When you’ve been as prolific and acclaimed as Silva has been, it’s almost inevitable that sooner or later you’ll start to get sloppy, to slip. As Yeats said, “Things falls apart, the centre cannot hold.”
For me, it shows in the absence of tightness in the writing. The middle of the book is still highly crafted, but the beginning and end sees dense block of exposition, meaning too much telling, not enough showing, as I believe judicious dialogue provides.
Worse, it is too similar in plot to Silva’s previous offerings. Change a few names and details and you’d be hard-pressed to differentiate it from several of his most recent novels.
Not Silva’s best, but still very good. Your mileage may vary.
Anything Steinhauer writes is usually spun gold; this time, he weaves it differently, with strands of differing viewpoints and multiple characters starting at various time points in the story and at differing locations. Other than the opening (he never should have started with the Chinese thread there) it mostly works.
Milo Weaver, and his sister, is a gem.