I am looking forward to reading the Mangold biography. As fiction Buckley's work is below par. I had expected more from him, the scholar that he is. This book pretends to clear Angleton,when it doesn't present enough factual detail to do this. Then it ends on a surprise note, accusing his superior without presenting any facts. Fiction can do more than simply tell or dramatize a story. I believe Harlot's Ghost by Norman Mailer, though not complete, does a better job covering some of this same information. Admittedly the latter requires a sequel to finish the job.

A very decent book and an interesting read, but Buckley's
fictional account of some of Jim Angleton's anti-communist
work lacks enough detail to really prove engaging.
As a mystery, the story seems a little weak, but passable.
A more glaring omission is Buckley's usual detailed knowledge
and background, and we are allowed only the slightest insight
into Angleton's thinking and motivation. It's especially glaring here because the author has significant knowledge
of the events and eras covered, but he has chosen not to share
it with the reader.
Angleton was the CIA's Chief of Counterintelligence for 20
years, and he was one of the leading anti-communist fighters
of all time, and he devoted his life to that cause, and we
have to wish Buckley would have shared significantly more of
his insights and knowledge. Even in a fictionalized account,
the author could have easily added far more interesting details
and stories.
This work is barely an introduction to either the life and times
of the famous Angleton or to the enormous anti-communist
effort so many Westerners made for decades.
This is a book to read in between more serious pursuits.

William Buckley has in his later years developed a surprising talent for fiction, and he couldn't have picked a more intriguing subject to focus it on with this book than James Angleton. How does one portray a man like Angleton? The spy novel genre, as epitomized by writers like John Le Carre, tends towards heavily convoluted plots, language, and characterizations in the effort to force the literary vehicle itself into a representation of the dark and twisted ethos of espionage. And one might have expected Angleton, as the quintessential cold-war spymaster, to have inspired just such a brooding study. However, Buckley will have none of that with his book, and taking the opposite tack, he crafts his novel with the same crisp lucidity that animates his political commentary. Employing spare sentence structure, sprightly characterization and fast-paced narrative, he draws a portrait of Angleton that has nothing sinister or even particularly mysterious about it. The legendary CIA counterintelligence chief emerges from this as entirely human - flawed and quirky, but brilliant, loyal to friends and motivated by a sincere patriotism. Underlying the story, however, is a kind of sad commentary by Buckley on the tragic nature of espionage as a profession. Much like a good cop corrupted by the violence of a high-crime neighborhood, Angleton by the end of his career seems helpless against the pressures driving him into a paranoid pathology. Frustrated by his failures to detect genuine traitors in his own ranks, Angleton becomes suspicious of everyone and begins voicing reckless accusations. This being historical fiction, of course, we all know how the story ends. When the CIA comes under hostile scrutiny during the post-Watergate period, Angleton has few friends left able or willing to defend him from his detractors, and he is sacked from the Agency he had devoted his life to. In what must have been the bitterest of ironies for him, attacks on his own loyalty are among the charges that doom him. Buckley touches on all this only very lightly at the end of this short work, but the simple brushstrokes paint a poignant picture. Spytime is a very good book and I recommend it.

Although Buckley crafts his story well, this book serves only as a platform for him to express his inflated self importance. It is uninteresting and useless as a sailing narrative. The only reason I continued to read was in expectance of a point. Don't make the same mistake.

A delightful, real life, father/son saga about a months sail West across the South Pacific; Captained by William F Buckley with a crew comprising his son, Chrisopher Buckley and several other artistic and political luminaries of the 1980's.

On this voyage, WFB required each of the crew to keep (and relinquish at journeys end) a personal journal. WFB keeps the writing crisp and engaging by sharing only small portions of these apparently limited and hard won loggings.

All in all: A delightfully recounted adventure.

I've been looking for this book for years after reading an enchanting three part excerpt of it in the NewYorker: