It’s fascinating to see the beginnings of a master at work. Through Call for the Dead, readers gain an early glimpse of John le Carré’s narrative precision, his exploration of human psychology, and his developing critique of Cold War morality—elements that would shape his oeuvre. In le Carré’s first published novel and the first appearance of George Smiley, these qualities are already evident. We find deliberateness in exposition, an economy of style, and a remarkable talent for characterization that stayed with le Carré.

This straightforward book deals with complex moral themes. While adhering to a formulaic murder mystery structure with well-defined boundaries, the book delves deeply into its characters’ motivations and moral conflicts. The talent is there, but le Carré’s adherence to strict plot discipline suggests an author either cautious or deliberately humble. Rather than reshaping genre conventions, le Carré works meticulously within them, honing his narrative voice.

Our story starts with George Smiley, a veteran intelligence officer for the British Secret Service. Smiley is called to interview and investigate Samuel Fennan, a Foreign Office official, following an anonymous tip that he may still hold Communist sympathies from his student days. Though the interview seems routine and Smiley believes Fennan is innocent, the next day, Fennan is found dead in his apartment, apparently by suicide. The police try to close the case, but Smiley is suspicious, especially after he receives a seemingly innocuous phone call from Fennan on the morning of his death, asking to meet.

Determined to uncover the truth, Smiley unofficially enlists Inspector Mendel, a retired police officer. Together, they unravel a web of espionage and betrayal that leads Smiley into confrontations with both his professional legacy and personal history. Along the way, Smiley confronts his past, including his loneliness, his strained relationship with his estranged wife, and the disillusionment to which the most talented of his generation and pupils seem to have fallen prey during World War II.

The book ends as a thriller, with Smiley confronted with his past at a German university recruiting idealistic, socialist students as double agents against Nazism. Near the end, one of his former pupils, Dieter Frey, suddenly appears and plays an pivotal role in Fennan’s mysterious death. The dissociated, pragmatic spy, hardened and embittered by the experience, faces the ideological operator, who has become more entrenched in his outlook and will work forever to make his dream a reality - not despite but thanks to his experience. This meeting between the dispassionate and the impassionate spy, between the dream of the downtrodden and that of the gentleman, renders this book a small yet significant novel:

They had fought in a cloud, in the rising steam of the river, in a clearing in a timeless forest; they had met, two friends rejoined and fought like beasts. Dieter had remembered and Smiley had not. They had come from different hemispheres of the night, from different worlds of thought and conduct. Dieter, mercurial, absolute, had fought to build a civilization. Smiley, rationalistic, protective, had fought to prevent him. ‘Oh God,’ said Smiley aloud, ‘who was then the gentleman …?’ Laboriously, he got out of bed and began to dress. He felt better standing up.

In Call for the Dead, John le Carré offers an early glimpse into the nuanced world of espionage in a genre he would come to dominate. Through George Smiley, readers explore the interplay between geopolitics and personal demons of those who play its games. Le Carré’s discipline in narrative hints at an author refining his voice, while the probing psychological undertones showcase his potential. This novel is not just a sensational spy tale but a reflection on the deceit and ideological ambiguity of Cold War-era espionage. In characters like Dieter Frey and Samuel Fennan, we see how idealism can curdle into betrayal, paranoia, and violence. It is a book about people who once ‘dreamed of peace and freedom’ but became ‘murderers and spies’. For those seeking to understand le Carré’s literary evolution, this book is an intriguing starting point into his morally ambiguous universe.