There was once a time – it’s true, dammit! – when even political appointees sometimes did at least a passable job. Long gone, my friend. Now it’s every (wo)man for (her)(him)self, and the benefactor who gave you your high-profile job and keeps you in place. Organization? Hey, screw the organization, this is all about me!
North from Calcutta doesn’t get into the CIA’s internal politics much, just enough for you to realize that maybe things really are that bad. They’re not too common these days, but sometimes one can find a person willing to do the grunt work, to take personal responsibility, to let the toadies get the awards while quietly slaving away in the background. I think Evans might just be one of those.
Evans shows us plenty of action, but he also includes enough of the boring, nitpicky, idiotic shenanigans that the bureaucrats and politicians back inside the Beltway (They’re everywhere now, these bureaucrats and politicians, in seemingly every walk of life, every level.) put their staunchest and most-dedicated citizens through, all in the name of political correctness, or whatever it is that’s the buzzword or buzz-phrase of the day. They believe you can make mud pies without getting muddy. Any child can tell them differently – why can’t they get it on their own?
The book also serves as a primer for South Asian dirty politics – or is ‘dirty politics’ a redundancy? – that shows us the same backstabbing, double-dealing that is now American politics, is also South Asian politics.
The first half or so of the book lays the groundwork, and since it takes place in a part of the world comparatively few people have been to, to live or visit, there’s a fair amount of explanation and fact-dropping to adequately set the stage. After the foundation has been sorted out, Evans tears into his yarn with gusto, action, adventure, and the knowledge gained by somebody who knows of what he speaks.
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