The Constant Gardener

This is the only book I’ve read by John le Carré; I borrowed it from a friend because I liked the film. It’s a funny mix of good craftsmanship and poor writing. The dialogue doesn’t ring true, the language isn’t beautiful, but it races along, it’s clear, and it’s well-structured. It’s basically about a woman who is murdered after uncovering a pharmaceutical scam in Africa, and about her husband trying to find out what happened, and learning more about his wife. The writer is very shocked by it all, so that the good people are too good and the bad people very bad (I won’t say too bad; they probably are exactly like that). It doesn’t exactly reflect the reality of NGOs and the people who work in them, but it’s not about that really, and in any case how would he know?

It’s still harrowing to read. I found myself really reluctant to get into it, afraid of what was going to appear next. I didn’t want to hear any more. So – that’s power, that’s certainly a kind of skill on the writer’s part. So I wonder then why I feel like he’s lumbering into it callously, like he doesn’t quite get it himself? Maybe because when there’s so many horrible things you feel that the writer doesn’t understand that even one thing is terrible, world-alteringly terrible in itself. The rest is unnecessary.

It’s certainly a very interesting, thought-provoking book. The characters aren’t believable, not really, and the language jars fairly frequently. But the topic has been well-researched, and he knows how to present his information in a palatable manner. Not a good book, not a bad book, but a good enough book to read.