Interpreting Literature

By Roger Colins

I actually have a great deal to say on this subject but for the sake of the reader's eyes I'll try as always to keep things as short and concise as possible.

I've finished and published The Post Office part one so should anyone have an electronic viewing device and an interest in spy thrillers, feel free to check it out from Amazon here.

You can also follow the link in the top right of this page for the other posts I've made on the book. I'll be sending off a few emails to fiction agents in the coming week so with a little luck you might even be able to pick up a copy in paperback, some time.


A Depressing Finish

I always imagined that upon finishing any work of an immense mass, there would be some sort of satisfaction involved but upon encountering this particular experience, nothing could be farther from the truth.

Now, I strongly believe in the initial premise for writing this book. I still believe it is the finest thing I have done and am confident that with time and a few follow up novels it find will a small modicum of success. I do not feel that there is nothing more to do. Sometimes this odd depression can arise as there may be an emptiness in the realisation that I don't know what I am going to do next. It is difficult to explain but that is after all, the whole point.

I have felt no accomplishment in finishing this book because it works. I wrote the whole thing from beginning to end for myself and as far as I am concerned I hit the bullseye, I would have accepted nothing less.

The depression stems from the fact that I will never get to read it for the first time and seems something not too far removed from suicide. There's a lingering irony and humour there somewhere and can't help but assume I'd actually feel better if it gets panned by the critics, as I would have my evidence that it was not understood.

Alas, I suppose I should have seen this coming but since I did not, it is worthwhile leaving a brief caution for those that endeavour to do likewise and write for themselves.


Insanity

One theme I have included in the book was on perspective. We have all heard that a painting can tell a thousand words but a book, can have a million different perspectives. The plasticity of the brain just shifts things around when we go through a bunch of sentences. Even scientists and reporting journalists will get comments and feedback that go right from one end of the spectrum to the other.

It appears utterly pointless to hear interpretations of literature because each person's interpretation is going to be different. Sure, one can share thoughts and point out bits that another missed but there we have it again, that first read.

The first time is not only irreplaceable but unchangeable as well. Therefore, what I have attempted to do in the most studious way is to write something that can be read differently the second time. In doing this, my hope is that all that do read it will find their own personal interpretation entirely separated from all others, as well as find something new with each follow up read.

Having said that, there is more. I also kept the prose, rhythm and style quite linear. This, in order that the first read is not damaged and, so that we might be able to appreciate just how fallible literature really is.

Even though I wrote this in military fashion, even though I sorted through grammar books and thesaurus's and the greats to ensure that there is nothing, not one word in the document that can be misinterpreted, underneath there is a universe for each individual.

Consider those books and novels that are, dubious. The book with a turn of phrase, a saying or proverb or quote of wisdom, a life affirmation to elicit some sort of emotional response. If my book turns to water then these others must turn to plasma.

Words are not thoughts. Collect a few words together and you'll get a picture but move some around and the picture changes. We all have our own way of attaching words to a thought and even though we may wish that they be uniform, they are not. Not even close. Us English speakers should consider ourselves lucky with our million word vocabulary and gold medal eloquence factor but compare that stunning accomplishment of human history to the brain in your skull, would be to compare a letter to an alphabet.


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Full Prologue

By Roger Colins

Having spent the last week formatting, a lot, here you will find the FULL prologue to The Post Office. Enjoy!



Prologue

In the run up to the Arab Spring I was assistant attached by the British home office and loosely, MI6, to CIA operations in Iran. My job was the same as it had always been, to babysit. For the benefit of those who remember the reports at the time, the demonstrations, the rebels and revolutions, conflict and politics, most of the details surrounding the uprising have been left completely undisclosed, suppressed and forgotten in the hope they never see the light of day in a published manuscript again.

Enough time has passed that those that may cause me the most harm for writing this, are now dead. Even now I am still breaking the official secrets act and as such have had to suppress certain identities and particular dates to protect those still sensitive details and active operations. Under the circumstances I request that the reader grant me this liberty.

