By PtolemyXX

Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy

The Quiet Death of the Male Spy

[Spoilers for ‘Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy’ by John le Carré, the 1979 BBC series, and the 2011 film adaptation]

The Spy and the Spy Film

I had gotten very frustrated with myself over the two weeks this essay was to be completed. Honestly, spy films are not that high on the list of my favourite films (Detective Noirs have that honour). I am not rushing to watch the latest entrants to the genre, nor am I so taken with the genre’s novelties to keep rushing back to it. Sometimes, you watch one spy film and you feel like you’ve seen them all.

Yet that feeling triggered something in me; that feeling of ‘sameness’. And it was not until I heard a certain Arctic Monkeys song that I could begin to articulate my thoughts through one specific story. One story that caught my attention not too long ago; a series and a movie based on a book that was unlike any other spy film I had seen before. And beginning with a short list of observations, I came back to add more of my thoughts, leading to more things requiring editing for coherence. This essay is that messy assemblage of those thoughts. (And the AM song that did this was ‘Body Paint,’ by the way. Remember to have a listen after reading, you’ll get it.)

My initial idea for this essay was an exploration of that story. But as I got to work, everything I could write on it seemed so deficient. Orphaned from context, it felt difficult to understand the gravity of what made this one narrative in particular so great to begin with. Like catching a real spy, understanding the significance of that one narrative necessitated understanding the Spy as a concept and the world that he inhabits.

To begin, we have to ask. Why does the Spy matter? What is the appeal behind this archetypal figure? The short answer: The Spy is a romantic hero. A flawed but necessary figure, stuck in a flawed world.

Like any fictional hero, the Spy is a pair of shoes to step into when one craves fantasy amid the difficult mundanities of reality. The flavour of the Spy’s heroism takes the Romantic form[10][11]. We observe this within two integral components of any romantic narrative: 1) The deficient, insane, and complicated world and 2) An exceptional and unconventional outsider who can contend with its challenges.

It’s rather easy to ascertain where our initial (and comparatively banal) perceptions of real-world spies end and where the current romantic notion of spies begins: The Cold War. Much of this analysis begins by understanding that the conflicts of the Cold War were more than the superficial binary squabbles between capitalism and socialism.

The preceding world wars, which saw masses of able-bodied men sent out for combat, meant the status quo of male-dominated society had partially aligned (oft-overlooked) gender ideologies with wartime needs[9]. The most vivid examples being women’s suffrage and the rapid normalisation of their wartime rights to work.

But by the end of the world wars, the newer polarising forms of ideology meant a return of women into the household and the movement of men back into an increasingly capitalistic workplace. The equation of national security with the maintenance of the ‘nuclear family’ structure (foregrounding the looming undertone of Cold War hegemonic masculinity)[7] indicated that people were now at odds with an economic system which prioritised capital and scrutinised socialist policies.

For (once again) dissatisfied women, gender equality in the workplace was ‘socialist’, and seemed ‘other’ as it challenged the maintenance of the ‘nuclear family’ (despite the role women played as essential labourers in both world wars)⁹. For men, it was the increment of caucasian white-collar workers under what many perceived to be an emasculating, capitalistic work-life environment. And perceiving themselves to be flanked on all sides, men developed a hostility towards their superiors in the workplace and escalated misogyny towards their brow-beating wives at home[3][7].

Considering that spycraft and the concept of a wide-reaching, clandestine conflict reached its peak in the Cold War[2], the anxieties borne from this tense age popularised the idea of a mysterious ‘man for all seasons’. These frustrations of the working-class caucasian male towards issues of perceived emasculation now coincided with the focus on a character who can overcome this psychosexual frustration. The combination of these factors (bad bosses, miserable home life, and perceived self-emasculation) expressed itself in an archetype through whom the issues of his time can be parried with ease.

The Spy (in a First-world, Western sense) is a bad-ass individualist. A stranger to the conjugal western lifestyle, yet pursuant to a moral code prioritising the preservation of all he holds dear. A ‘gentleman maverick’ with one foot in the familiar world, and another in all that threatens total destruction.

And while he was far from being the first fictional spy to grace the silver screen[14], the immortalisation of Ian Fleming’s iconic character has inspired the most romantic iteration of the Spy in modern media. Coming onto the scene of Terence Young’s ‘Dr. No’ in 1962 as a suave, cunning, and sexually appealing everyman, James Bond has since transcended the boundaries of his character and story to become a default mould for the romantic spy hero.

