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Mick Herron

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Slough House Kindle Edition

by Mick Herron (Author) Format: Kindle Edition

4.6 13,732 ratings

Book 7 of 8: Slough House

Editors' pick Best Mystery, Thriller & Suspense

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In his best and most ambitious novel yet, Mick Herron, “the le Carré of the future” (BBC), offers an unsparing look at the corrupt web of media, global finance, spycraft, and politics that power our modern world.

“This is a darker, scarier Herron. The gags are still there but the satire's more biting. The privatization of a secret service op and the manipulation of news is relevant and horribly credible.”—Ann Cleeves, author of the Vera Stanhope series

At Slough House—MI5’s London depository for demoted spies—Brexit has taken a toll. The “slow horses” have been pushed further into the cold, Slough House has been erased from official records, and its members are dying in unusual circumstances, at an unusual clip. No wonder Jackson Lamb's crew is feeling paranoid. But are they actually targets?

With a new populist movement taking hold of London's streets and the old order ensuring that everything's for sale to the highest bidder, the world's a dangerous place for those deemed surplus. Jackson Lamb and the slow horses are in a fight for their lives as they navigate dizzying layers of lies, power, and death.

Book 7 of 8

Slough House
Print length

313 pages
Language

English
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Soho Crime
Publication date

February 9, 2021
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3292 KB
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Popular Highlights in this book

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Addiction loves challenge, because challenge provides an excuse to fail.
Highlighted by 287 Kindle readers
Treat those you despise with humanity, especially if the reason you despise them is that they have none.
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Cantor would have found out the hard way that you never feed a cat just once. You feed a cat, it owns you ever after.
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From the Publisher

slow horses, slow horses show, mick herron, slough house, jackson lamb

Mick Herron, Slough House, Jackson Lamb, spy thriller


	Slow Horses: Slough House book 1	Dead Lions: Slough House book 2	Real Tigers: Slough House book 3	Spook Street: Slough House book 4	London Rules: Slough House book 5
	See Details	See Details	See Details	See Details	See Details
Customer Reviews	21,694	13,859	17,671	15,549	14,132
Price	$9.99	$9.99	$9.99	$9.99	$9.99
	This team of MI5 agents at London’s Slough House is united by a common bond: They've screwed up royally and will do anything to redeem themselves.	The disgraced MI5 agents of Slough House uncover a deadly Cold War-era legacy of sleeper cells and mythic super spies.	When one of their own is kidnapped, the Slow Horses must outwit rogue agents at the highest levels of British Intelligence, and even to Downing Street itself.	What happens when an old spook loses his mind? Does the Service have a home for spies who forget their secrets are a secret, or does someone take care of them for good?	With the country beset by series of random attacks and one of their own marked for assassination, the Slow Horses rediscover their greatest strength—that of making a bad situation much worse.


	Joe Country: Slough House book 6	Bad Actors: Slough House book 8	Standing by the Wall: The collected Slough House novellas	The Secret Hours
	See Details	See Details	See Details	See Details
Customer Reviews	11,997	12,458	3,777	8,399
Price	$9.99	$9.99	$9.99	$14.99
	Old habits, lost loves, and new blood have the Slow Horses struggling to stay focused, but an old enemy, now out of hiding, may bring them close for a common purpose—vengeance.	A key member of a think-tank with a remit to curb the independence of the intelligence service has gone missing, and the trail of evidence leads back to MI5's Regent’s Park.	At last in one volume: the collected Slough House spy novellas, including the never-before-published Christmas interlude 'Standing by the Wall.'	Discover a gripping standalone spy thriller from the #1 Sunday Times bestselling author of the Slough House series.

