John Banville. It's fun with authors that have multiple works to stick with them one after another for a while to glimpse their depth and soak their craft. If at all possible the author should be wise and a good artist so that you see a little better where you are and maybe, if you are so inclined, refine your own attempts at expression through the absorption of their rhythms, their vocabulary. I started off with The Sea and then read The Book of Evidence and then this last one The Untouchable. Banville has a few more books out there which makes my heart glad. I'll say this, a certain inner fortitude for Banville's work is needed. The portrayal of his characters is so accurate, so fully human, that it hurts getting to know them, living in their minds, choking in their own empty recognizable spaces. Take Victor, the main character of The Untouchables. A British spy working for Russia during a period before and following World War II. Forget all you've read about spies. Victor is loyal to Britain and to principles that started out some noble road and then . . . well, it got complicated. The thing about presenting complex characters when it is well done is that the reader sees the character's soul as through a prism where reflections of good and bad, and ugly and very ugly are seen all at once in an image that breaks the whole and completes it at the same time. Some characters you'd like to grab by their ears and shake into some kind of boring simplicity, a steady humanity. Characters who have layers upon layers of pretension, of personalities they carefully present to the outside world, like Banville's main characters, are sometimes hard to like. That's not to say that we don't empathize. We don't have to like a character to empathize, to understand, to recoil in self-reflection. Fortunately, Banville's characters, including Victor, are able at some point to see the layers of hypocrisy and are as ashamed of their shameful acts, as you are for them, even as they persist. And isn't that the way it is with us, that we know our darkness even as we grab at light, here or there.
January 12, 2017
"Недосегаемият" е от онези книги, които те поглъщат, не искаш да свършват и за които благородно завиждаш на онези, които са в началото на удоволствието. Книга, след която се страхуваш да започнеш друга, за да не налетиш на подобие на литература.
Трябва да се чете бавно, за да бъде по-дълга насладата от интересните, пълнокръвни образи, от езика и стила на писане, хумора и иронията, които Банвил ни поднася. Омесва банални, преексплоатирани теми като война, двойни агенти, английска аристокрация, нестандартни любови, алкохол и бохемски оргии в наръчник по майсторско писане.
Иглика Василева е очаквано перфектна в превода.
Трябва да се чете бавно, за да бъде по-дълга насладата от интересните, пълнокръвни образи, от езика и стила на писане, хумора и иронията, които Банвил ни поднася. Омесва банални, преексплоатирани теми като война, двойни агенти, английска аристокрация, нестандартни любови, алкохол и бохемски оргии в наръчник по майсторско писане.
Иглика Василева е очаквано перфектна в превода.
May 1, 2019
John Banville has such a refined mind and writes with such elegance that I just love reading such exquisite prose, and often pause to re-read whole sections of his work as there are such wonderful phases and so many subtle nuances. A wonderful writer.
And, by the way, this is not simply another novel about the appeasers and the post-war world where gradually the 'Cambridge Spies' were uncovered, one by one. The narrator is surely based on Anthony Blunt and so one thread running through the work is concealment, and how we never really know the people with whom we are even closely acquainted.
“ There was a beat of silence and the atmosphere thickened briefly. I glanced from one of them to the other, seeming to detect an invisible something passing between them, not so much a signal as a sort of silent token, like one of those almost impalpable acknowledgements that adulterers exchange when they are in company. The phenomenon was strange to me still but would become increasingly familiar the deep I penetrated into the secret world. ”
Trusted by Royalty and the Secret Service, and firmly embedded in the Establishment, our narrator's faith in the tenets of Marxism is never shaken despite the worst revelations of Stalinist purges and 'show trials'. Banville's alter ego, Miss Vandeleur, asks the question why Victor Maskell, who seems so passive and accepting, would risk everything and everyone to serve the Marxist cause,
" I knew what was going on; I knew I was being recruited. It was exciting and alarming and slightly ludicrous .... and it was amusing. The word no longer carries the weight that did for us. Amusement was not amusement, (per se) but a test of the authenticity of a thing, a verification of its worth. The most serious matters amused us.”
So, gradually, we learn from Victor Maskell why he chose the path of betrayal,
" Miss Vandeleur asked me why I became a spy and I answered, before I have given myself time to think, that it was essentially a frivolous impulse: a flight from ennui and the search for diversion. The life of action, heedless, mind numbing action, that is what I had always hankered after. "
And Banville's 'Boy' Bannister, the promiscuous homosexual, and thrill seeking flamboyant drinker, certainly modelled on Guy Burgess, is another character with privileged position but an appalling sense of entitlement and no fear of public disclosure. Both felt 'untouchable'.