Supposing an attribution to that tensioned cultural climate, Bond’s popularity as a romantic concept within literature and film comes off as both an effect of the ‘crisis of masculinity’ and the cause of the current romantic perceptions of spies. Bond and his ilk could be read as the fantasy of the western working-class man, whose masculinity is indomitable under threats of total destruction and female scrutiny. And this fantasy has manoeuvred both Bond and his brand of masculinity to the centre of all associations alluding to espionage with a generous amount of violence to taste. Even now, the mention of a ‘secret agent’ invokes the inclusion of some trope native to Bond and the Cold War. From the guns, the gadgets, the fights, and the attractive women, to the mystique and deception employed in outsmarting an opponent. Everything about the Cold War (a conflict now seen as an international cockfight between two masculine superpowers) was translated into a fantastical reaffirmation of Bond-like masculinity, which now translates into our association of spies with James Bond.

It’s not unfair, then, to follow this corollary and conclude that most spy films do one thing very well: they are good at empowering the masculinity of their fans. And curiously, this appears true even with non-traditional spy films.

The Spy film was born from a fantasy of overcoming abstracted problems far greater than the average man can handle. The issue of age? A world of all against all. The Spy? A hero fighting for Queen and Country in a world of conflict and deception. Even after the Cold War, decades after Connery spoke his iconic three-word introduction, the Spy clings onto life. As long as some international and masculine-coded conflict is concerned, the Spy lives on with no time to die.

But while the romanticism of the Spy locates itself in this sense of duty, the unspoken truth of it all is rooted in the satisfaction of the male libido, and its achievement through a sense of exceptionality. Not everyone loves cars, guns, alcohol, and heterosexual intercourse. But the Spy represents an innate desire to be exceptional and the ability to indulge in this exceptionality. It so happens that such exceptionality is defined in terms of cars, violence, alcohol tolerance, and sexual appeal. Through the Spy, viewers are invited to fantasise their exceptionality in the Spy’s masculine terms. If you were feeling emasculated or unexceptional, Bond advertises his cure: a night with an attractive woman, a good fight, a long drive in a handsome car, and a stiff drink. All of it packaged in the neat bow of Duty and Honour.

Uniquely, this position means that the spy story is not just a fantasy of masculinity. It is a fantasy of masculinity for masculinity. A self-perpetuating mythology. And this legacy of Bond’s has the effect of making almost every Spy story a narrative haven where the man is allowed to feel as masculine as he would like to. So much so that many films which attempt a subversion often do not land a formidable challenge to this paradigm. The Spy in the spy film is about a man in a man’s world.

Hence, there is something to be said about a spy narrative wherein such fantasies are not only toned down, but turned upon itself. What shall we say of a film about a man who is not allowed to feel himself as a man, even in the hypermasculine world of espionage?

Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy

(For our purposes, this essay will focus on the 1979 BBC series, and the 2011 film adaptation of Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy.)

A summary

Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy is a story about an aged spymaster named George Smiley, forced into retirement after the scandalous failure of ‘Operation Testify’.

Prior to his dismissal, Smiley’s superior — the ineffable chief, ‘Control’ — suspected a mole burrowed within the ranks of the Secret Intelligence Service (nicknamed ‘The Circus’). Control narrowed down his list of suspects to five people (including Smiley) and sent an agent named Prideaux to confirm the mole’s identity. But Prideaux is shot before he could learn the truth. The scandalous failure of this operation forced the dismissal of Control, Smiley, and several others within the circus.

Following Control’s dismissal, the Circus comes under the leadership of Chief Percy Alleline and his team. This team insisted that the failure of Operation Testify and the paranoia of a mole within the Circus was a product of Control’s incompetence. Instead, they asserted The Circus was actually the one with a mole — an unknown agent codenamed ‘Merlin’ — planted within KGB ranks. This Circus operation, ‘Witchcraft’, was Alleline’s point of pride as other intelligence organisations became impressed at the information Operation Witchcraft produced.

However, an agent named Ricki Tarr later surfaces in England claiming to have made contact with a Russian informant. In exchange for her defection, the informant had promised Tarr intelligence that appeared to confirm Control’s initial suspicions: a mole within the Circus. And when Tarr relays what he learned, the informant is quickly silenced. From this, Tarr realises the mole is real and is hunting him, and he goes into hiding. He resurfaces only to contact undersecretary Oliver Lacon. Lacon deduces from Tarr’s information that Smiley cannot be the mole because of his dismissal following the failure of Operation Testify, and he urges Smiley to come out of retirement to hunt down the mole.

