John le Carré may have a few rivals when selecting the greatest novelist of the late 20th century (there are arguments to be made for Graham Greene, Tom Wolfe, and Philip Roth, among others) but he certainly has no superior. Le Carré was not just a chronicler of the cold war, he was a chronicler of the human – and inhuman – condition. He was wise, witty and decent.

Le Carré (sometimes via George Smiley) served as a Virgil-like guide into various circles of hell – whether it was the spheres of arms dealing, espionage, or bad pharma. Smiley and le Carré drew us into these underworlds, but they also got us out again. One critic recently worked out that, technically, Smiley should have been 125 years old during his last appearance in a novel. The character was justifiably world and war weary. Yet somehow Smiley was also a force for good – and life affirming.

I first encountered le Carré and Smiley when I read The Spy Who Came in from the Cold. I read the novel in a day – and I have re-read it on more than one occasion since. The novel taught me about espionage – and also how to write. Le Carré was a master of plot, atmosphere, character and pace. Indeed, I am not sure what he wasn’t a master of in relation to being a novelist. I wouldn’t be so bold as to claim that any of my books emulate the great man’s works, but I do not think I would have written my Spies of Rome series without having first read his novels.

My hope is that the news coverage his death has generated will prompt people, young and old, to read his great novels – and I would include his first crime novel, Call for the Dead, in that canon. His works provide escapism – but they also compel us to view the world as it is. I would also recommend The Pigeon Tunnel, if only for the chapter on Alec Guiness.

For many a writer the world may seem a slightly emptier place today, but one should also take heart that it is a better place for David Cornwell having lived in it.