[In SS-GB: Nazi-Occupied Britain 1941], Len Deighton attempts to make a case that in the face of such absurdity, action itself is heroic. And he has set himself quite a task; as the book's subtitle makes clear, Deighton is concerned with the opportunities for legitimately human action within the context of the most horrifically evil force the century has thus far known. (p. 81)

The working out of [the] plot strikes one as by now a bit on the formulaic side—here a bit of violence, there some well-bred sex, here and there a double cross—but it is a formula on which Deighton virtually owns the copyright, and which he executes with elegantly precise descriptions and considerable humor. Though one is not so much moved by Archer's adventures as caught up in them, the narrative's grip is real.

But it isn't as a novel of character that SS-GB pushes at the boundaries of the spy genre, but as a novel of ideas, and the writer with whom Deighton can most reasonably be compared isn't le Carre, but Camus. This is, of course, another way of saying that the book is pretty hot stuff indeed, but it also requires one to say that it fails precisely at the level of its highest aspiration: Deighton, the superb thriller writer, has painted Deighton, the intellectual, into a corner from which he escapes only by the subterfuge of an exceedingly convenient murder that is logically congruent with, but not necessarily logical to, the plot. Thus, for all its ambition, SS-GB is a compellingly readable thriller in which the confused and misled protagonist turns out to be considerably braver than his creator. (p. 82)