Books in Brief: Philby: The Long Road to Moscow

Philby: The Long Road to Moscow, by Patrick Seale and Maureen McConville (Simon & Schuster, 282 pp., $8.95).

After 27 years as a Soviet agent, Kim Philby skipped over to Moscow in 1963—just before the British secret service he had betrayed was about to arrest him. Enough time having elapsed in their opinion, British journalists Seale and McConville have made “a dispassionate reappraisal” of the man who successfully penetrated the upper echelons of British intelligence. The authors don’t consider Philby at all infamous, just “an ordinary man in an extraordinary situation.” Like so many young people of the Thirties, Philby thought Communism the only answer to Fascism. He became a Communist spy in 1936, and from then on, the authors say, he was trapped—he knew too much for the Soviets to let him go (although the authors never supply any evidence he wanted to). Besides self-preservation, other things kept Philby a Communist: an arrogance that wouldn’t admit error and a satisfaction in being part of what he called “an elite force.” Once we understand these factors, the authors say, we should understand Mr. Philby. For their part, the authors respect him, “his is a cultivated, even a humane, sensibility.” They admire “the steadiness and integrity of his political positions.” (Many wavered in their devotion to Stalin, never Philby.) Being dispassionate, the authors point out that Philby has his faults, that he betrayed his friends and country, destroyed a couple of his wives, and directly caused the deaths of many men. If you quibble at such things, the authors would like you to know that Philby too has suffered—he’s not as healthy as he used to be.

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Kevin Lynch

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Philby: The Long Road to Moscow, by Patrick Seale and Maureen McConville (Simon & Schuster, 282 pp., $8.95).

After 27 years as a Soviet agent, Kim Philby skipped over to Moscow in 1963—just before the British secret service he had betrayed was about to arrest him. Enough time having elapsed in their opinion, British journalists Seale and McConville have made “a dispassionate reappraisal” of the man who successfully penetrated the upper echelons of British intelligence. The authors don’t consider Philby at all infamous, just “an ordinary man in an extraordinary situation.” Like so many young people of the Thirties, Philby thought Communism the only answer to Fascism. He became a Communist spy in 1936, and from then on, the authors say, he was trapped—he knew too much for the Soviets to let him go (although the authors never supply any evidence he wanted to). Besides self-preservation, other things kept Philby a Communist: an arrogance that wouldn’t admit error and a satisfaction in being part of what he called “an elite force.” Once we understand these factors, the authors say, we should understand Mr. Philby. For their part, the authors respect him, “his is a cultivated, even a humane, sensibility.” They admire “the steadiness and integrity of his political positions.” (Many wavered in their devotion to Stalin, never Philby.) Being dispassionate, the authors point out that Philby has his faults, that he betrayed his friends and country, destroyed a couple of his wives, and directly caused the deaths of many men. If you quibble at such things, the authors would like you to know that Philby too has suffered—he’s not as healthy as he used to be.