Editorial Reviews

Review

A Theakston's Old Peculier Crime Novel of the Year
CrimeReads Most Anticipated Crime Fiction of the Year
Reader's Digest 50 Best Fiction Books of of the Year
The Times Best Thrillers of the Year
Irish Times Best Mysteries of the Year
Minneapolis Star-Tribune Best Books of the Year
The Sydner Morning Herald Best Books of the Year

Praise for Slough House

“I'll tell you what, to have been lucky enough to play Smiley in one's career; and now go and play Jackson Lamb in Mick Herron's novels—the heir, in a way, to le Carré—is a terrific thing.”
—Gary Oldman

“Herron’s excellent series featuring a motley crew of sidelined MI5 agents united under the fearless leadership of the unforgettable Jackson Lamb, has grown ever-more reflective — if not downright prescient — of contemporary political machinations, and is all the richer for it.”
—The Boston Globe

"The best in a generation, by some estimations, and irrefutably the funniest."
–Jill Lepore, The New Yorker

“Confirms Mick Herron as the best spy novelist now working.”
—John Powers, NPR's Fresh Air

“Out of a wickedly imagined version of MI5, [Herron] has spun works of diabolical plotting and high-spirited cynicism, their pages filled with sardonic wit, their characters approaching the surreal . . . Mr. Herron goes about this with bouncing black humor and a set of characters whose appearance and manner would be over the top in any other era. Happily for Mr. Herron—if alas for us—events continue to produce rich material for his special gifts, and we hope he is scribbling away making good use of it all.”
—Katherine A. Powers, The Wall Street Journal

“[Herron's] cleverly plotted page-turners are driven by dialogue that bristles with one-liners. Much of the humor comes from Herron’s sharp eye for the way bureaucracies, whether corporate or clandestine, function and malfunction. The world of Slough House is closer to The Office than to 007.”
—The Associated Press

“This is a darker, scarier Herron. The gags are still there but the satire's more biting. The privatization of a secret service op and the manipulation of news is relevant and horribly credible.”
—Ann Cleeves, author of the Vera Stanhope series

“A gripping thriller but wickedly funny too. I laughed long and hard.”
—Ian Rankin, author of the Inspector Rebus Novels

“Richly imagined and ridiculously entertaining espionage novels.”
—The Seattle Times

“Brilliant.”
—Minneapolis Star-Tribune

“Herron’s distinctive voice, marked by a dry wit and mordant sense of humour, runs through the series, and his latest work is no exception.”
—Financial Times

“Slough House is the best yet.”
—Times Literary Supplement (UK)

“Herron has certainly devised the most completely realised espionage universe since that peopled by George Smiley.”
—The Times (UK)

“Mick Herron is one of the finest writers of his generation.”
—Steve Cavanagh, author of the Eddie Flynn novels

“Mick Herron’s Slough House series has quietly become one of the greatest spy series the world has ever seen. And now a soon-to-be television adaptation starring Gary Oldman should make Herron and his heroes into household names”
—CrimeReads

“The recent passing of the late, great John le Carré leaves a gaping hole, so the arrival of his heir apparent’s new book could not be better timed.”
—Everything Zoomer

“Combining some of the cleverest dialogue in the genre with unexpected bursts of violence, Herron brings to the spy novel—not known in the post-Bond era for its sense of humor—an Elmore Leonard–like ability to make us laugh and cry almost simultaneously.”
—Bill Ott, Booklist, Starred Review

“Herron, an exceptional writer, paces his books brilliantly. He’s capable of prose that’s stark in places and beautiful in others. His action scenes hum without any wasted moments, and his dialogue is funny, or profane, or chilling, as each voice demands. Herron has the full toolkit, and he builds these stories so tight you can barely find the seams where the pieces meet.”
—Book and Film Globe

“Provides a crystal-clear view of modern British politics.”
—Kingdom Books

“Herron does a magnificent job keeping the assorted narrative balls aloft in a story that’s often gripping and even more often hilarious. This entry should garner him a slew of new American readers.”
—Publishers Weekly, Starred Review

“Once again, Herron captures the dramedy of the battle between spies and bureaucrats better than anyone else on either side.”
—Kirkus Reviews

“Revenge, betrayal, and gallows humor abound in Slough House, the seventh installment of Mick Herron’s ripping good series of spy novels. This time out, MI5’s disgraced spies are being hunted by Russian assassins and there’s no one they can trust to help them. Herron’s deft plotting and taut writing make his books the best spy thrillers being published today. Make room on your shelf beside LeCarre and Deighton. His books are fantastic, and Slough House is no exception.”
—David Enyeart, Next Chapter Booksellers (St. Paul, MN)

