Yuri Modin writes a fascinating account of his five Cambridge 'friends.' As a young KGB officer, proficient in English, he had studied all their files in Moscow, and from 1948-51, under diplomatic cover, he dealt personally with three of them as agents in London. Written in an engaging manner, the book presents the reader with a rare glimpse into the life of a KGB officer on the job, as it were, handling agents in what was--for him--enemy territory. Furthermore, Modin offers his readers candid portraits of Guy Burgess, Anthony Blunt, and John Cairncross (the least known of the "five").
Modin's depiction of Guy Burgess is especially welcome, since, except for mention in diverse books, a curtain seems to have descended on the life of the incorrigible spy. Although Modin's account contains some of the canonical elements of Burgess lore ("I never could fathom why he looked like a tramp at close quarters, even though his clothes came from the best tailor in London" [152]), the author nevertheless gives readers more than a glimpse of the "consummate" secret agent, whom he estimates had a computer-like mind and ideas that "danced like quicksilver" (156-7). Modin also relates several amusing anecdotes, including one in which Burgess, who (having used KGB funds to buy a used gold Rolls Royce) like a demented Mr. Toad, took Modin on the wild ride of his life through the streets of London.
If Guy Burgess frightened Modin out of his wits because of his maniacal driving, John Cairncross frightened the author even more because of incompetence behind the wheel, flooding the engine of his KGB-issued Vauxhall in the middle of a London intersection, prompting a bobbie to come to their rescue (with Modin fearing imminent arrest and experiencing the "first real cold sweat of [his] career as a secret agent" [171]). Modin contrasts the always-punctual and professional Anthony Blunt with the always-tardy and distracted John Cairncross. Modin, in fact, depicts a more affable Blunt than is evident from his customary cold-as-ice persona. According to the author, Blunt was candid in his dislike of Soviet Imperialism, and he also confided that he could never defect to the Soviet Union because he would not be free to pursue his passion for art history. Modin also relates how, in 1951, he made contact with the then-retired Blunt, in order to offer financial aid to Philby, who, undergoing a protracted grilling by MI5, was down on his luck.
One gets the impression that Yuri Modin not only respected his agents professionally but also liked them personally. Paradoxically, he envisions them as patriots, who were passionate in their love for England. Products of the 1930s, they were, in Modin's estimation, "naive" . . . "Don Quixote figures who spent their lives tilting at windmills, while history was inexorably destroying their ideal" (273).
Modin's view of the Cambridge Spies might be biased and even rather romantic--he is also said to be mistaken in details that did not involve him personally--but "My Five Cambridge Friends," which adds many missing pieces to the massive--and still-incomplete--jigsaw puzzle, never ceases to inform or to entertain.