The Ghost

The novels of Robert Harris are not great art, but who cares? What they together constitute is a body of bloody good professional writing. They are way beyond the capabilities of production of most mortals, not least production line students of creative writing. So there.

The Ghost attracted a deal of attention because of the perception of it as a roman a clef on the Blair governments. Yes, Harris was a friend of the Blairs and a Labour fellow traveller but there are key divergences from the real Blairs. Harris did nothing to dispel the notion that these changes were made to avoid litigation but the truth is that there was never going to be any allegation of libel - both Blairs are good enough lawyers to know that any such action would have been catastrophically counter-productive, and Harris himself is surely canny enough to have indulged the conjecture as a means of promoting his book. Certainly it is a touch his narrator (a jobbing ghost writer) would have appreciated.

What we have here is a book a little bit about modern global politics, but not so much as to be tedious. On this level, it is bloody good.

What we have here is a book a little bit in the thriller genre. On this level it is bloody good.

What we have here is a book a little bit about the process of writing. On this level it is bloody good.

So, in short, what we have here is a bloody good book. The sort that should be studied in creative writing classes.

A few interesting facts to toy with as you read this, they may elevate the fun: Blair (like Harris) went to Oxford; the fictional PM Adam Lang is a Cambridge man - in fact the last Cambridge PM was Stanley Baldwin and these sorts of things matter to Oxbridge types; the PM's wife and femme fatale Ruth Lang is an Oxford gal - this is a good joke because the real Cherie Booth is an LSE alumna and, quite properly, nothing winds up an LSE graduate more than being assumed Oxbridge. Just ask my dad.

Did I mention - bloody good book.