It would be an understatement to say I found my memory of events were more accurate than I'd expected. From the outset, I hadn't intended to take notes of the operation at all, indeed, it is drilled into operatives to never write anything down and as much as possible, keep one’s lips tightly shut. I started to take notes when I suspected something fishy was going on, deciding to do so in case I needed to protect myself and partly, just to try and figure out what happening at the time.

Drawing from my own notebooks, it took over a year to conduct and put together interviews from others, hearing their points of view and perspectives. Over the course of my research I'd collected three full file boxes of photos, recordings, documents, reports and clippings before I'd even put pen to paper. Any intelligence agency worth it’s salt would agree these boxes a veritable gold mine and yet, here I am, laying it out for all to see.

I always considered myself an untidy scribbler and though I have written many things in my time, never have I come across something that deserved a finished product more than this particular chain of events.

The most difficult obstacle was gaining permission for publication from the service, to disclose certain important points. I was advised I could 'Infer possibilities' but under no circumstances allowed to publish under my own name or reveal intelligence on active / ongoing operations. I did the best I could.

Those at the centre of these remarkable events deserve credit to which they are due. Despite a persistent and resolute dedication to the call of duty, one individual in particular is not likely to have his identity openly revealed while he himself is still alive. If nothing else, let this be a record so that some essence of a nameless man’s work may be remembered.

There are one or two details the reader should be aware of concerning modern espionage techniques and operative work. The west is simply too far advanced in certain areas to worry about the opposition any more. Having said that, espionage and intelligence services around the world are more active today than those operating during the halcyon cold war, largely due to the increase in Cyber espionage of recent years and ever spurring terrorism. Britain in particular is one trying to catch up. GCHQ relocated to 'The Doughnut' in Cheltenham in 2004 and now runs more than 50,000 employees, listening to everything, everywhere, whenever possible.

MI5, the domestic department of the Secret Intelligence Service have to comply to certain homeland rules where MI6, working abroad, essentially do not. Most of their tips, their information and afferent intelligence now comes directly from and thanks to GCHQ. These departments in turn make up part of JIC including an admiral, general, minister, Police Commissioner and Civil Servant who decide which department gets to deal with what and delegate.

Aside from protecting themselves and their friends against China and Russia, most of the work being conducted at this time is in preparation for what will be popularly known as the Arab Spring. MI6 and the CIA liaised some time ago and ever since, had been working more and more closely together on this one, particular project. It isn't unheard of for the Americans to pass on a little white lie here and there to their closest allies, nor was it impossible for them to entirely pervert the truth. We needn't look too far back to see the effects of intelligence sharing before the invasion of Iraq to get an idea of such scenarios.

Never the less, the two agencies enjoy a close relationship, even when tensions become strained at times thanks to each other's cock ups. 'The Service', is a generic term coined to incorporate the intelligence departments of the British government from civil servants to JIC; GCHQ, the armed forces but is generally understood to refer to MI5 and MI6. At times, there can be such a blur that unless you have an actual desk job at Thames House one can never really be sure for whom one is working. In most cases, it's a team effort by all, each department doing their part.

My intelligence career began after time served in 40 Commando Royal Marines, Taunton. After a tour with the Special Air Service, my face didn’t fit and I was returned to unit under recommendation for the Intelligence Corps, picked out for my aptitude in languages and sent for eight months training at Sandhurst. I managed intermediate Hindi, Mandarin and Arabic dialects but the blade rusts over time. There are dozens of avenues for specializing in the armed forces, for an officer at least.

After six months active duty I gained a field promotion in the Marines at the battle of Tora-Bora. By the time I was done with the Intelligence Corps, retired a Captain. Joining the Intelligence Corps was a breath of fresh air and when I went on first active duty, was to spend the next ten years driving people around, passing on messages and baby sitting a host of very strange individuals. It did allow me to travel to more appealing parts of the world than I'd known in the infantry. Out of the hot zones, spending many an hour in five star hotels, first class travel and expenses at the hospitality of the tax payer while doing my duty at the same time. I won medals for other people’s work but never promoted high or fast enough for missions or operations of consequence. When I made Captain, they became more important but my job stayed the same.