“ Boy adored the trappings of the secret world, the code names and letter-drops and the rest. Brought up on Buchan and Henty, he saw his life in the lurid terms of an old- fashioned thriller and himself dashing through the preposterous plot, heedless of all perils. In this fantasy he was always the hero, of course, never the villain in the pay of a foreign power. ”
Love the honesty of the writing and the way Banville goes about the task of revealing Victor Maskell and quite unashamedly the author reveals his true nature and showing him acquiring self knowledge if not self loathing. Maskell realises that he has always been heartless and so feels no remorse about the things he has done. Betrayal is a concept he does not know as he has never grown sufficiently close to anyone or anything. He is a passive voyeur of life. Leaving his brother Freddie at the sanatorium was a poignant episode that is indelibly drawn.
"What is it I ask myself, what is it that everyone knows, that I do not know"
And, by the way, this is not simply another novel about the appeasers and the post-war world where gradually the 'Cambridge Spies' were uncovered, one by one. The narrator is surely based on Anthony Blunt and so one thread running through the work is concealment, and how we never really know the people with whom we are even closely acquainted.
“ There was a beat of silence and the atmosphere thickened briefly. I glanced from one of them to the other, seeming to detect an invisible something passing between them, not so much a signal as a sort of silent token, like one of those almost impalpable acknowledgements that adulterers exchange when they are in company. The phenomenon was strange to me still but would become increasingly familiar the deep I penetrated into the secret world. ”
Trusted by Royalty and the Secret Service, and firmly embedded in the Establishment, our narrator's faith in the tenets of Marxism is never shaken despite the worst revelations of Stalinist purges and 'show trials'. Banville's alter ego, Miss Vandeleur, asks the question why Victor Maskell, who seems so passive and accepting, would risk everything and everyone to serve the Marxist cause,
" I knew what was going on; I knew I was being recruited. It was exciting and alarming and slightly ludicrous .... and it was amusing. The word no longer carries the weight that did for us. Amusement was not amusement, (per se) but a test of the authenticity of a thing, a verification of its worth. The most serious matters amused us.”
So, gradually, we learn from Victor Maskell why he chose the path of betrayal,
" Miss Vandeleur asked me why I became a spy and I answered, before I have given myself time to think, that it was essentially a frivolous impulse: a flight from ennui and the search for diversion. The life of action, heedless, mind numbing action, that is what I had always hankered after. "
And Banville's 'Boy' Bannister, the promiscuous homosexual, and thrill seeking flamboyant drinker, certainly modelled on Guy Burgess, is another character with privileged position but an appalling sense of entitlement and no fear of public disclosure. Both felt 'untouchable'.
“ Boy adored the trappings of the secret world, the code names and letter-drops and the rest. Brought up on Buchan and Henty, he saw his life in the lurid terms of an old- fashioned thriller and himself dashing through the preposterous plot, heedless of all perils. In this fantasy he was always the hero, of course, never the villain in the pay of a foreign power. ”
Love the honesty of the writing and the way Banville goes about the task of revealing Victor Maskell and quite unashamedly the author reveals his true nature and showing him acquiring self knowledge if not self loathing. Maskell realises that he has always been heartless and so feels no remorse about the things he has done. Betrayal is a concept he does not know as he has never grown sufficiently close to anyone or anything. He is a passive voyeur of life. Leaving his brother Freddie at the sanatorium was a poignant episode that is indelibly drawn.
"What is it I ask myself, what is it that everyone knows, that I do not know"
April 20, 2020
“Espionage has something of the quality of a dream. In the spy’s world, as in dreams, the terrain is always uncertain. You put your foot on what looks like solid ground and it gives way under you and you go into a kind of free fall, turning slowly tail over tip and clutching on to things that are themselves falling. This instability, this myriadness that the world takes on, is both the attraction and the terror of being a spy.” – John Banville, The Untouchable
Seventy-two-year-old protagonist Victor Markell has been exposed as a spy and publicly disgraced. He tells his story to a woman who wants to write his biography. Markell was born in Northern Ireland, son a bishop, but lived in England much of his adult life. Most of the story takes place in WWII in the UK, and describes Victor’s life, including marriage and children, lifestyle once he determines he is gay, interest in art, journey to the Soviet Union, and passing of information to Soviet agents. Victor tells his life story in first person in the style of a fictional memoir.