At the end of his investigation, Smiley reveals the mole to be his rival and former colleague, Bill Haydon — a man who carried out an affair with Smiley’s (now estranged) wife, Ann. Haydon reveals that he had been recruited by the Soviet spymaster named “Karla” (whom Smiley considers his nemesis) partly for political reasons.

But tellingly, Haydon reveals that his betrayal was led in part by Britain’s decline after World War II. Despising Alleline’s efforts to cosy up to the Americans, Haydon tricked the Circus into believing they were acquiring valuable information about the Soviets. In fact, Haydon fed the Soviets classified information under the pretence of ‘Operation Witchcraft’ and gave the Circus ‘chicken feed’ instead. Haydon also reveals he seduced Smiley’s wife on Karla’s orders to compromise Smiley’s emotional state (seemingly as an act of vengeance for Smiley’s actions towards Karla in the past).

After this revelation, Haydon was to be traded to the Soviets for the spies he betrayed. But before the exchange, Haydon was killed by Prideaux, who blamed him for the failure of Operation Testify.

The movie and the series take two different interpretations of the novel’s ending, as Tinker Tailor is part of a series. The movie (being a one-off adaptation) ends with Smiley reinstated as the temporary head of the Circus, and his estranged wife Ann returns to live with him[1].

In the series, the final episode of Tinker Tailor ends with a conversation between Smiley and Ann about Haydon’s betrayal and their embittered relationships with each other[6]. (All other details of Smiley’s continued role in the Circus are left to the follow-up series, Smiley’s People).

On-screen Spycraft and its Subversions

Generally speaking, spy narratives which portray high-adrenaline, fast-paced action (such as the franchises of James Bond, Mission Impossible, Kingsman, Jason Bourne, etc.) appear to follow some variation of this plot structure[14]:

1. A conventionally handsome Spy is dispatched to resolve/is caught in the web of a threatening conspiracy involving a terroristic individual/organisation.
2. The Spy’s character and personality are explored through certain masculine-coded means. (Violence, stunts, gadgets, cars, booze, or sex with attractive women.)
3. During this exploration, the Spy is trapped into the hands of the villain. This entrapment may occur with the help of a Femme Fatale or henchman.
4. With the Spy trapped, the villain reveals vital information about the conspiracy. These revelations often illustrate the villain’s ‘ideologically insane’ stance or their similarity to the Spy/Spy’s superiors.
5. The Spy beats all odds by virtue of his skills and charm. In the end, the villain, henchmen, and Spy’s bad bosses are summarily punished/killed.

Following the conventions of these spy films, the convolutions of Tinker Tailor’s conspiracy implies to us a flawed world in need of a character with the apposite motivations and skillset.

Yet one thing about Tinker Tailor is already unusual: the Spy himself. Unlike the spies of the aforementioned franchises, Tinker Tailor’s protagonist shares little in common with our conception of the Spy. Rather, the aged George Smiley is a figure whose colourless, taciturn personality is so far removed from any semblance of romanticism that it’s difficult to imagine Smiley indulging himself in anything.

And this is where the story of Tinker Tailor lays out its subversion: Within the unrealisable sexuality and libidinal indulgences of the character.

With the exceptions of parodies (and Tinker Tailor itself), a spy film is often measured up to how empowering a masculine character can be. This expectation is reflected in the world the Spy inhabits and what they must do to be considered ‘a real spy’. A ‘real spy’ must fight, love, deceive, drink, and have sex. The Spy must be manly. And in contrast, subversions of spy films attempt to change the formula of male-centrism to challenge this paradigm of masculine empowerment. This entails the portrayal of a spy who does not conform to traditional male stereotypes. Often, it is either a female spy (Charlie’s Angels, Atomic Blonde, Salt, etc.), or a silly male spy (Johnny English, Austin Powers), though there are also other variants.

Despite their best efforts, these subversions still perpetuate spy films as a predominantly masculine affair, revolving around a male vision of sexuality and libido. Though the films sport non-conventional spies, they are caught in a balancing act of trying to subvert a hyper-masculine genre with masculine means while still trying to stand out as a unique property.

One such example of this phenomenon lies in Atomic Blonde’s lead female spy Lorraine Broughton. Broughton’s personality is only defined through the same means that define male spies. Between the intrigues surrounding her predicament in East Berlin, the film has Broughton participating in violent physical altercations, sex with other females, and tense acts of espionage. She even has an alcoholic beverage of choice: a Stoli on Ice. Save for underestimations of Broughton based on her gender, her overall character is undefinable through any feminine-coded means; she is just a male spy in a female body.

