The British government sued to prevent publication of this book in the mid 1980s. The spectacular failure of their case in an Australian court ensured that Spycatcher became a bestseller and made its author, Peter Wright, a wealthy man. Over two million copies sold, according to Wikipedia.
What caused Whitehall such alarm? The allegations that the former head of MI5, Roger Hollis, and former Prime Minister Harold Wilson had been Soviet spies. While the case against Hollis has been supported by the journalist Chapman Pincher, the consensus view appears to be that Wright was wrong, or at least has not proven his case.
What most interested me, though, were not the headline-grabbing allegations, nor even the trials they occasioned, but the self-portrait that emerges from these pages. One of the author's primary motivations, both in his career as a self-styled spycatcher and as a writer, seems to be resentment. When just a teenager, he had to leave school after his father lost his job and "slipped into the abyss of alcoholism." These traumatic years left the son with "a chronic stammer," rendering him "at times virtually speechless." (pg. 13) His subsequent career as a scientist and an intelligence officer came about entirely as the product of his own commitment and hard work.
His background was thus quite unlike that of Philby, Burgess and Maclean, all of whom were born just a few years earlier, but who "enjoyed to the full the privileged background and education" that was denied to him. (pg. 13) The ones who betrayed their country were the ones who had been given every advantage and gone to the best public schools (in the British sense), while the one who had had to struggle and sacrifice remained loyal. Philby himself would explain his success with reference to his background: British investigators "stubbornly resisted the belief that respected members of the Establishment could do such things." (My Silent War, Chapter XI, paragraph 16)
The traitors tended to congregate in MI6, while hard-working drudges like Wright opted for the domestic branch, MI5. Those who remember the long-standing hostility between the FBI and CIA will not be surprised to find similar sentiments expressed here. "MI6, in the mid-1950s, never settled for a disaster if calamity could be found instead." (pg. 71)
One of the high points of the book is Wright's debriefing of Anthony Blunt, another member of the posh set, who tried to perform a balancing act: Appear to cooperate, while implicating only those already known or safely dead. In trying to break him down, Wright had the insight that Blunt would be more relaxed if the sessions, which stretched over six years, were held on his premises at London's Courtauld Institute. Wright never told him, naturally, that he had had the place bugged. At one point, when Blunt tried to pull the argument that 'You had to have lived through those times to fully understand,' Wright would have none of it. "I know more about the thirties probably than you will ever know. I remember my father driving himself mad with drink, because he couldn't get a job. I remember losing my education, my world, everything. I know all about the thirties…" (pg. 264)
The most important of the traitors, at least in Wright's mind, was also its most famous member. Kim Philby rarely mentioned Blunt (he rates only a single passing reference in his memoir, My Silent War), but Wright shows that it was Blunt who kept him informed of the case being developed against him, thus enabling Philby to say one step ahead and delay his escape until the last possible moment. "Philby … lived his life from bed to bed; he had an Arabian attitude to women, needing only the thrill of espionage to sustain him." (pg. 229)
He even sees Philby's escape from Beirut through the lens of class resentment: The man who was sent to confront Philby with evidence of his treachery was his old friend Nicholas Elliott, who bungled the interview. First, in "typical MI6 style" he left the windows open (it was hot in Beirut), and the street noises were so loud that much of what was said proved inaudible when the tape was played back later. "I thought back to my first meeting with Philby, the boyish charm, the stutter, how I sympathized with him; and the second time I heard that voice, in 1955, as he ducked and weaved around his MI6 interrogators, finessing a victory from a steadily losing hand. And now there was Elliott, trying his manful best to corner a man for whom deception had been a second skin for thirty years. It was no contest. By the end they sounded like two rather tipsy radio announcers, their warm, classical public-school accents discussing the greatest treachery of the twentieth century." (pg. 194)
The reference to accents is no mere detail. Elliott's mistake – assuming it was a mistake – was to allow Philby so much leeway that he was able to escape rather than be brought back to London. The reason? Elliott, like Philby, came from the same upper-class background. "He was the son of the former headmaster of Eton and had a languid upper-class manner." (pg. 174) Chums look out for chums.
In this gallery of famous rogues, the only one Wright has any sympathy with is John Cairncross. And what makes him different? "He came from a humble working-class background but, possessed of a brilliant intellect, he made his way to Cambridge in the 1930s…" (pg. 222)
Though he retired to Australia to devote himself to raising horses, in long his career with MI5 he prized technical expertise. He seemed happiest when he could rig up listening devices or fiddle with gadgets, and called himself "a problem-solving scientist." (pg. 25) Indeed, one of the notable achievements in his career was to become the first professional scientist ever appointed to MI5. He liked to solve difficult challenges, such as how to install a listening device surreptitiously, and ensure that once in place it would remain undetected. He was, in short, more an experimenter than espionage agent, more a lab rat than James Bond. A better title for this book, at least the first part, would have been: "The Device Maker."
His resentment over the British class consciousness predisposed him to like Americans. Moreover, when he visited the U.S. in the 1950s, he was impressed by the technical resources at the disposal of the FBI – though this was mixed with some disapproval. "They relied almost entirely on commercially available equipment, rather than developing their own." (pg. 99) Still, Wright generally got on well with the other self-made men he found in the FBI, though it seemed the only way to get on with their boss was to act subservient: "everyone knew Hoover suffered from God disease." (pg. 101) While he was on better terms with the CIA's Angleton, one senses that Wright, rather than spend time socializing with him, would have preferred to track down another elusive electronic signal.
While being aware of the danger of being drawn into the wilderness of mirrors, in the end the allure proved too strong, and he started seeing double agents everywhere. Just as Angleton became consumed by his paranoia after the defection of his friend Philby, so too Wright became obsessed with the idea that Hollis and P.M. Wilson were spies. In the end, it seems to have dawned on even Wright himself that his mole-hunting went too far: "… like actors in a Greek tragedy, we had no real choice but to continue widening our investigations, spreading the poison ever further through the corridors." (pg.320)
Surely many of those named in this book, who came under suspicion and spent years trying to clear their names, would whole-heartedly agree.