[Review] Nick Harkaway: 'Karla's Choice'

The real name of Nick Harkaway is Nicolas Cornwell, the son of David John Moore Cornwell (1931–2020), better known as John le Carré. With 'Karla’s Choice', Harkaway attempts to step into his father’s literary world, revisiting “the Circus” and the iconic figure of George Smiley. The novel follows the fallout from the disastrous events of 'The Spy Who Came in from the Cold', which culminated in the death of British agent Alec Leamas.

Harkaway’s story opens in early spring 1963. Forced into retirement after the failures and betrayals that marked the previous operation, Smiley is adjusting—uneasily—to civilian life. He immerses himself in his passion for Germanistik, the study of German language and literature, while enjoying an uncharacteristically (if fragile) entente with his wife, Lady Ann Sercomb.

This calm is disrupted when László Bánáti, a Hungarian émigré (or refuge) and London literary agent previously unknown to the Circus, disappears. Complicating matters further, the Soviet agent assigned to assassinate him defects—apparently prompted by a sudden and somewhat unconvincing religious awakening. Bánáti’s secretary, Susanna Gero, herself a refugee from Budapest, makes contact with a Circus safe house. Control decides that only Smiley can handle her: as interrogator, confidant, and protector.

This decision raises immediate questions. Why recall Smiley from retirement for what appears to be a routine disappearance? Not only that, his entire entourage, consisting of Toby Esterhase, Connie Sachs, and Peter Guillam is called in for this seemingly simple task. As the investigation unfolds, it becomes clear that Bánáti is not who he seemed. Suspected of being a sleeper agent planted in England, he becomes the focus of an urgent manhunt. Meanwhile, Control insists that Susanna be integrated into the team which is also a very unprofessional choice.

So, What do I make of 'Karla's Choice'?

Harkaway is undoubtedly a capable writer, but here he struggles to capture the psychological tension that defines the best of Le Carré’s work. The ever-present fear of exposure, the quiet paranoia that eats away at your intestines, the instinctive need to look over one’s shoulder, is largely absent. Without this atmosphere, the narrative lacks the claustrophobic intensity that is essential to the genre.

Stylistically, the novel is weighed down by long, meandering sentences and excessive exposition. These elements slow the pacing and dilute the suspense, making it harder for the story to maintain momentum. More problematic, however, are certain implausible plot decisions, —particularly the inclusion of Susanna, an untrained civilian, in active intelligence operations. Given the suspicion surrounding Bánáti, it would be entirely reasonable to question her loyalties as well. No seasoned intelligence service would take such a risk, And, sure enough, it all went horribly wrong. The narrative consequences feel predictable rather than compelling.

In the end, 'Karla’s Choice' revisits the world created by John le Carré, but it rarely captures its essence. While Harkaway demonstrates technical skill, the novel lacks the authenticity, tension, and moral ambiguity that made the original works so enduring. It is, at best, an echo of that world: recognizable, but ultimately unconvincing.