“Genuinely thrilling.”
—TheDaily Telegraph

“Superb.”
—Irish Times

“Brilliant.”
—Literary Review (UK)

“I think this might be the best Jackson Lamb outing yet.”
—Christopher Brookmyre

“I enjoyed Slough House tremendously. Witty, clever and horribly on point. Lots to laugh about while being careful not to miss a word. This isn't a book to skim read.”
—Kit de Waal

“[Jackson Lamb] Herron's glorious creation propels the story to the bitter end where the non-stop barrage of jokes is fatally undercut by a final shocking twist.”
—Evening Standard

“An excellent writer.”
—The Sunday Times (UK)

Praise for Joe Country

The Guardian Best Crime Novels of 2019
The Spectator Best Books of 2019

“Suspense, spycraft, dry wit and vulgar humor are all well-deployed in this satisfying work by Mr. Herron, whose style can accommodate everything from a tough action scene to a lyrical elegy.”
—Tom Nolan, The Wall Street Journal

“Herron writes squeakingly well-plotted spy thrillers. More than that, he composes—at the rate of a pulpist—the kind of efficient, darkly witty, tipped-with-imagery sentences that feel purpose-built to perforate my private daze of illiteracy. More than that, he’s a world-bringer, the creator of a still-growing fictional universe with its own gravity, lingo, and surface tension.”
—The Atlantic

“Herron blends character, place and espionage into a riveting melange that I’ve only encountered in the best of John le Carré or Len Deighton . . . Read one and you're hooked for the whole series.”
—The Globe and Mail

“Herron’s morbidly witty backdrop hosts incisive storytelling with a rich mix of engaging characters.”
—Financial Times

Praise for the Slough House novels

“Terrific spy novel . . . Sublime dialogue, frictionless plotting.”
—Ian Rankin

“The sharpest spy fiction since John le Carré.”
—NPR's Fresh Air

“Compulsively readable, tightly plotted.”
—Los Angeles Times

“[Herron] really is funny and his cynicism is belied, here and there, by flashes of the mingled tenderness and anger that seem to define Britain’s post-Brexit self-reflections.”
—Charles Finch, USA Today

“Scathingly funny.”
—Newsweek

“Irony and black humor abound.”
—Newsday

“[Herron is the] le Carré of the future . . . The characters are brilliant.”
—Patrick Neale on BBC’s The Oxford Book Club

“Heroic struggles, less-heroic failures and a shoot-out-cum-heist . . . with no let-up in the page turning throughout.”
—Esquire

“Slough House, in this winning series, is where incompetent or disgraced British spies spend their days on meaningless busywork. That is, unless they stumble into genuine espionage. Herron is a subtle stylist, and he strikes a perfect balance of big-hearted humor and thrilling spy stuff.”
—The Seattle Times

“Hilarious and suspenseful . . . Sharper than most espionage fiction being written today and manages to stay uncannily contemporary.”
—St. Louis Post-Dispatch

About the Author

Mick Herron is a British novelist and short story writer who was born in Newcastle and studied English at Oxford. He is the author of the Slough House espionage series, four Oxford mysteries, and several standalone novels. His work has won the CWA Gold Dagger for Best Crime Novel, the Steel Dagger for Best Thriller, and the Ellery Queen Readers Award, and been nominated for the Macavity, Barry, Shamus, and Theakstons Novel of the Year Awards. He currently lives in Oxford and writes full-time.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