If you are looking for a spy thriller, this is not it. This is a slowly developing character study of a not very likeable person and his unpleasant friends. It is filled with lots of alcohol consumption and sexual liaisons. Victor is vain and self-absorbed. He ignores his family and provides only the flimsiest rationale for his involvement in espionage.
The prose is the highlight of this book. Banville writes beautifully. For example, “How cunningly the grieving heart seeks comfort for itself, conjuring up the softest of sorrows, the most sweetly piercing recollections, in which it is always summer, replete with birdsong and the impossible radiance of a transfigured past. I leaned on a rock and gently wept, and saw myself, leaning, weeping, and was at once gratified and ashamed.”
The story could have been more fully developed and the first half is more compelling than the second. The plotline revolves around figuring out who betrayed Victor to the authorities, but the plot is secondary to the characterization and the writing. This is the second of Banville’s books I have read. While this one is worth reading, I much prefer, and highly recommend, The Sea.
Seventy-two-year-old protagonist Victor Markell has been exposed as a spy and publicly disgraced. He tells his story to a woman who wants to write his biography. Markell was born in Northern Ireland, son a bishop, but lived in England much of his adult life. Most of the story takes place in WWII in the UK, and describes Victor’s life, including marriage and children, lifestyle once he determines he is gay, interest in art, journey to the Soviet Union, and passing of information to Soviet agents. Victor tells his life story in first person in the style of a fictional memoir.
If you are looking for a spy thriller, this is not it. This is a slowly developing character study of a not very likeable person and his unpleasant friends. It is filled with lots of alcohol consumption and sexual liaisons. Victor is vain and self-absorbed. He ignores his family and provides only the flimsiest rationale for his involvement in espionage.
The prose is the highlight of this book. Banville writes beautifully. For example, “How cunningly the grieving heart seeks comfort for itself, conjuring up the softest of sorrows, the most sweetly piercing recollections, in which it is always summer, replete with birdsong and the impossible radiance of a transfigured past. I leaned on a rock and gently wept, and saw myself, leaning, weeping, and was at once gratified and ashamed.”
The story could have been more fully developed and the first half is more compelling than the second. The plotline revolves around figuring out who betrayed Victor to the authorities, but the plot is secondary to the characterization and the writing. This is the second of Banville’s books I have read. While this one is worth reading, I much prefer, and highly recommend, The Sea.
June 30, 2018
Дълбоко равнодушна ме остави другарят роялист Маскел. Взех си романа на Джон Банвил малко след като излезе на български, не поради трепет към тематиката, а заради превода на Иглика Василева. Доста неприятно се изненадах (не знам повече от себе си или от книгата), когато не успях да съзра онзи „литературен връх“, към който подмамва задната корица. За мен върхът си остана силно забулен в мъгли, до степен, в която напълно го пропуснах. Не съм човек, който ще тръгне да морализаторства, но непреднамерените сексуални похождения, които дебнеха от всяка страница някъде след средата, ме изнервиха доста. Сториха ми се изключително самоцелни – ни го развиха тоя персонаж, ни разкриха нещо повече за характера му. Подобен проблем имах и с „Непосилната лекота на битието“. И там непосилно лековатият секс нямаше мяра и смисъл (казвам това с пълното съзнание, че вероятно съм един абсолютно заблуден лаик и нищо не разбирам от качествена литература).
Честият лайтмотив със споменаването на картината „Смъртта на Сенека“ на Пусен също ми се видя банално повтарян, но остана неразбран от мен. Може би всички имаме едновременно възвишена и низка природа? Сред мрака винаги проискрява светлината? Сянката и персоната на всеки са двете страни на една монета (е казал още Юнг не знам кога си)? За капак на всичко напълно се обърках измежду пристрастията на персонажите, кой беше двоен, троен, четворен агент и към кой отбор се числеше в крайна сметка. А, и всеки срещнат някак си беше хомосексуалист и протагонистът, също от тази страна на барикадата, непогрешимо ги надушваше всички (тук пък рискувам някой в хомофобия да ме заподозре – опасности надвисват отвсякъде). Над средностатистически вероятно ми се стори просто. Без повече излишности, за момента казвам на Банвил едно „довиждане“, хладно като майски следобед в Дъблин.