A second example, Austin Powers, has the titular character be a goofy, crooked-toothed, and emotional man. The central subversion of Powers’ narratives is the humorous portrayal of what are often serious and sexually charged moments within spy films. Where James Bond defines himself through acts such as having sex with women, Austin Powers makes the joke that he could do the same thing but without the seriousness that defines Bond. In this sense Powers is still defining himself via male sexuality, only stopping to poke some fun at the fact.

In the end, almost everyone that treads the Spy’s path seems to tolerate or even reinforce the masculine fantasies that define the genre.

Of course, this is not to say that such subversive films are invalid subversions, or that they do not pose any substantial criticisms towards the genre’s conventions. Simply that they are stuck speaking the same romantic masculine language we have tied to James Bond in popular culture.

But you can see the conundrum: Every spy who steps to the plate is implicitly compared to someone like James Bond. Rather than question the legacy behind the genre, we end up questioning the masculinity of the subversion. From there, we only compare the subversive variant spy to our conceptions of James Bond, rather than asking, “Why didn’t James Bond do that?” or questioning anything else about this paradigm.

Ultimately, the problem with these subversions is not whether a film can pull off making a woman or a goofy man do masculine things. It is whether or not doing so will ever change or criticise the fantastical masculine associations which comprise the spy genre. Will any subversion ever make spy films into something more than narratives of gratuitous masculine empowerment? Will any subversion challenge James Bond’s seat at the centre of the genre?

Personally, this is what makes Tinker Tailor such a unique and effective subversion capable of contending with this paradigm.

Like many others, Tinker Tailor drags the audience into an articulate conspiracy threatening the destruction of vital institutions. But Tinker Tailor makes no attempt to romanticise the Spy (male or otherwise). There are no spectacular sequences of stunts or violence, nor sex and alcohol. Despite the tense hunt for a mole, Smiley himself does not apply any physical or charismatic prowess. Only his cunning and intelligence. And the Evil Villain, often a mainstay in the spy film opposite the Spy, is intangible and ideological rather than substantial. The Soviet Spymaster Karla is absent for most of the narrative. And Haydon may be the traitor, but he is a symptom of the greater threat that is beyond Smiley’s ability to combat.

We simply cannot find a semblance of romanticism within its protagonist to which a sense of masculinity can be projected. To further illustrate his lack of appeal as a man, Smiley even describes himself as ‘the very archetype of the flabby Western liberal’ and to (only slightly) exaggerate, one of his defining characteristics is that he is a cuckold. The two different interpretations of Smiley hammer this characterisation homewards.

Alec Guinness’ Smiley in the 1979 BBC series is inexpressive and dispassionate. A tired man. The look in his eyes betray both a soured pride and a suppressed grief which he cannot summon the energy to express. And this aloof lack of energy manifests in aspects which the Spy archetype is typically defined; A complete lack of physical and sexual drive. In fact, one section of Ghosts of My Life by Mark Fisher expressed that it was difficult for anyone to imagine Guinness’ Smiley as a sexual being[4] (Gynesexuality being a typical characteristic of film Spies).

Gary Oldman’s Smiley in the 2011 film, on the other hand, is stiff and repressed. This Smiley is one whom you could imagine to be a little more like Bond in a bygone age — A Spy who has aged out of that bracket of romanticism — with his ability to indulge in his sexuality deteriorating as a function of time.

As Fisher notes, Oldman’s portrayal carries the full weight of his repressed sexuality with the unfolding events of the narrative tempting him to lose control. Like a kettle coming to a boil, Oldman’s portrayal is holding in his repressed drive behind his rigid persona until it is released in an outburst of emotion[4] Guinness’ Smiley simply has no hint of a sexual drive, and thus, no such outburst to display. Even in the worst, Guinness’ Smiley defers to his condition with a quiet sigh.

Regardless, the salient portrait of Smiley is that of a man whose most masculine characteristics are dulled over time despite being a film spy. Neither iteration of George Smiley exhibits an issue in the hunt or the out-manoeuvreing of his quarry. Far from it, both Smileys display a cunning and capacity for subterfuge that is equal to or even better than the likes of Bond. If one were a spy, it seems obvious that subtlety is a most desirable trait. And this trait is present within the machinations of Smiley’s hunt. But our conceptions of the film Spy, which lean on the Bond-like essentialism of Cold War-styled masculine dominance and sexual gratification from that dominance, cannot account for Smiley’s cunning as something a conventional spy figure would take pleasure in. As such, Smiley derives no indulgence from the climax of his hunt, only more emasculation and disempowerment.

