The Small Back Room

Funny how feelings change. When I first read this book, I was taken by the narrative hook of how to dismantle a booby-trapped bomb dropped by the Germans in WWII. That whole strand is still as gripping as ever; especially the climax in which the protagonist finally solves the problem that killed his colleague.

Yet what struck me re-reading it recently is what a sad and bitter portrait it is of a talented man, borderline alcoholic, lacking in the self-confidence that would earn him the position he so obviously deserves. It all rings unsettlingly true.

Just as does the description of office politics, and the world of committee meetings and backroom chats in which people with no talent for anything but backstabbing, manage to finagle and squirm their way to the top.

I realise I’m not making this sound like a book anyone would want to read. But Balchin is one of my favourite authors. Not just for his readability – he has a gift for narrative, pace, and clear, simple prose – but for his insight into troubled minds, confusion and deceit. More, it must be said, from a male perspective than a female one.

I don’t think he was a misogynist but, if the excellent biography by Derek Collett is anything to go by, he just didn’t really understand women. A lot of them don’t ring true. But his descriptions of men, their insecurities, suspicions, failings and triumphs do. And for that I cherish his work.