Честият лайтмотив със споменаването на картината „Смъртта на Сенека“ на Пусен също ми се видя банално повтарян, но остана неразбран от мен. Може би всички имаме едновременно възвишена и низка природа? Сред мрака винаги проискрява светлината? Сянката и персоната на всеки са двете страни на една монета (е казал още Юнг не знам кога си)? За капак на всичко напълно се обърках измежду пристрастията на персонажите, кой беше двоен, троен, четворен агент и към кой отбор се числеше в крайна сметка. А, и всеки срещнат някак си беше хомосексуалист и протагонистът, също от тази страна на барикадата, непогрешимо ги надушваше всички (тук пък рискувам някой в хомофобия да ме заподозре – опасности надвисват отвсякъде). Над средностатистически вероятно ми се стори просто. Без повече излишности, за момента казвам на Банвил едно „довиждане“, хладно като майски следобед в Дъблин.
June 26, 2015
A book I’d like to erase from my mind to be able to experience it all over again.
As an espionage thriller it has the mood and tawdry realism of The Spy Who Came In from the Cold. But (with the greatest love and admiration for early John le Carré) this is much more than a genre novel.
I’ve seen Banville compared to Vladimir Nabokov and on the evidence of The Untouchable the comparison is not overblown. In fact I’d go as far as to submit that this as good as Lolita in the way it uses a heinous crime (treason) as the vehicle for exploring societal hypocrisy and male vanity, insecurity, regret and frustrated ambition whilst simultaneously rendering the crime itself morally ambiguous and almost incidental. Like Nabokov’s Humbert, Banville’s Victor Maskell is a vain, cynical, self-pitying, predatory old failure who you cannot help but sympathise with and ultimately root for.
There are also worthy comparisons to be made with Brideshead Revisited, particularly in the way Banville balances a deeply sad human story of infatuation and lost innocence with an epic social history of England in the first half of the twentieth century.
Banville is an Irish literary writer and I suppose it is therefore obligatory that the book includes a few forays into Ireland and what it means to be Irish. The answer in the context of this novel is “not a lot” and the only parts that feel contrived and slightly half-arsed are those in which Maskell speculates that his Irish origins are somehow linked to his confused feelings towards England. You reckon?
The scenes in which Maskell visits his family are among the most moving in the book but they would have worked equally well set on the South coast of England (where Anthony Blunt, on whom Maskell is based, was actually from) as in Ireland. The Irish angle is the one part of Maskell that departs substantially from the real life of Anthony Blunt and it appears to be for no good reason other than that Banville is Irish.
But this really is nitpicking. This is a brilliant book by, for my money, an exceptionally good writer and you can't make straight-faced comparisons with the likes of Nabokov and Waugh and award anything less than five stars.
As an espionage thriller it has the mood and tawdry realism of The Spy Who Came In from the Cold. But (with the greatest love and admiration for early John le Carré) this is much more than a genre novel.
I’ve seen Banville compared to Vladimir Nabokov and on the evidence of The Untouchable the comparison is not overblown. In fact I’d go as far as to submit that this as good as Lolita in the way it uses a heinous crime (treason) as the vehicle for exploring societal hypocrisy and male vanity, insecurity, regret and frustrated ambition whilst simultaneously rendering the crime itself morally ambiguous and almost incidental. Like Nabokov’s Humbert, Banville’s Victor Maskell is a vain, cynical, self-pitying, predatory old failure who you cannot help but sympathise with and ultimately root for.
There are also worthy comparisons to be made with Brideshead Revisited, particularly in the way Banville balances a deeply sad human story of infatuation and lost innocence with an epic social history of England in the first half of the twentieth century.
Banville is an Irish literary writer and I suppose it is therefore obligatory that the book includes a few forays into Ireland and what it means to be Irish. The answer in the context of this novel is “not a lot” and the only parts that feel contrived and slightly half-arsed are those in which Maskell speculates that his Irish origins are somehow linked to his confused feelings towards England. You reckon?
The scenes in which Maskell visits his family are among the most moving in the book but they would have worked equally well set on the South coast of England (where Anthony Blunt, on whom Maskell is based, was actually from) as in Ireland. The Irish angle is the one part of Maskell that departs substantially from the real life of Anthony Blunt and it appears to be for no good reason other than that Banville is Irish.
But this really is nitpicking. This is a brilliant book by, for my money, an exceptionally good writer and you can't make straight-faced comparisons with the likes of Nabokov and Waugh and award anything less than five stars.