The interrogation of this emasculation (both in the context of Smiley’s personality and of loyalty to one’s nation) presents interesting parallels between our analyses of Smiley’s personality, the psychosexual subtexts of the Spy archetype, and the effects of fading imperialist privilege. The issue of Britain’s post-war status within the narrative illustrates the sense of decline that takes hold on the micro and macro-narrative scales.

Britain, once the powerful empire on which the sun never set, had few issues in exerting itself throughout the world. But after the war, the nation was relegated to playing second fiddle to America and the Soviet Union[12][13]. Expressed in terms of hegemonic masculinity, Britain was the pinnacle of masculinity. The ‘Big Cock’. But after the war, Britain could not even bear to measure up against the influence (masculinity) of America and the USSR. Once capable of dominating others, inciting competition, and yet still presenting itself as an exemplar of ‘civilisation’, those who expressed identity in Britain’s prestige on the world stage continue to experience Britain’s decline as an emasculating tragedy.

Most characters in Tinker Tailor bemoan this national decline. To borrow terms used by Paul Gilroy and Mark Fisher, a permeating ‘postcolonial melancholia’ is what ties the spies of Tinker Tailor together. Postcolonial Melancholia is the melancholy experienced in avoidance of all implications of one’s imperialist and colonialist past[4][5]. This form of Melancholia manifests from a loss of ‘a fantasy of omnipotence’, which locates itself in a nationalistic conception.

Expanding on Gilroy’s concept, Mark Fisher writes:

The postcolonial melancholic doesn’t (just) refuse to accept change; he refuses to accept that change has happened at all. He incoherently holds on to the fantasy of omnipotence by experiencing change only as decline and failure, for which, naturally, the immigrant other must be blamed(…) — [4]

Notice: Bill Haydon places his motives for betrayal in Britain’s perceived national decline. Other characters such as Percy Alleline attempt the restoration of this lost prestige by cosying up to America. Smiley’s character is the central analogue of this decline. Were we to define this melancholia in Smiley’s personal narrative, his motivations for hunting down the mole with such tenacity and cunning can be read as an unconscious measure to regain some dignity he once held. Like any man recovering from infidelity, Smiley tries to prove to himself that he’s still ‘got it’ in him. But by the reveal of Haydon as the traitor, it is clear that their motivations were more similar than Smiley would prefer: They both wanted to feel like men again.

George Smiley and his circle of spies are relics. Old coots trying to keep up with a changing world. And they are miserable in the idea that time has rendered them old and sterile. Miserable that they are not this bad-ass breed of spies who can do what they want, when they want to under the romantic pretext of Queen and Country. Rather, they are now victims of the influence of more powerful figures, who can do unto them what they do not wish to happen. This is exemplified in the reveal that Smiley’s cocky attitude towards Karla in the past is what indirectly caused Ann’s infidelity.

In that sense, this story is not an elaborate ideological cock-fight between two powerful masculine nations, nor an individualistic bellum contra omnes. It is a metaphorical castration of the masculinity central to their identity, for both Smiley and Britain.

In that sense, the Sun truly has set on the British Empire, and on our cast of old white male characters.

“(Smiley) saw with painful clarity an ambitious man born to the big canvas, brought up to rule, divide and conquer, whose vision and vanities all were fixed, like Percy’s upon the world’s game; for whom the reality was a poor island with scarcely a voice that would carry across the water. Thus Smiley felt not only disgust; but, despite all that the moment meant to him, a surge of resentment against the institutions he was supposed to be protecting”

— Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy, pg 271, [4][8]

This is an intimidating subversion. The rose-coloured hue floating about the Spy and his quest have dissipated. Its departure is not a product of any mad villain or temptress, nor is it the result of some conspiracy against the male libido. It is simply the natural order of ageing and helplessness; one’s potency ebbing away like the tide. The myth of an unyielding masculinity, stripped down to its banal form.

Ultimately, Tinker Tailor is a spy film that explores the essence of what we hold dear when we consume media that is often so gratuitously, unabashedly male. The world of spy film espionage is so often masculine. But what good is masculinity and male fantasy in a fading world like Smiley’s?

Conclusion

If you were expecting to find James Bond’s breed of Spy within Tinker Tailor, what you ended up witnessing was an unflattering vision of the archetype. Every flaw and fault laid bare for all to witness. A piteous portrait that illustrates, not a man for all seasons, but an aged man of a season long consigned to a sad past.