Let’s be honest. Frontal aspect, first reaction: it’s not the best-looking property on the market.
     But consider the potential.
     Conveniently located above a Chinese restaurant and a newsagent whose enterprises occupy the ground-floorage, these upper three storeys present a rare opportunity to acquire a toehold in this up-and-coming area. (Nice little mention in the Mail not long ago. Not the property pages, but still.) East-facing, but sheltered from morning dazzle by an imposing view of the iconic Barbican Centre, and offered further protection by being on Aldersgate Street, in the London borough of Finsbury, renowned for its temperate climate. Traffic calmed by nearby lights; buses a regular fixture. And the Tube on the doorstep, with the popular Hammersmith & City, Circle and Metropolitan lines literally a minute away.
     The front door’s not in use but never mind. We’ll go round the back.
     To this nicely low-maintenance yard, with ample room for wheelie-bins and broken furniture. Ignore the smell, that’s a temporary blockage. Through this back door, sticking a bit today—doesn’t usually do that—but a bit of shoulder work and Bob’s your uncle. Then up the stairs, but best not put weight on that banister. It’s more ornamental than load-bearing. Original feature, mind.
     And so we come to the first floor, a matching pair of offices, with a view of the heritage brickwork opposite. All unspoilt, very much on-plan. Notice the fixtures and fittings. Authentic period detail there, and the ’70s is a decade that’s coming back, isn’t it, what with the riots, the recession, the racism—ha! Our little joke. But no, really. Nice lick of paint, put your own stamp on it. Splash of yellow, splash of grey. Nothing like a touch of colour to bring out the natural warmth of a room.
     But time’s wingèd chariot, eh? Onwards and upwards, onwards and upwards.
     Which means another flight of stairs, a little cardio-workout. That’s not damp on the plasterwork, just the discolouration you get with age. Two more offices on this level, plus a compact kitchen: bit of surface area for your kettle and your microwave, storage space for your crockery and whatnot. Washer needs a tighten, but that’s easily sorted. Your facilities through here, and—oh. Eco-conscious, the previous user. Just give it a flush.
     And up we go to the final two offices. Crying out to be bedroomed, our opinion. You’ve got your sloping roof, adds character, but leaves ample space to maximise your lifestyle requirements, once you look past the telephone directories and the overflowing ashtrays and the mess on the carpet there. Nothing a deep-clean won’t set to rights. Ideally the premises would be decluttered before a viewing, but access was an issue, apologies.
     Window appears to be jammed shut too. But a quick minute with a screwdriver’ll see to that.
     Anyway, there you have it. It’s quirky—little bit different—and benefits from a colourful history. A department of the secret service, though not an especially active one. Paperwork, we gather. Current occupants have been in possession for an eternity, though it probably feels longer. You’d think spies would have better things to do, but then again, maybe they were never the best sort of spy. Maybe that’s why they’re here in the first place.
     But we can see you’re not convinced—it was the toilet, wasn’t it? —so maybe we should head west, where more traditional premises are available, over towards Regent’s Park. No, don’t worry about the door. Security’s never been a major concern here, which is a bit peculiar now we come to think of it.
     Not that that’s our business—all that matters is getting this place off the books. But sooner or later, we’ll find a taker. That’s the thing about this line of work; the same in yours, we’ll be bound. The same the world over. When something’s for sale, eventually someone’ll buy it.
     Just a matter of time, really.
     Just a matter of time.