October 12, 2022
So It took me a little over two weeks to read this book, and I feel that it should have taken much more. During each of my reading sessions - as I quickly realized that this is a book that deserves undivided attention - every time I sat down to read, once the outer world was efficiently filtered out, I sank into a sublime state of enjoyment, experiencing and savoring the superbly formulated thoughts and sentences sounding in my head in such a satisfying way. I should have probably proceeded at a much slower pace, I should have stopped and considered each and every one of them, but obviously I didn’t, because the sentences also drive the plot forward and I couldn’t resist wanting to move on with it. So I kept moving on at the cost of a constant sensation of losing something valuable.
It is not often that you come across a book that provides this kind of a positive frustration - to read, or not to read…
Now that I have reached the last page, I feel both satisfied and regretful and so happy that there are so many more books by John Banville that I have not yet read.
It is not often that you come across a book that provides this kind of a positive frustration - to read, or not to read…
Now that I have reached the last page, I feel both satisfied and regretful and so happy that there are so many more books by John Banville that I have not yet read.
July 15, 2019
A well told, gently paced, character based, spy novel about Irishman, Victor Maskell, an art historian and lecturer who at the start of World War II undertakes to work as a spy for Russia. Victor through his Cambridge connections works for British Army Intelligence. Victor is educated at Cambridge, England and lives in London for the majority of his life. Victor’s story is told in the first person. Victor, now 71 years old, is writing his memoir, mainly about the friends he met at University, his marriage, his homosexual activities that began when he was in his 30s, his art historian work and his spying activities.
It reads as a very British novel providing good descriptions of life in London during World War II. Victor’s character is partly based on the British Cambridge spy and art historian, Anthony Blunt.
Banville’s writing style is very graceful and readers who have enjoyed his other novels like The Sea and The Book of Evidence should find this novel a very satisfying reading experience.
Here are some lines from the novel that I particularly liked:
‘How deceptively light they are, the truly decisive steps we take in life.’
‘I shall strip away layer after layer of grime - the toffee-coloured varnish and caked soot left by a lifetime of dissembling - until I come to the very thing itself and know it for what it is. My soul. My self.’
It reads as a very British novel providing good descriptions of life in London during World War II. Victor’s character is partly based on the British Cambridge spy and art historian, Anthony Blunt.
Banville’s writing style is very graceful and readers who have enjoyed his other novels like The Sea and The Book of Evidence should find this novel a very satisfying reading experience.
Here are some lines from the novel that I particularly liked:
‘How deceptively light they are, the truly decisive steps we take in life.’
‘I shall strip away layer after layer of grime - the toffee-coloured varnish and caked soot left by a lifetime of dissembling - until I come to the very thing itself and know it for what it is. My soul. My self.’
December 31, 2015
I liked the first part of this book more than the latter half. There is an odd sense of oh-do-let’s-be-done-with-this in the back half of this book, although there are still some great passages in the latter half.
What I enjoyed most in this book was the richness of Banville’s language. The other main point for me was the inversion of the typical espionage story. One rarely gets the traitor as protagonist, and in this case such an unpalatable character. It was refreshing, in a way.
What I enjoyed most in this book was the richness of Banville’s language. The other main point for me was the inversion of the typical espionage story. One rarely gets the traitor as protagonist, and in this case such an unpalatable character. It was refreshing, in a way.
April 26, 2017
This is a terrific reimagining of the life of Anthony Blunt, but although many of the historical events are shared, much of Victor Maskell's life and character is clearly fictional. I found it a bit difficult to get started, but once Maskell's mixture of stylish erudition, humour and ruthlessness became familiar, I found it enjoyable and entertaining - one of Banville's best creations.
August 26, 2022
"How deceptively light they are, the truly decisive steps we take in life."
In 1979, then Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher revealed that Sir Anthony Blunt — art historian, a close associate of the royal family, and former MI-5 officer — had been a Russian double agent during WWII. He’d confessed back in 1963 and had been granted immunity, but this public exposure meant he lost his knighthood and his public standing. “The Untouchable” is therefore Banville's take on this sordid affair
In this novel Blunt's name has been changed to Victor Maskell and is basically a fictional memoir of Maskell's whole life written after his fall from grace.
