Slow Horses

I finally got round to all but finishing, Mick Herron’s ‘Slow Horses’ series and would thoroughly recommend them, though with two and half small caveats. The premise is a necessary though perhaps unlikely conceit: unable to fire unsatisfactory operatives without involving HR and/or threaten security, those who MI5 are unable to dismiss are sent to Slough House, a dismal building sandwiched between a Chinese takeaway and a derelict Newsagents somewhere near Aldersgate tube station. There they are encouraged to quietly resign, unable to cope with the menial and soul-destroying tasks given them by the monstrous and politically incorrect Jackson Lamb. Politically incorrect, I must warn you, is too weak a phrase. Lamb tears up the rule book: a fat chain-smoking, alcohol abuser, with a gift for farting at inopportune moments and coming out with what would spark demonstrations if uttered by the likes of Jeremy Clarkson. 

Sly racism or pure comedy? Lamb commandeers a car from an Asian underling called Rodney Ho. He’s in a hurry and tells Rodney to ‘Chop Chop.’ And calls after him: ‘And when I say Chop chop, I hope you don’t think I’m being racially insensitive. . .  only you Chinks can be pretty thin-skinned.’

He treats a black operative in much the same manner riffing on ‘Spade’ and casually suggests to yet another colleague, a struggling alcoholic, that he thought she must be on her ‘third stomach pump’ by now.

No one is immune to Jackson Lamb’s put downs. In terms of being non pc he’s very much an equal opportunities kind of guy. When a non-spook, a dwarf called Reece is in the room, Lamb is warned not to give too much away:  

'You’re aware we have a civilian in the room?’

‘I wouldn’t worry,’ said Lamb. ‘This is going way over his head.’

‘Does the term ‘punching down’ mean anything to you?’

‘Be reasonable. If I punched up, I’d miss him by a mile.’

(When the subject of this mockery fights back with): ‘Can we move on to the fat jokes now?’

Lamb looked hurt. ‘There’s no need to get personal.’

Jackson Lamb is monstrous, complex, damaged and very funny, though the perpetual farting is in danger of being overused. But back to the humour:

Lamb rolled his eyes. ‘God, you’re a drag to have around. Moan moan moan. It’s like being shackled to the ghost of Bob Marley’.

‘I think you mean Jacob’

‘Depends,’ said Lamb. ‘Which was the one surrounded by wailers?’

So, the two and a half caveats. The plots, though topical, are not entirely convincing—almost ‘Boy’s Own’ stuff. Dead Lions, for example could have come straight out of an early Avengers episode. He’s also prone to the over-wrought— Dickens on a bad day—when describing atmosphere or weather. The ‘half-caveat’ is Herron's Oxford disdain for Brexit or Islington bogymen like Piers Morgan, Jeremy Clarkson, or Donald Trump. I believe strongly in the right to hold an opinion—any opinion—but not indulgently slipping them in to make a point rather than advancing the story. They tend to come across as authorial intrusions and dropped in as the mood takes him. Predictably, this aspect enthuses those of similar views, most of whom are either gatekeepers in the publishing industry or the more ecstatic reviewers. 

And yet I read the entire eight book series, so why, despite the caveats? Setting and character along with moments of inspired comedy. The characters are iconic. After the first, admittedly, slowish book which establishes the set up and characters, those that follow are increasingly compulsive as you become invested in the likes of Rod Ho—a great comic creation—Louise Guy, Rivers Cartwright, Catherine Standish, Shirley Dander and of course, Jackson Lamb. 

Every hero needs an adversary, Holmes and Moriarty, Punch and Judy, Elmer Fudd and Bugs Bunny, Tom and Jerry.  Jackson’s adversary is his nominal boss, the ambitious Diane Taverner, who despite every inclination finds herself increasingly dependent on Lamb who foils and sometimes rescues her when she bites off more than she can chew. 

Confession time, I have yet to finish the final book so have no idea whether these characters will live to fight another day and whether there are more books in the series to come. The only worry I do have is how long can the joke last, how long can such extreme characters like Jackson Lamb and Rod Ho live on the page before becoming one trick ponies. One reviewer compared Jackson Lamb to Falstaff in terms of being one of the great literary creations. I wouldn't argue, but perhaps pose the question how many books about Falstaff could you take before you started scouting around for a Reichenbach Falls?