In recent coverage by The New Yorker, questions were raised about Mick Herron as a major voice of his generation in spy fiction. For buyers who have surpassed the one-million-copy mark with the Jackson Lamb series, the query feels rhetorical. The series’ armature centers on the scruffy agent group known as the Slow Horses, MI5 operatives who misstep, end up in a forgotten annex called Bog House, and endure pages of exhaustive paperwork. The arc suggests they never miss a chance to redeem themselves and reclaim their reputations, no matter the setbacks.
Herron himself did not bow out when the headlines grew harsh. The debut novel, Slow Horses, published in 2010, was not an immediate hit, and Constable declined to publish it’s follow-up. Yet the later installments found life under different publishers, and the work’s revival culminated in a prestigious Golden Dagger Award for best noir of the year. The second season of the television adaptation, based on the series, preserves the mischief of Gary Oldman’s Lamb as he and his team probe the death of retired spy Dickie Bow, a death initially deemed a heart attack but reinterpreted as murder on screen.
fidelity to fidelity
During the first season, the writers behind the show—led by Will Smith, a collaborator from Armando Iannucci’s ensemble—carefully navigated the lines set by Herron’s prose. The author notes that early chapters often mirror the book verbatim in places, yet changes were necessary because page grammar and on-screen grammar operate under different rules. By the second season, plot shifts were substantial, yet the core characters remained intact, and Herron stresses that the shifts did not undermine the essence of the story.
Herron remains a resource for the production, acting as a consultant and participant in discussions about plot and scene structure. He even made a cameo in the first season, adding a wink of authenticity for attentive viewers. More than anything, he takes pride in watching actors animate his creations, a moment he still finds almost unbelievable.
In the opening book, Lamb is described as a kind of Timothy Spall, or better expressed as “Timothy Spall gone bad.” Herron explains that casting a certain noted actor once made sense, though aesthetic changes over the years altered that assessment. Gary Oldman emerged as a formidable alternative, a choice that signaled the project’s potential from the start. The decision drew other talents and helped attract broader interest in the series.
The newest season brings fresh faces to the ensemble: Aimee-Ffion Edwards and Kadiff Kirwan stand out as Esme and Marcus Longridge, two Slow Horses linked by shared impulses. Herron has an affinity for signature characters even when they diverge physically from his originals. He feels a strong connection to Shirley Dander, a role that becomes more central in the literary arc, and he looks forward to her continued development on screen.
Dickens, le Carré, and Steinbeck
After writing four novels featuring Zoe Boehm, a private investigator in Oxford, Herron’s imagination drifted toward the espionage milieu without abandoning his core approach. He emphasizes that his process leans more toward mental preparation than technical research. Before starting a book, he spends time thinking, watching films, and soaking in ideas rather than chasing technical minutiae about routes or prices. The craft is a blend of inner preparation and selective observation rather than exhaustive fact-checking.
When it comes to influence, Herron distinguishes between the unconscious and the deliberate. John le Carré stands as a latent force, followed by Len Deighton, whom he revisited and reflected on in a recent British literary feature. He notes that Dickens’s London remains a constant influence, since writing about the city without absorbing its spirit would be impossible. He also names John Steinbeck as an unlikely but meaningful touchstone, particularly the way Cannery Row and Sweet Thursday capture communities gathering around shared needs and stories, echoing how the Slow Horses convene within Marsh House’s quiet corridors. The resonance between the literary past and his own fictional world shapes how he constructs dialogue, settings, and the cadence of scenes across the series. (Source: The New Yorker)