Writer whose âanti-Bondâ hero in his 1962 novel The Ipcress File had a seismic impact on spy fiction
When he made the remark that he was âthe most illiterate writer everâ, in an interview with Argosy magazine in 1969, Len Deighton, who has died aged 97, had already published five bestselling spy novels, starting with The Ipcress File, three of which had been made into successful films. He had also written two cookbooks and a comic novel, edited an iconic guide to London in the swinging 60s and a book on fine wines and spirits, written a television play for the Armchair Theatre series and two film scripts, become travel editor for Playboy and produced two films. He was to go on to write a further 21 novels and a collection of short stories, and to establish a reputation as a military historian.
Deighton was an established and âquite comfortableâ freelance graphic artist when he began writing The Ipcress File âfor a larkâ while living in France in 1960, completing it the following year while on holiday, but it was not until he met the literary agent Jonathan Clowes at a party in London that he was persuaded to submit it for publication.
Rejected by two publishers, one of whom remarked sniffily that there was no market for spy stories, it was taken by a third and published in November 1962 after serialisation in the London Evening Standard. It was an instant success, the first print-run of 4,000 copies selling out on the day of publication, and its impact on spy fiction has been called seismic.
The timing of that first novel, whilst perhaps fortuitous, could not have been better. The building of the Berlin Wall, real-life spy scandals lovingly reported in Sunday newspapers, the uncovering of Soviet moles and then the Cuban missile crisis of October 1962 had all heightened cold war tensions. The Ipcress File was a new sort of spy novel, with a new type of hero clearly not cut from the same cloth as the heroes of Ian Fleming and John Buchan. This was an anonymous grammar school lad from Burnley who had little time or respect for the officer class, who was worldly wise and who was very much a modern man. He could even cook â and rather well. He also had a fluency in wise-cracking dialogue reminiscent of Raymond Chandler and seemed to be at one with the zeitgeist of London as the 60s began to swing.
The Ipcress File actually looked like a new type of novel, with footnotes, appendices and a revolutionary all-white dust jacket â previously anathema to publishers â which the author had helped pay for himself. It was, unusually, to be repeated as the cover of early paperback editions and be unjustly blamed for the design of thousands of airport thrillers in the following decade.
Deighton was born in Marylebone, London, the son of an Irish mother, Dorothy (nee Fitzgerald) and an English father, Leonard, who worked as cook and chauffeur to the family of Campbell Dodgson, keeper of prints and drawings at the British Museum. In later life Deighton would tell journalists that he was brought up in a house with 15 servants, and then add casually that his parents were two of them. When Dorothy went into labour, she was rushed to the nearest Marylebone hospital, only to be turned away as it was full, and Len was born in the neighbouring workhouse infirmary.
He was brought up in Gloucester Place Mews, which gave him his first, and possibly only, brush with the world of espionage. The familyâs next-door neighbour, Anna Wolkoff, for whom Deightonâs mother cooked for dinner parties, was a Russian Ă©migrĂ© and member of the Right Club, a group of antisemitic, pro-Nazi sympathisers. Rightly suspected of passing information to Nazi Germany, Wolkoff was arrested by Special Branch in May 1940. The 11-year-old Deighton, from a bedroom window, witnessed the arrest in the middle of the night.
Although the war disrupted his education, he passed the 11-plus to Marylebone grammar school but was prone to playing truant, preferring to hide himself in Marylebone reference library or the British Museum, where he read prodigious amounts of non-fiction. His father told him he would not be punished as long as he was reading.
The war and bomb-damaged London were to leave a lasting impression. He served as a messenger for the first aid post manned by his father and in May 1945 was a 16-year-old ATC cadet on a training flight out of Henstridge in Somerset when he persuaded a bored pilot officer to fly along the south coast looking for U-boats heading for British ports in order to surrender, though, disappointingly, none were spotted.
The end of the war coincided with the end of his schooldays and he took a variety of jobs, including as a railway clerk, while waiting for the call to do his national service. From 1946 to 1949 he served in the RAF and was trained as a photographer in the special investigation branch. On discharge, he took advantage of a servicemanâs grant to enrol at St Martinâs School of Art (now Central Saint Martins) in Soho, later graduating from the Royal College of Art in 1955. As a student, he financed himself by taking jobs as a waiter in Piccadilly and as a kitchen porter at the Royal Festival Hall, where he was mentored by the fish chef, who taught him to skin Dover soles.