I must admit that I find this a difficult book to review in part because I'm not sure how to characterize it. Banville is obviously a technically gifted writer but with the exception of Maskell himself all the other characters are as one dimensional as the paintings that he studies. Therefore, the book isn't really character driven. None of the other characters seem to take part in any of the action but are merely peripheral to it. Some of these characters seem to have been based on real people, Boy Bannister on Guy Burgess, Querell on the novelist Graham Greene, Sykes on Alan Turing but many are complete fabrications, so it isn't historical either. The fact that Maskell has already been unmasked as a spy means there's no mystery, no cunning deceptions, therefore it's not a spy novel either. He doesn't seem to have any real Marxist convictions but seems to simply find the idea of being a spy a bit of a laugh. So, what is it?
For me this is Banville's take on the class system at the time with its gentlemen spies. Maskell doesn't seem to have any real Marxist convictions but seems to simply find the idea of being a spy a bit of a laugh and the value of any of his revelations to the Russians seem to be questionable at best. Maskell is from Ireland so when his English cohorts need a scapegoat to throw to the wolves, he is the one that is chosen.
Despite my reservations about this novel, I found this a bit of a slow burner that was strangely compelling and I rather enjoyed,
In 1979, then Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher revealed that Sir Anthony Blunt — art historian, a close associate of the royal family, and former MI-5 officer — had been a Russian double agent during WWII. He’d confessed back in 1963 and had been granted immunity, but this public exposure meant he lost his knighthood and his public standing. “The Untouchable” is therefore Banville's take on this sordid affair
In this novel Blunt's name has been changed to Victor Maskell and is basically a fictional memoir of Maskell's whole life written after his fall from grace.
I must admit that I find this a difficult book to review in part because I'm not sure how to characterize it. Banville is obviously a technically gifted writer but with the exception of Maskell himself all the other characters are as one dimensional as the paintings that he studies. Therefore, the book isn't really character driven. None of the other characters seem to take part in any of the action but are merely peripheral to it. Some of these characters seem to have been based on real people, Boy Bannister on Guy Burgess, Querell on the novelist Graham Greene, Sykes on Alan Turing but many are complete fabrications, so it isn't historical either. The fact that Maskell has already been unmasked as a spy means there's no mystery, no cunning deceptions, therefore it's not a spy novel either. He doesn't seem to have any real Marxist convictions but seems to simply find the idea of being a spy a bit of a laugh. So, what is it?
For me this is Banville's take on the class system at the time with its gentlemen spies. Maskell doesn't seem to have any real Marxist convictions but seems to simply find the idea of being a spy a bit of a laugh and the value of any of his revelations to the Russians seem to be questionable at best. Maskell is from Ireland so when his English cohorts need a scapegoat to throw to the wolves, he is the one that is chosen.
Despite my reservations about this novel, I found this a bit of a slow burner that was strangely compelling and I rather enjoyed,
August 2, 2016
Well, I have finally read a Banville novel, and it did not disappoint. The complexity of the language was exquisite, his philosophical musing on love, relationships, friendship, social structure and the need for Stoicism in our lives was interesting, to say the least.
He spent the whole novel referencing his beloved "Death of Seneca" by Poussin, I wasn't sure if this was simply a literary device to keep referencing stoicism, since Seneca was one of the great stoic philosophers, but Banville skillfully managed to turn a simple tale of espionage into a literary masterpiece.
I did find some of the descriptive language tiresome, simply because, at times there was just too much of it (for my liking anyway), I am sure many people would enjoy languishing these parts, but I found that they distracted me from the narrative. Still a very beautiful piece of writing.
He spent the whole novel referencing his beloved "Death of Seneca" by Poussin, I wasn't sure if this was simply a literary device to keep referencing stoicism, since Seneca was one of the great stoic philosophers, but Banville skillfully managed to turn a simple tale of espionage into a literary masterpiece.
I did find some of the descriptive language tiresome, simply because, at times there was just too much of it (for my liking anyway), I am sure many people would enjoy languishing these parts, but I found that they distracted me from the narrative. Still a very beautiful piece of writing.
January 7, 2022
(Another fabulous novel — I am fast becoming a huge admirer of Banville. If you want a laugh, look up his Wikipedia entry…, sly bastard!)
Review: this is a fascinating, almost perfectly constructed novel of the inner life of a lightly fictionalized Anthony Blunt. Impressive in all aspects. This, and the Sea, are among the best books I have read in the past year or two — if not more.
Banville has a fierce and sardonic eye, and his portrait of Blunt (written in the unreliable first person) becomes increasingly complex and disturbing as the novel proceeds. His deep knowledge of art and history are perfectly suited to his topic.