Looking for donor sperm? read the ad above her head.
     Definitely not, though on the Central Line at rush hour, you couldn’t rule it out.
     But for the moment, Louisa Guy hoped herself impregnable. She was jammed into a corner, true, but had her back to the enveloping mass, and her attention fixed on the door she was pressed against. In its reflection all became disjointed, like a 3D movie without the specs, but she could make out human features: blurred mouths lip-synching to music, faces shuttered against contact. While the chances of a stranger-on-stranger encounter turning nasty were rare—a million passenger journeys for every incident, said the stats—you’d hate to be the one to buck the trend. Take deep breaths. Don’t think about bad outcomes. And then they were at Oxford Circus, where the crowd split apart like murmurating starlings, her half spilling onto the platform, heading for exits.
     She didn’t normally come into town after work. Her barhopping days were largely over, largely unregretted; shopping expeditions were for weekends; and cultural outings—theatre, museums, concerts—let’s face it, didn’t happen: she was a Londoner, not a bloody tourist. But she needed new trainers after a ten-mile outing in the rain last week; a stupid idea but she’d been having a bad day, thoughts of Emma Flyte refusing to leave her alone. You couldn’t run away from your memories, but you could tire yourself to the point where the details blurred. So anyway, the trainers had either shrunk or changed shape so fundamentally they belonged on different feet, which meant here she was, heading into town after work; the evenings lighter now the clocks had gone forward, but the air still bearing shades of winter. On the escalator, video ads encouraged her to rethink fundamental choices: change bank, change phone, change job. In a perfect world she’d have managed all three by the time she reached street-level.
     Where the pavements were damp from rain. Louisa circumnavigated clumps of pedestrians, crossed Regent Street at a trot while the LED warned 3-2-1, and dipped into a sporting goods store, its neon logo a pale imitation of itself in the watery light, its tiled floor slick with grime. A yellow bollard exhorted her to take care. If she’d taken care, Emma Flyte would still be alive. But it was pointless to think such things; the clocks had gone forward since then, and only ever went so far back. Trainers were in the basement. She took an elevator again; she was always going up or down, it seemed. Always up or down.
     On the back wall, running shoes were displayed like ranks of heads in Game of Thrones. As always there was a sale on, high-street retail being mostly zombie since You-Know-What, but even at reduced prices, trainers were mad. The ones that looked good were, anyway. And while the main thing about trainers was they had to feel right, not look good, still: they had to look good. So she picked the pair that most impressed on the wall, which proved nothing but was a sensible starting point, and sat and tried them on.
     They felt okay. She walked up and down and they pinched a bit, more than when sitting, but it was hard to tell whether that was a new-shoe thing or a fitting issue. These places should have a treadmill. She flexed her leg to see if that helped, and noticed a guy noticing this—he was down the far end, examining a Nike—so did it again, and he kept on noticing, though studiously pretended not to. She crouched, and pressed the toe end of each trainer, checking for fit. He replaced the Nike on the wall and took a step back, his face a studied neutrality. Yeah, right, thought Louisa, awarding herself a mental high-five.
     Still got it.
     She sat again, removed the trainers. They cost more than she wanted to spend, and while that had rarely stopped her in the past, it would be an idea to try on a few more pairs first. As if agreeing with this notion, her mobile trembled in her pocket, and at precisely the same moment she heard a nearby ping—someone else’s phone registering an incoming text. It was the guy who’d been watching her, or pretending not to, and he stepped out of sight behind a rack of socks and wristbands, reaching into his jacket as he did so. Could’ve been a meet-cute, she thought, self-mockingly. Hey, simultaneous texts—what are the odds? And she reached for her own mobile while having the thought, and checked her message.
     . . . Fuck!
     Louisa leaped up, shoeless, and raced to the far wall, slipping a little, steadying herself by grabbing the rack, but he was gone already—was that him on the escalator? Taking the stairs two at a time, as if alerted to a sudden emergency—yeah, she thought. You and me both. There was no point following, not with nothing on her feet. He was out of sight now anyway; would be on the street, picking the busiest direction to disappear in.
     Bastard, she thought. You sly cunning bastard.
     And then thought: So what the hell’s going on here then?, as she padded back to her shoes, the wet floor working through her socks with every step.

