Just when it seemed that England had faded into a sort of hyperthalamic Luxembourg, neutered, overmoneyed and only vaguely historied, along comes le Carre (or Cornwell, to be a real stickler) with a witty and uniquely English evocation of that nation's literary and political glories. And while he recognizes that the latter is unequivocally faded, his work shows that the former is very much alive. The Tailor of Panama most readily calls to mind the breezier farces of Evelyn Waugh, in both its cheerful amorality and its staunch Englishness, but demonstrates more sympathy for, and recognition of, the inevitability and pathos of frailty, both personal and national. The writing sparkles, the plot brilliantly balances political indictment, surprising level of suspense, and unfailing character development. This satire shows a surprising amount of heart, and its storyline--of a spy's self-invention, not the least aspect of which is his self-invention as a spy--resonates well beyond its (geographically) narrow subject.