The label of Harry Palmer was of course created for the movie; in Deighton’s novels he’s not even blessed with a name. (He’s also about a decade older than the film character, and comes from Burnley in Lancashire of all places.) And, re-reading The Ipcress File (1962), it becomes clear that the enigmatic spook has interests in far more than the sophisticated grub he buys in Soho delis and the vichyssoise he enjoys in the Officers’ Mess. He reads the New Statesman, and does the crossword; knows pre-Islamic mythology and Mozart symphonies and the dates of the Fourth Crusade. Bond, by comparison, is rarely seen even glancing at a book. When a supercilious colleague assumes Not-Palmer is unaware of the geography of northern Switzerland, our hero deadpans, “Forgive me if my lack of ignorance is an embarrassment to you.” He would have been bloody great on University Challenge.
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