If you didn’t count the text that pinged in five minutes ago, this was the first action River Cartwright’s phone had seen in days. He seriously needed to do something about his social life.
     “. . . Mr. Cartwright?”
    “Uh-huh.”
     “It’s Jennifer Knox?”
     River kept a mental list of the women he’d had contact with over the past few years, and it didn’t take long to scroll through. B—K was a blank.
     “From next door to your grandfather’s?”
     And that explained the senior wobble in her voice, which was a relief. Not that desperate, whatever anyone thought.
     So “Of course” was what he now said. Jennifer Knox. A caller-in on the O.B.: supplier of casseroles and local gossip, though the visits had tailed off as the Old Bastard’s grasp on gossip and solids, and such fripperies as who this woman he’d known for years might be, had slackened to nothing. She had River’s number because River was who you called when the O.B. had an emergency, though the old man was beyond such contingencies now. Which Jennifer Knox knew very well, having been at the funeral.
     “Of course,” he said. “Mrs. Knox. How can I help you?”
     “There’s someone in the house.”
     His grandfather’s house, she meant, which had been unoccupied for a while. It belonged to River now, technically, as his mother kept stressing—“technically” apparently meaning in every possible sense, including the legal, barring his mother’s own feeling that the natural order had been disturbed—and was, equally technically, on the market, though at a price the agent had declared “way too optimistic.” Way, in these post-You-Know-What times. Its refusal to budge suited River, for the moment. He’d grown up in his grandparents’ house, having been abandoned there by a mother whose horizons hadn’t, at the time, included future property rights. He’d been seven. That was a lot of history to sell.
     Jennifer Knox was still talking. “I thought about calling the police, but then I thought, well, what if they’re friends of yours? Or, you know, potential buyers?”
     “Thanks, Mrs. Knox. I should have let you know. Yes, they’re old friends passing through, in need of somewhere to spend the night. And I know the furniture’s gone, but—”
     “It’s still a roof and four walls, isn’t it?”
     “Exactly, and cheaper than a hotel. They’re travelling at the moment, and—”
     “We all do what we can, don’t we? To keep the costs down.”
     “They’ll be gone in the morning. Thanks, Mrs. Knox. I’m grateful you took the trouble.”
     His flat was a rented one-bedder, “nicely off the tourist track,” as some smug git had once put it. He might have inherited a country pile, but his actual living conditions remained urban haemorrhoid. The flat was cold most times of year, and even in daylight felt dark. The nightclub over the way hosted live bands twice a week, and a nearby manhole cover had loosened; every time a car ran over it, the resulting ka-chunk ka-chunk made River’s jaw spasm. It happened now, as he tucked his phone in his pocket. Not so much a soundtrack; more an audible toothache.
     River raised a middle finger in the world’s general direction. Then went to see who’ broken into his dead grandfather’s home.

Product details

ASIN ‏ : ‎ B088F1B72Y
Publisher ‏ : ‎ Soho Crime (February 9, 2021)
Publication date ‏ : ‎ February 9, 2021
Language ‏ : ‎ English
File size ‏ : ‎ 3292 KB
Text-to-Speech ‏ : ‎ Enabled
Screen Reader ‏ : ‎ Supported
Enhanced typesetting ‏ : ‎ Enabled
X-Ray ‏ : ‎ Enabled
Word Wise ‏ : ‎ Enabled
Sticky notes ‏ : ‎ On Kindle Scribe
Print length ‏ : ‎ 313 pages
Page numbers source ISBN ‏ : ‎ 1641292369

Best Sellers Rank: #16,295 in Kindle Store (See Top 100 in Kindle Store)
- #86 in Traditional Detective Mysteries (Books)
- #93 in International Mystery & Crime (Kindle Store)
- #94 in Traditional Detective Mysteries (Kindle Store)

Customer Reviews:
4.6 13,732 ratings

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Mick Herron

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Mick Herron’s six Slough House novels have been shortlisted for eight CWA Daggers, winning twice, and shortlisted for the Old Peculier Crime Novel of the Year three times. The first, Slow Horses, was picked as one of the best twenty spy novels of all time by the Daily Telegraph, while the most recent, Joe Country, was a Sunday Times top ten bestseller.

Mick Herron was born in Newcastle upon Tyne, and now lives in Oxford.

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4.6 out of 5

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Mickey B

These have been great so far!

Reviewed in the United States on February 23, 2024

Verified Purchase

Really enjoying the Mick Herron Slough House novels. Gives at least one brit view of current events while giving a fast paced action thriller with a great ensemble cast of characters. Will continue to read through this series and I hope he keeps going!

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J. Lesley

Slough House horses are under siege.

Reviewed in the United States on February 11, 2021

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I have waited patiently for this seventh book in the series to be released and, yes, I did zip right through it because I didn't dare put it down. I would pine for it. So I just read it all in one somewhat elongated gulp. My reason for four stars is the "blankety blank" cliffhanger ending. And not just one cliff either; each thread I wanted wrapped up just stops.

