When I was younger, I almost never left unfinished a book that I once started reading. Even if it bored me completely and I didn't like it at all. I think it was because of school reading, which was often boring but I still had to read it. At the age of fifteen, I went with my mother for a two-week vacation abroad. No one had heard about kindle back then and we took only two books with us. One of them was by John le Carré. I read the second one in the first two days, what left me with twelve days and only le Carré to read. I could not make it. I haven't even gone through the first fifty pages of this book. I read from cover to cover all the magazines that fell into my hands (even those that didn't interest me at all), I read two newspapers in foreign languages that I didn't speak at all and probably some boring romance in English (and I didn't know English so well at that time, so it was quite a job). But in two weeks I couldn't read le Carré. Bored over the top and left with this one possibility, I still couldn't read this book.

Now, being a lot older, I decided to give le Carré one more chance and reached for one of his most famous novels, The Tailor of Panama. Oh, no no no no. Nothing has changed in the last several years. I still can't read his book. I forced myself as much as I could, reached a little over 40% and the thought that I have to read the next 60% is enough to make me feel miserable.

I can't even say what exactly I have a problem with. I think it's his writing style. Which stretches like chewed gum you try to unstick from under the chair, numb like a thirteen-hour flight after which you get a jet lag that leaves you totally confused and at times pseudo-poetic like poems of a thirteen-year-old with this bizarre pseudo-depth. Generally one of the most boring things I've read recently.

The situation is not saved by the plot or the characters. The plot may still be there, but the action is completely missing. Everything drags on. At a snail's pace. Scene after scene. Little by little. One meaningless conversation after another. Unhurriedly. From time to time a side thread that supposed to diversify the story and enrich the character, what story do I ask? And of course, a flashback, as if everything was not slow enough. Christ, how slow it is, counted in minutes! If you can handle this pace, that's fine, you might even like this book, but I couldn't stand it. After reading one page I was so bored that I couldn't bring myself to read the next one.

The thing is, Harry Pendel is even quite an interesting hero. But the writing style killed any desire to follow his actions in me. There was also something that irritated and upset me. I can't even say exactly what.

I was seriously wondering whether to force myself to finish this book, but reading it is such an unpleasant experience for me that I decided to abandon it. Le Carré is probably just not for me. I doubt I'll ever read his book again or finish this one. In fact, I'm so uninterested in this story that I don't even feel like watching a movie to find out how it all ended.