Determined to see more of the world, for 1956-57 he worked as a cabin steward on long-haul BOAC flights and on one journey to the Middle East served coffee to Agatha Christie, but then he put his training in graphic art to professional use. In New York, he was an illustrator for magazines including Esquire and Good Housekeeping and, back in London, represented by the Artist Partners agency, he began to forge a reputation as a designer of book jackets.
He combined his illustrative skills with his love of cookery to produce step-by-step recipes in simple graphic form as âCookstripsâ, which began to appear regularly in the Observer from March 1962. Developed from his habit of making âmessyâ notes while cooking and using swift line drawings and directional arrows rather than text, the Cookstrips were a new and fashionably cool dimension in the growing interest in food, and undoubtedly encouraged previously reluctant males to take up cooking. Two volumes of collected Cookstrips, Action Cook Book and OĂč Est Le Garlic? were published in 1965 and the Observer strips ran initially until 1966, by which time Deighton was a full-time bestselling novelist. In 2015, Cookstrips returned to the Observer, with the help of Deightonâs son Alexander from 2017, and ran until February 2021.
The Ipcress File changed everything for Deighton, though its birth was not without complications and it brought its author into a head-to-head conflict with Fleming, or so the media liked to portray it. For several years the Daily Express had run comic-strip versions of Flemingâs James Bond books, but the launch edition of the Sunday Timesâ colour supplement in February 1962 carried a new Bond short story. The rival Express showed its displeasure by ditching the Bond comic strip, no doubt leaving readers puzzled at the abrupt ending of Thunderball. Would the Express like a replacement spy story to run as a serial? Raymond Hawkey, the design director of the Express, knew of one, as yet unpublished, written by his friend Deighton.
The Express declined the offer but the Evening Standard was tempted and serialised the novel over a two-week period immediately prior to publication with the billing: âAn utterly new kind of spy thrillerâ. Despite such a promotional boost, the publishers, Hodder, were reluctant to increase the initial print run above 4,000 copies, having already pushed it up from the standard 2,500 copies for an unknown author.
They had also had qualms about the dust jacket, designed by Hawkey, for whom Deighton had demanded a fee of 50 guineas. When the publisher offered no more than the standard 15 guineas, Deighton made up the difference. That first edition sold out immediately and Deighton, who had given away his author copies, was unable to find one to buy, and never actually owned one.
Relations with his first publisher were further strained when, before The Ipcress File came out, he presented them with the manuscript of a second novel, Horse Under Water, only to be told it would not even be considered until it was seen how Ipcress fared. Deightonâs agent immediately submitted the book to Jonathan Cape, who published it, with an initial print-run of 15,000 hardbacks, in October 1963.
This convinced the conspiracy-theorists that Cape (Flemingâs publisher) were grooming a successor to Bond, especially when the film rights to Ipcress (and Horse) were snapped up by Harry Saltzman, the co-producer of the Bond films. Saltzman invited Deighton to accompany him on a trip to Istanbul and offered the chance to write a script for the second Bond film, From Russia With Love. Nothing came of Deightonâs draft but working with Saltzman whetted his appetite for film production.
Press assertions that he had created an âanti-Bondâ and that a great rivalry with Fleming was brewing was simply speculation, though no doubt good for sales. In fact Fleming had chosen The Ipcress File as his book of the year in the Sunday Times in December 1962 (with the caveat that he did not think thrillers should be funny).
The following six years were intensely busy. Deightonâs anonymous spy hero (called Harry Palmer in the films) appeared in more novels â Funeral in Berlin, Billion Dollar Brain and An Expensive Place to Die â and the film of The Ipcress File in 1965 had secured the star status of Michael Caine (although in a cooking scene Caine had been unable to crack eggs using only one hand, and Deightonâs hand was used in the close-up).
Deightonâs television play Long Past Glory, starring John Le Mesurier and Maurice Denham, was broadcast in November 1963 and, in addition to accepting the role of travel editor for Playboy magazine, he had edited Len Deightonâs London Dossier (1967) for Penguin, which had a revolutionary cut-out keyhole in the cover, through which was peeping one of the iconic faces of the 60s: Twiggy.