This entry in the series is absolutely spot on from the standpoint of all that is happening from the political perspective in Britain and just as much in America if for slightly different reasons. And Diana Taverner, First Desk at Regent's Park has gotten herself involved in something political that's not going to be resolved easily. Slough house seems to have been placed in the cross hairs of unknown killers who are having an easy job of picking off slow horses and making each death seem like an accident.

I really like the way Mick Herron writes his characters. As always I think Herron must absolutely love writing the Roderick Ho character and in this book Roddy-O is displayed in all his tough secret agent glory. If you know Roddy, you know exactly what I mean. I also enjoy getting to catch up with Molly Doran from her lair in the basement archives of the Park. The descriptions of the physical side of Jackson Lamb have always made me cringe, but now I've added him to my list of characters to worry about because of his medical side. This book even has a surprise character turn up and play a major part in the entire plot development. Now to get myself psyched up for waiting another year for a resolution of all the dangling threads from Slough House. It's not going to be a restful year, that's for sure.

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Thomas Kelso

"Smiert spionam"

Reviewed in the United States on January 21, 2023

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Mick Herron's story of British espionage and political intrigue kept me reading well past bedtime. His humor and wit crept into the dialogue at frequent and unexpected moments. The wickedly funny character of Jackson Lamb is destined to be an icon in spy literature. Lamb is an alternately hilarious and disgusting career veteran of the intelligence service who has pissed off enough of his superiors that he has been put in charge of Slough House, a disgraced section of MI5. To qualify for Slough House an agent has to commit a screwup of sufficient magnitude that they are deported from MI5 headquarters at Regency Park. It is a place of desperation and despair where all inhabitants strive to return to "The Park," but no one ever has.

The plot is intricate and superbly designed, pitting Lamb and his band of shamed "Spooks" against the first desk (i.e., the director) of MI5, Diana Taverner, and various Russian GRU agents. When media-billionaire Damian Cantor starts buying political influence from Peter Judd and expects return favors, Taverner finds herself in the unfortunate position of dealing with him. Judd is "a politician whose greed for power was so naked it required a parental advisory sticker." After a Russian agent is assassinated as part of a revenge plot arranged by Taverner and MI5, several former Slough House agents turn up dead. Lamb begins investigating, circling the wagons, and calling on his "slow horses" to redeem themselves before they end up dead.

An adaptation of the book titled "Slow Horse" is now an Apple television series starring Gary Oldman. I've been binge-watching—it's excellent too.

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George P. Wood

The best and darkest installment in this excellent series

Reviewed in the United States on February 12, 2021

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Slough House is the seventh novel in Mick Herron’s series about a department of agents MI5 doesn’t want but can’t fire. It is also the darkest and best installment. You can read it as a stand-alone, but trust me, you’re better off starting with Slow Horses and working your way through the series in order. The payoff will be huge. 

The action begins with an assassination. We don’t know who or where at first, but when two former denizens of Slough House also end up dead, we learn both who and where and more importantly why. And learning why means the rest of Slough House is in danger, too. The plot is a race for time to see who gets to whom first

I have two criteria for judging suspense novels like this: It must be so interesting that I want to turn the page to find out what happens next, and it must not tax my willing suspension of disbelief. Slough House is a believable page-turner, a success on both counts.

Moreover, Herron has drawn brilliant characters. Diana Taverner, MI5’s First Desk, is a cutthroat office politician. Disgraced politician Peter Judd is an oleaginous Macchiavellian whose way forward politically is as the power behind the throne. Catherine Standish is a white-knuckle recovering alcoholic who lends compassion, sanity, and a measure of organization to Slough House.

Then there’s her boss, Jackson Lamb—a streetwise Cold Warrior who smokes, drinks, flatulates, and insults readily and steadily, but also is the last face you want to see (or will see, period) if you mess with his Joes. Arthur Conan Doyle had Sherlock Holmes, and John Le Carre had George Smiley. Mick Herron’s Jackson Lamb is one for the ages.

And the ending. If you’re not saying, “Don’t die” as you turn the last page, you haven’t been paying attention.