I was considered by my superiors quite good at looking after other people. Having heard more than one or two scandals that saw colleagues out, investigated or a Court martial for negligence, I kept my mouth shut, got on with the job, quiet and content in my own space. As experience dictated, I would be groomed for Middle East operations out of Turkey, Egypt and finally Iran having accidentally become the best at what I did. Though Hindi and Chinese may had fallen by the way over the years, the time I’d spent listening to Arabic and deciphering code into Arabic and French then into English left me with no other opportunity than getting sent along with the CIA's newest Iranian consignment.

Told from all quarters it was a fool’s errand and I'd be lucky to come out alive, the service had little faith the Iranian draft would be a success and had long lined up several eventualities should the whole conspiracy go to hell. The Americans were on the other hand, enthusiastically optimistic, putting their can do attitude to work and following the operation to the letter. There was always scope for imagination but they never used it, the beginning of the end and epicentre of their downfall. My job was once again sitting on my rear end outside briefing rooms, passing on calls and making coffee.

The plan began to unravel. The CIA had a minister set up to get between the President and the Ayatollah, acting and speaking on behalf of the most powerful clerics in the country. Having gotten to them, one by one, we persuaded each that the government institution did not have the best interests of the country or religious ideals at heart while our minister kept the leaders busy elsewhere. It took years to moderate them all and the Yanks had done the job brilliantly. It was however the smallest of oversights, that the minister showed himself to possess a rather impetuous character. He had not been prepared well enough, believed wholeheartedly in what he was doing but simply wasn't aware of the importance of timing. Acting upon the good of all and the future of his country, he took it upon himself to intervene long before he should have. The CIA wanted the President and Ayatollah to get close, as close as possible while they warmed up the Clerics. By the time the minister had caused a rift, the Clerics were only lukewarm and soon after backed out entirely. The minister disappeared one Monday afternoon. Repairing the situation was near impossible, simply too late in the day. The CIA decided to try and pull them back but the damage was already done, too much distrust between the pair over these provincial rumblings.

The Americans managed a few protests, stirred up some extra support and agreed the Clerics would campaign to both sides. Nothing came of it and once Libya had started, the team skulked back to the states with their tails between their legs, balls soon to be cut off.

I was pulled out shortly after the mishap with the minister and didn't exactly want to be there as it was. Iranians have no shame executing spies with a scimitar and that's considered a good way to go. I agreed to be scapegoated for the minister mishap and flown back home the next day. The Iranian team failed two years later. By this time I'd been discharged from the service, albeit dishonourably there were extenuating circumstances, and begun spending my time with security work and trying to put together my own details.

It was insisted security be strict to the point of stupidity. Even on Operation Parr I wasn't officially on any orders, just attached from MI6 and let in on very few other details. My security clearance was non existent and when communicating with London, I was handed code to encrypt and then decrypt back into code to then pass on. There was very little for me to do beyond when I had to debrief a new agent or to consult with the Americans, it all seemed either too straight forward or I entirely missed the purpose of our job at hand.

Working security for Blackwater a major upset in Iraq saw me back to England. A convoy carrying several high ranking officials and contractors, ambushed on my watch. Despite the ability to calm the situation and evacuate all personnel without injury or fatality I was again blamed for the débâcle, assured there was no leak on the contractor's side and by the process of elimination, the leak must have come from me. I was destroyed, couldn't even find work as a doorman once I landed back in London.

I discovered for the first time, life as a civilian living in Britain. I'd been to London on business, passing through but never the opportunity of living and working in the massive, sprawling city. My savings dwindled rapidly and I'd lost and spent valuable time chasing a certain account and savings fund in New York for my security outfit. Blacklisted by the service and taking time out from a fortnightly schedule of petitioning Kensington Council and the Department for Work and Pensions left me living out of shared rooms in a hotel, homeless, penniless and damn near destitute.

 

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Roger

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