The villainous trap that Tinker Tailor presents the Spy with is one from which he cannot finesse an escape, as the trap is a sobering de-romanticisation of a self-held myth. The myth of the Spy, who is beholden to sexual and romantic fantasies under the pretexts of duty and honour. As a subversion, the movie is a relatively small fry. What Tinker Tailor achieves is nothing more than an exploration of an ageing man’s character. And yet, it manages to strip the thin veneer of grace from the conventions of spy films, even around the same time James Bond went on to achieve the heights his genre would cement in film history.

The early James Bond films, such as Dr. No and From Russia with Love, concluded with Bond being allowed to find comfort in the arms of whichever romantic interest survived the movie. But while Tinker Tailor’s narrative ends positively, the air of that romantic vision about the Spy world is spoiled. It ends with more pain about the world and the male libido than a self-indulging comfort in the myth of the Spy.

This is why, between the 1979 BBC series and the 2011 film, I count myself among the viewers who find the ending of the 1979 series to be more poignant: After hunting down his quarry, Smiley visits his estranged wife Ann, whom we see for the first time on-screen. Their brief pleasantries turn into a long trade of sentiments about Haydon’s betrayal.

Near the end of their exchange, Ann sees the melancholy in Smiley’s impassive expression as he tries to understand her replies about her relationship with Bill Haydon. Watching him struggle to comprehend her answers, Ann simply says to him: “Poor George, life’s such a puzzle to you, isn’t it?”

This article was brought to you by PtolemyXX of Sundry Scribes, a Malaysian writing collective. Interested? Our Discord is open to writers and readers alike.

References

[1] Alfredson, T. (Director). (2011). “Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy” (Film). StudioCanal.

[2] Douglas, R. (2021, October 21). “Here’s What Made The Cold War the Golden Age of Espionage,” The National Interest. Website Link: https://nationalinterest.org/print/blog/reboot/heres-what-made-cold-war-golden-age-espionage-195228

[3] Dumančić, M. (2021, June 17). “Cold War Misogyny: Fear of Momism on Both Sides of the Iron Curtain,” University of Toronto Press. Retrieved February 23, 2024; Website Link: https://utorontopress.com/blog/2021/06/17/dumancic-cold-war-misogyny/

[4] Fisher, M. (2014). “Ghosts of My Life: Writings on Depression, Hauntology and Lost Futures” (2nd ed.), Zer0 Books

[5] Gilroy, P. (2005). “Postcolonial Melancholia”, New York: Columbia University Press

[6] Irwin, J. (Director). (1979). “Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy” (TV Series). BBC2; YouTube Link: https://youtube.com/playlist?list=PLyNzc9cbF4EWeXnVOQhXG6_wGdlssG22y&si=5eJG3sltNb8G1r3L

[7] Joyce, T. (2011). “A Nation of Employees: The Rise of White-Collar Workers and the Perceived Crisis of Masculinity in the 1950s”; Journal Link: https://journals.uvic.ca/index.php/ghr/article/view/5998

[8] Le Carré, J. (1974). “Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy” (Penguin Books ed.), Archive Link: https://archive.org/details/TinkerTailorSoldierSpyJohnLeCarre

[9] MacLean, E. (2015, April 10). “Why Women Went Home Again: The Feminine Mystique and Cold War Gender Roles,” U.S. History Scene.; Website Link: https://ushistoryscene.com/article/feminine-mystique/

[10] Brooklyn College, Author unknown (2009, Feb 13). “Romanticism”.; Website Link: http://academic.brooklyn.cuny.edu/english/melani/cs6/rom.html

[11] Cliffnotes, Author unknown (Accessed 2024, 26th Feb). “What are the differences between an Epic Hero and a Romantic hero?”.; Website link: https://www.cliffsnotes.com/cliffsnotes/subjects/literature/what-are-the-differences-between-an-epic-hero-and-a-romantic-hero

[12] Britannica, T. Editors of Encyclopaedia (2020, October 12). “Decline of the British Empire.” Encyclopedia Britannica. Website Link: https://www.britannica.com/summary/Decline-of-the-British-Empire

[13] Brown, D. (2001, Mar 14). “1956: Suez and the end of empire”. The Guardian. Website Link: https://www.theguardian.com/politics/2001/mar/14/past.education1

[14] Hellerman, J. (2023, Apr 21). “Decoding the Spy Genre in Film and TV”. NoFilmSchool. Website Link: https://nofilmschool.com/spy-movies