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Arlow P. Arlow

It's a Mick Heron novel

Reviewed in the United States on January 29, 2024

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For me, all that needs saying is Mick Herron wrote it. He's an excellent writer, with a gift for characterization, and for pacing, that makes everything I have ever read by him immensely enjoyable. Go ahead. Read one. Bet you can't stop with just one.

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Blimey

Reviewed in Canada on July 22, 2022

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Oh dear, how is it possible to sum up this disturbing, thrilling and ultimately devastating novel? It seems Mick Herron’s work gets more and more realistic and painful as the Slough House novels progress.
There are characters that emerge from past works here and an ending that defies belief and expectation so we won’t go there. The story picks up for what is almost an aside in ‘Joe Country’, the previous novel in the series. The sociopathic, charming, Boris Johnson-like Peter Judd persuades M15 head Diana Taverner into an enterprise she regrets and realizes has been a mistake. The victims of Judd’s malfeasance are former denizens of Slough House, home to secret service rejects and headed by the often revolting, politically incorrect but often brilliant Jackson Lamb.
There are terrible punishments meted out in this novel and necessary heroics for the gang led by one of the best of the bunch - River Cartwright - whose grandfather was a legendary spy and whose country home becomes a refuge and a scourge.
Alongside a ripping, gripping story which has you on the edge of the page is a seething British political theme which helps carry the plot along and allows Herron some mighty slaps at a post-Brexit Britain heading mostly in the wrong direction.
Diana Taverner is on her back foot here but her motives feel better than they often have in earlier novels and while not as wily as Lamb, she’s a great fighter. Lamb himself is out for revenge. He may be slothful and vindictive but here he’s more obviously concerned with the crew he pretends to despise than he has been previously and that rings true.
Herron just gets better. This is a spy novel to conjure with. Best of all, rather than the internal fights and maneuvering that often grip his novels, this one has international intrigue that is oh-so-believable, not to say frightening.
It is such a good read and the ending is just so troubling. This novel is made of dark stuff. Like Lamb, you might need a shot of the Talisker after reading. But, mostly, that’s a good thing.

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Paul S

Another terrific spy thriller with great characterisation, atmospheric settings & dastardly deeds!

Reviewed in the United Kingdom on January 12, 2024

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If you enjoy spy thrillers that have complex plots, plenty of page-turning action scenes, and settings which are quite dark and, at times, somewhat depressing, then I think you will really enjoy Slough House. I should add too that it certainly helps to have read the preceding novels in the series.
The plot follows a number of different strands that come together as the story unfolds. The desk-bound agents based in Slough House (who are known as the Slow Horses) find they have been eradicated from the MI5 (i.e. Regent Park) database and have been set up as 'targets' for newly recruited agents to tail as part of their training. However, the Slow Horses have also become the target of a Russian hit squad but you'll have to read the book to find out the reasons for this and how it all pans out.
The humour in this story is very dark and we are left with an impression of a future without hope for the agents who have been given a one-way ticket to Slough House.
There is a large cast of characters in this particular story (which is one reason why it is helpful to have read the earlier novels) and so you need to keep your wits about you to follow their involvement in the various strands of the plot. However, while everything is brought together in the story's dramatic conclusion, there are a few tantalising unanswered questions, presumably to set us up for the next book in this series.
So, another terrific, highly engaging, spy thriller and one well worth considering if you enjoy character driven stories containing plenty of action scenes and some quite dark and dastardly deeds!

4 people found this helpful

Lothar

Super Klasse Teil

Reviewed in Germany on March 9, 2023

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Wie immer Hammer gut geschrieben und mega spannend. Mike Herron ist und bleibt einer der ganzen Großen des Genres.

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Ali Erdengiz

Interesting but not exciting...

Reviewed in France on March 28, 2021

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I don't like the writing style that makes you feel like you're listening to a drunken cockney you just met in a London Pub, shifting the subject, cutting things in mid sentence as if asking you to complete them to acquiesce. Makes me think of Ricky Gervais, but Gervais is far wittier. Still, it's a good read. If you make it through the first few chapters, you end up caring and rooting for the slow horses of Slough House.

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