The somewhat clumsy escapades that lead the reader through this spy caper are steadied by the wonderfully sharp incidental characters
Richard Hannay is bored. Not by work, daily commutes or family tiffs – he doesn’t have any of those. No, the young-ish, wealthy, independent Hannay is bored by his own prosperity – and to him London’s restaurants, theatres and parties are all an epic snooze.
It is, I admit, a challenge at this point not to fling the book across the room while shouting “oh TOUGH life mate!” But happily Hannay’s creator is on the case, and the moustachioed hero of John Buchan’s spy thriller The Thirty-Nine Steps is not about to get a holiday, but a swift kick up the rear. The resulting journey takes Hannay from urban sprawl to desolate heath, and the nation from complacent security to the brink of devastating conflict – and it’s a voyage I have repeatedly stowed away on.
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