Jack Beaumont’s The Frenchman is a taut, intriguing espionage novel that draws from the author’s own experience as a former French intelligence operative. Marketed as a realistic portrayal of the clandestine world of French intelligence, the novel largely succeeds in capturing the pulse and paranoia of modern espionage, even as it occasionally leans on familiar genre conventions.
The plot is well-crafted and briskly paced, with a series of twists to keep the reader engaged. Beaumont possesses an understanding of spy trade craft, i.e. the methods, language, and psychology of those who live their lives in the shadows. His attention to operational detail, from surveillance countermeasures to human intelligence handling, provides the story with a sense of authenticity. Beaumont captures the tension of quiet intelligence work, the coded phone calls, the moral compromises, and the uncertainty that encompasses every mission.
One of the more interesting aspects of the novel is Beaumont’s depiction of Pakistan’s Inter-Services Intelligence (ISI). The novel, set during the height of the global war on terror, situates the ISI within the complex interplay of post-9/11 geopolitics. The author portrays Pakistan’s intelligence agency as both a partner and an obstacle to Western interests - a duality that mirrors real-world debates about Pakistan’s ambivalent role in counterterrorism. The ISI’s portrayal is, predictably, wary and conflicted. Professionals on one level, but with motives that rarely align fully with those of Western agencies. It’s a portrayal that feels consistent with mainstream Western narratives, distrustful but grudgingly respectful.
Yet this raises an important question: is Beaumont’s treatment of the ISI accurate, or is it designed for popular consumption to appeal to Western sensibilities about Pakistan and its opaque intelligence apparatus? Readers familiar with the actual complexities of South Asian geopolitics may find that The Frenchman reinforces certain stereotypes; a Pakistan seen through the prism of Western suspicion rather than understanding a state with its own geopolitical interests. This tendency, while common in spy fiction, slightly diminishes the novel’s claim to realism. Beaumont’s focus remains squarely on the Western point of view, perpetuating familiar themes of Europe standing for order and professionalism, while countries like Pakistan remain unpredictable terrain.
Though Beaumont’s command of the tradecraft and plot mechanics is impressive, The Frenchman occasionally struggles with the “dig a little deeper” test. Certain plot turns hinge on improbable coincidences or assumptions that stretch credulity. Nevertheless, Beaumont’s writing is cinematic and immersive, filled with atmosphere and the book is a page turner.
The Frenchman is not a perfect novel, the characterisation can occasionally feel thin, and the geopolitical framing sometimes conforms too easily to conventional Western perspectives. But as spy fiction written by an intelligence operative, it succeeds in offering readers a credible glimpse behind the curtain of French intelligence and the post-9/11 world of covert operations.
For readers who enjoy spy thrillers that blend realism with pace, The Frenchman is a worthwhile read. Its strengths far outweigh its shortcomings, and enjoyable enough to make one keen to follow Alex, the protagonist, into Beaumont’s second novel. Entertaining, and at times thought-provoking, The Frenchman is an accomplished work of credible modern espionage fiction.