There's a good deal written these days about how Le Carre isn't as good as he used to be, and this is usually put down to the fact that the cold war is over, so he hasn't anything to write about anymore. I partly agree with this opinion, since I think that the late cold war thrillers featuring Smiley as the protagonist are the best things he has done. However, revisiting Looking Glass War is a bit disillusioning for the Le Carre fan, as it doesn't stand up quite as well. There are good things about it. The analysis of the class system dominating the UK at that time makes you realise what a different place England was less than fifty years ago. Characters are usually extremely well drawn, and Le Carre builds up mood effectively, creating a tragic atmosphere of inevitability. Also, more than any other writer, Le Carre makes you realise what a shabby (to use a dated word) business spying really is. Overall, however, Looking Glass War falls short of being satisfying. For a start, and like the superior Spy Who Came in From the Cold, it is a very slight read. 90 per cent of it is build-up to a predictable and largely unsatisfying climax. The characters are nicely sketched, but the author can't settle on one protagonist, which, in a book this short, is fatal. First of all, it's Avery, the idealistic young newcomer in the spy department, who we are supposed to sympathise with, but he's so spineless and bland, that he's difficult to root for. He has a wife whom he ignores, but then the author does too, so we don't care much for her either. He has some sort of thing going with a secretary in the office, but we can't work out what exactly, because it's kept very tasteful and enigmatic. In the last third of the book, Le Carre, like the reader, gets bored with Avery and it's Leiser, the spy they've been training, who rightfully gets the centre stage. Up until then, everyone else has looked down on Leiser, because he is foreign, and not a gentleman, and we never know what he is thinking. Suddenly we are thrust into the cockpit of his mind and expected to sympathise with him. It's a lot to ask in the last two chapters. Basic book mechanics aside, the writing is generally pretty good, but at this stage in his career, Le Carre was obviously angling to be the next Graham Greene. The worst manifestations of this ambition come when hardened spying professionals start sounding like Auden poems in the middle of office meetings, talking about `love' and so forth: embarrassing to read, really. All that said, George Smiley is still Le Carre's most reliable party turn. Every time he walks into a scene, the book gets really interesting. Sadly, all told, there are only about five pages of Smiley in the whole of this novel, which isn't really enough to save it.