Highly, highly recommended!
Review: this is a fascinating, almost perfectly constructed novel of the inner life of a lightly fictionalized Anthony Blunt. Impressive in all aspects. This, and the Sea, are among the best books I have read in the past year or two — if not more.
Banville has a fierce and sardonic eye, and his portrait of Blunt (written in the unreliable first person) becomes increasingly complex and disturbing as the novel proceeds. His deep knowledge of art and history are perfectly suited to his topic.
Highly, highly recommended!
March 29, 2024
Loved the writing which is absolutely brilliant – clever, luscious and descriptive - and the main reason I persevered; the plot itself was certainly complex and intriguing as a spy story should be but I was underwhelmed by the main character.
Banville has taken Anthony Blunt, one of the five Cambridge spies, as a model for his narrator Victor Maskell, who, after being outed in the final years of his life, is talking to a young biographer while writing a kind of memoir of his own.
But as a character he doesn’t come alive the way Banville’s other male anti-heroes have for me. (I’m thinking of Freddie in The Book of Evidence and Max in The Sea.) Maskell is retiring, passive and frankly unconvincing and unimpressive both as a human and a spy. Perhaps that was supposed to be his cover – he was, like Blunt, an art historian and was appointed Keeper of the King’s Paintings – but Banville introduced so many variations from Blunt’s real life that this portrait wasn’t close to being a fictionalized biography.
Like Blunt, Maskell was queer, but Banville gave him a fictional Irish background, as well as a wife and two children that he was singularly uninvolved with. And many other real characters like Burgess and McLean make fictional cameo appearances, but to be honest I wasn’t really motivated to search for the parallels between the real and fictional lives.
Another problem is that Maskell’s motivation for spying is obscure and certainly not driven by political passion. At one point he says “I did not spy for the Russians, I spied for Europe. A much broader church.” But unfortunately, there’s no evidence in the narrative that he did that or that he had any close connection with Europe.
I was motivated to keep going with The Untouchable by another reviewer who said it was slow to start but improved with the wartime years. That was true, those years actually forming the bulk of the plot and I was surprised to find, with only two of 16 chapters to go, that it had got no further than the 1950s. At the end, the story rather petered out in 1979 when he was publicly outed, just as Blunt was, by the then Prime Minister.
Finally, there was an off-putting thread of antisemitism; I hope it was his creation talking, but that wasn’t obvious. And the same went for the strong misogynistic streak throughout – again something that I had encountered in his other antiheroes. All in all, not my best read this year, but 3.5 stars.
Banville has taken Anthony Blunt, one of the five Cambridge spies, as a model for his narrator Victor Maskell, who, after being outed in the final years of his life, is talking to a young biographer while writing a kind of memoir of his own.
But as a character he doesn’t come alive the way Banville’s other male anti-heroes have for me. (I’m thinking of Freddie in The Book of Evidence and Max in The Sea.) Maskell is retiring, passive and frankly unconvincing and unimpressive both as a human and a spy. Perhaps that was supposed to be his cover – he was, like Blunt, an art historian and was appointed Keeper of the King’s Paintings – but Banville introduced so many variations from Blunt’s real life that this portrait wasn’t close to being a fictionalized biography.
Like Blunt, Maskell was queer, but Banville gave him a fictional Irish background, as well as a wife and two children that he was singularly uninvolved with. And many other real characters like Burgess and McLean make fictional cameo appearances, but to be honest I wasn’t really motivated to search for the parallels between the real and fictional lives.
Another problem is that Maskell’s motivation for spying is obscure and certainly not driven by political passion. At one point he says “I did not spy for the Russians, I spied for Europe. A much broader church.” But unfortunately, there’s no evidence in the narrative that he did that or that he had any close connection with Europe.
I was motivated to keep going with The Untouchable by another reviewer who said it was slow to start but improved with the wartime years. That was true, those years actually forming the bulk of the plot and I was surprised to find, with only two of 16 chapters to go, that it had got no further than the 1950s. At the end, the story rather petered out in 1979 when he was publicly outed, just as Blunt was, by the then Prime Minister.
Finally, there was an off-putting thread of antisemitism; I hope it was his creation talking, but that wasn’t obvious. And the same went for the strong misogynistic streak throughout – again something that I had encountered in his other antiheroes. All in all, not my best read this year, but 3.5 stars.
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