[3.5]
Most stories about politics and politicians fall into one of three categories: The corrupt evil genius manipulator (see for example, Francis Urquhart); the comic buffoon (television is ahead here, in particular, The Thick of It; and lastly, the Mary Sue brave defender of the people out to rid the world of the first two categories of politician.
The Knives is, in a way, something more interesting than that: it's a reasonably convincing stab at a depiction of what life as a senior Minister in government is actually like, and the kind of person who one actually finds in such roles: neither the superhero with the cape, the clown nor the knave. We are introduced to David Blaylock as an officer encountering an ugly incident during that small, ugly war in the Balkans in the mid-1990s, something I remember being on the news throughout my teenage years, but which has since been almost entirely overshadowed by Afghanistan, Iraq et cetera.
The story proper gets going some twenty-odd years later and Blaylock is a Conservative Home Secretary in a Government that is not David Cameron's 2015 administration, but equally appears not a million miles removed from it. Blaylock is not obviously based on any single individual, but equally, it's possible to see echoes of a number of different real-life characters in him if one is inclined to do so.
Much of the book is taken up with an account of the day-to-day life of someone in high political office, and as someone who has worked on the other side of the fence, as it were, in criminal justice policy for Ministers of three different political stripes over the last fifteen years, I thought the description of the kind of dilemmas and issues that a Minister faces was remarkably accurate. Not just the issues themselves: a terror attack, a person appealing a decision to deport her back to the country from which she was seeking political asylum, issues around the roll-out, or not, of ID cards, applications to sign warrants under the Regulation of Investigatory Powers Act (actually, I can't remember if they referred to the Act in the book), an appearance on Question Time and various visits to community projects in the aid of a counter-extremism strategy – but the way that a Minister is forced constantly to jump from one decision or engagement to the next without any chance to reflect or think about the bigger picture. The decisions he makes, and the reasoning behind them seems like a plausible account of how a centre-right politician of a certain kind might see the world, as opposed to what I so often see which is a kind of left-wing caricature of what drives such people. He's neither a hero nor a villain, but a politician.
I thought that the sub-plot involving Blaylock's relationship with his ex-wife, a prominent human rights lawyer and sort-of politcal opponent was mostly well-judged too and as well as going some way to illustrate Blaylock's character flaws, does a good job of showing how the intensity of political office must be hard to balance with anything resembling a normal home life, even if one leaves to one side the sheer strangeness of having a security detail constantly follow your every move, a kind of human shadow.
The problem I had with the book was that I didn't think it could quite make up its mind what it was. At times, it adopts many of the tropes and techniques of the thriller: from the flash-back to his time in the Bosnian war to the way in which much of what happens towards the end of the story is foreshadowed (slightly clumsily, I thought) earlier on. But if Kelly had intended simply to write a thriller, I couldn't help thinking that he would have done well to focus more on the plot, and a little less on the minutiae of everyday political life. If, on the other hand, his primary intent had always been to write about what life as the holder of one of the four 'great offices of state' in the early 21st Century is like, then the 'thriller' element that begins to dominate the book in the final third feels like an unnecessary distraction – something that has been tagged on in an attempt to give the book appeal beyond political anoraks like myself.