The Confidential Agent by Graham GreeneMy rating: 2 of 5 stars
The languid Wodhousian pace of the Agent’s quixotic journey speeds up in the second chapter. The Agent blunders from one Kafkaesque fiasco to another and just gets buffeted around by situations beyond his control. The use of initials instead of names is very irritating; one cannot put a face on a person called D. or L. or K. However, poignant gems like this keep the narrative going
He felt homesick for the dust after the explosion. The noise of engines in the sky. You have to love your home for something – if only for its pain and violence.There is an improbable love story, quite unlike the amorous exploits of Ian Fleming's 007. The Agent is a tortured soul trying to reconcile to his personal losses and to his country torn apart by civil-war
his territory was death: he could love the dead and the dying better than the living.A sarcastic take on the fad of Esperanto was a needless diversion.
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