A review by jarrigy
The Naive and Sentimental Lover by John le Carré

3.0

Le Carré’s self-admitted mis-step into prestige literary fiction, made during the same breakdown in his marriage that seemed to elevate Small Town in Germany into a snarling genre masterpiece. But the same emotional mania which made that novel sing, here shows Le Carré’s penchant for indulgence in a bid for highbrow acclaim, his ability to dissect the soul destroying hypocrisies in Middle Class/Little England undercut by his delusional first draft stream of consciousness ramblings, and his depiction of pretty much every female character a delusional spiteful wreck differentiated only by how their breasts are described. Moments of poignancy and genius can be found amidst the insanity, but good luck trying to tell which is which.