Most of them are addressed to her beloved sister Cassandra, and afford a unique and irresistible insight into the daily life of the novelist: intimate and gossipy, observant and informative - the equivalent of telephone calls between the sisters - and read much like the novels themselves.
John le Carré is something of a revered author, a writer who had taken the spy genre and elevated it into literature. His fans are fiercely loyal and were understandably skeptical of the news that his most beloved novel was to be turned into a movie.
Does intellectual ability make us human? Or self-consciousness? Or the possession of a soul? Or tool-making? Or private property? Or genetic inheritance? Whatever definition we choose, it excludes some creatures we might want to include in the "human."
Of all the things that exist, none is stranger than nothing. But, of course, nothing is not a thing, and neither can it be said to exist. So why are people fascinated by nothing? Why should something so crazy and mind-boggling be important?