Deighton had also plunged into the movie business, scripting and producing the film version of his 1968 comic novel of confidence tricksters, Only When I Larf, and had bought up the film rights to Joan Littlewoodâs musical theatre production Oh What a Lovely War! His motive for making the film, he said, was to honour the memory of his father, who had fought in a machine-gun unit during the first world war and been gassed. To do the subject justice he assembled a huge all-star cast and gave Richard Attenborough the opportunity to direct his first film.
Shooting took place in and around Brighton in the summer of 1968, but by the time the film was released the following year, Deighton was so disillusioned with the number of people demanding a co-producer credit that he took his own name off the film, a gesture he said, many years later, which had been ârather foolishâ. Deighton never produced another film, although his 1972 novel Close Up, about the movie industry, probably allowed him to settle some old scores.
By 1969 and long separated from his wife, the illustrator Shirley Thompson, whom he had married in 1960, he had embarked on a new novel without spies, set around a single night bombing raid on Germany in 1943. The novel, Bomber (1970), generally reckoned to be the first novel written using a word processor, was a huge success; the computer was an IBM MT/ST weighing 91kg and requiring a crane and the removal of a window to install it in Deightonâs home. It was not the first example of Deighton adapting to modern technology â he already had a personal telex machine and a radio telephone in his car.
In 1970 he married Ysabele de Ranitz, who had assisted him in his research and with translations for several years. They were to make their home firstly in Ireland â where they had two sons, Alexander and Antoni â then in Portugal and Guernsey.
The spy stories continued to appear, but Deighton also embarked on a parallel stream of books that demonstrated the depth of his research into the second world war, in both novels and non-fiction. His non-fiction military histories initially evolved, unsurprisingly, from his own experiences in the RAF, with Fighter in 1977, Blitzkrieg in 1979 and The Battle of Britain in 1980, in all of which he examined the German side of the conflict. The war also played a significant part in novels such as XPD (1981), Goodbye Mickey Mouse (1982), City of Gold (1992) and, most spectacularly, in SS-GB (1978), an alternative history in which the Germans had won, Churchill had been executed and the King was being held hostage.
For a new generation of readers, Deightonâs golden period was the 1980s, with the publication of three trilogies featuring the hard-done-by spy Bernard Samson, beginning with Berlin Game, Mexico Set and London Match. Two more trilogies and a âbackgroundâ novel, Winter, about a German family, completed the 10-novel set. The early stories were filmed for Granada television as Game, Set and Match, starring Ian Holm as Samson, though the adaptation was not to Deightonâs liking and it was not a ratings success.
The completion of the Samson triple trilogy coincided with the fall of the Berlin Wall, and Deightonâs thrillers in the early 90s veered back to wartime or explored new territories, such as South America in Mamista (1991) and California in Violent Ward (1993), but the period also saw his most ambitious non-fiction work, Blood, Tears and Folly (1993), which he described as an objective look at the war from its outbreak to Pearl Harbor.
And then, Deighton appeared to switch off his word processor and, without fanfare, retire. He was to say that, after 30 years of writing and obsessive rewriting and research, he felt he had earned a holiday and enjoyed the experience so much that he stayed on holiday. He did not, however, retire completely, cheerfully contributing forewords and introductions to books by other authors and, in 2006, writing his first short story in 35 years for an anthology to mark the 80th birthday of HRF Keating.
His novel SS-GB was televised by the BBC in 2017 and a new ITV adaptation of The Ipcress File was broadcast in 2022, co-produced by Deightonâs son Alexander. Privately, he wrote an unpublished history of aero engines and for many years studied the engineering of the fountain pen, having amassed a sizeable collection.
Fiercely protective of his private life, he rarely gave interviews and avoided public appearances at festivals and conventions. He was elected to the Detection Club in 1969, but turned down the offer of a Diamond Dagger for lifetime achievement from the Crime Writersâ Association on three occasions, maintaining that âtwo things destroy writers â alcohol and praiseâ.
As a writer he maintained there was no substitute for sheer hard work, dismissing the idea of writerâs block as âthe blank wall we secretly know is incompetenceâ and though always associated with the latest technology, he said: âThe only implements needed to write a book are pencil and paper, everything else is luxury.â
Deighton is survived by his wife and two sons.
đ Leonard Cyril Deighton, thriller writer and military historian, born 18 February 1929; died 15 March 2026
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