Amsterdam

Vernon is the novel’s second protagonist and Clive’s counterpart and foil. He is the editor of the struggling newspaper, the Judge, and his professional desperation drives him toward ethical collapse. Vernon begins the novel with a fragile sense of self, haunted by the feeling that he “might not exist” (31). This deep-seated insecurity fuels his obsession with reversing the paper’s declining circulation, making him receptive to the kind of sensationalist story that might save both his career and his sense of identity. When George presents him with the Garmony photographs, Vernon recognizes them as his professional lifeline. He frames his decision to publish them as a matter of public interest, arguing that Garmony’s hypocrisy must be exposed. However, his primary motivation is the survival of his newspaper and, by extension, himself. This pursuit transforms him from a man who feels like a “nonentity” into one who believes he is on a “historical mission” to cleanse the body politic, a delusion of grandeur masks the pettiness of his crusade.

Vernon’s role explores The Hypocrisy of the Public Versus the Private Self. He publicly champions the principles of journalistic integrity while privately stooping to the methods of the gutter press. His arguments with Clive reveal his capacity for self-deception. He criticizes Clive’s moral cowardice in the Lake District, yet he is blind to his own ethical compromises. For Vernon, ruining a man’s life is a justifiable part of the job, and he sees this as a necessary evil for the greater good of saving his paper. His professional ambition completely eclipses his personal morality, leading him to rationalize actions that are driven by desperation and, eventually, spite. His relationship with Frank Dibben further illustrates his descent; he cultivates a newsroom informant, embracing the cynical, manipulative tactics he once condemned.

Like Clive, Vernon is a dynamic and round character whose friendship and ethical code disintegrate under pressure. Their initial conflict over the photographs spirals into a cycle of mutual betrayal. After Clive sends Vernon a postcard stating, “You deserve to be sacked” (149), Vernon misreads it as a cruel taunt following his dismissal and retaliates by reporting Clive to the police. This act of spite solidifies their enmity and sets the stage for their final confrontation in Amsterdam. Vernon’s decision to participate in the mutual murder plot confirms his total moral decay. He travels to Amsterdam under the pretense of reconciliation, but his intent is rooted in a cold desire for revenge against the man he blames, in part, for his downfall. Vernon’s journey from an insecure editor to a calculating killer demonstrates that his public crusade was never about principle but was always about the validation of a fragile ego.

Julian Garmony is the catalyst for the novel’s central conflict and the primary embodiment of the theme of the hypocrisy of the public versus the private self. As the foreign secretary, Garmony has built a successful political career on a platform of “xenophobic and punitive opinions” (14), positioning himself as a champion of traditional family values. This stern public persona makes the revelation of his secret life as a cross-dresser all the more significant. The Garmony photographs, taken in confidence by his former lover, Molly, symbolize the vulnerable and complex private identity that exists behind his carefully managed public image. The images depict, as Clive observes, “a man revealed in a sexual state” (75), exposing a deep-seated aspect of his identity that his political life requires him to conceal.

Garmony’s character resists easy categorization as a simple antagonist. While his politics are presented as cruel and his public demeanor as arrogant, the revelation of his secret life introduces a layer of vulnerability and complexity, revealing the “impossible hopes of his confounded identity” (76). His trust in Molly suggests a capacity for intimacy and a need for acceptance that his political persona cannot accommodate. This vulnerability complicates the moral calculus of Vernon’s decision to publish the photos, shifting the act from a straightforward exposure of hypocrisy to a cruel violation of a deeply private aspect of a person’s life.

Ultimately, Garmony is neither destroyed nor redeemed by the scandal. Instead, his survival is orchestrated by his wife, Rose, who masterfully reframes the narrative. While he wins public sympathy, the episode proves fatal to his leadership ambitions, as his party deems such a “vulnerability in a would-be leader” unacceptable (188). His fate underscores the novel’s cynical depiction of public life, where the performance of strength is paramount. Garmony becomes a casualty not of his secret life, but of its exposure, and he ends up a victim of the very political and media machinery he sought to command.

George, Molly’s widower, is a minor antagonist whose vengeful machinations drive the plot. A “sad, rich publisher” (5), George is held in “general contempt” by Molly’s intellectual circle. His wealth is derived from sensationalist books about conspiracy theories and pseudoscience, a detail that establishes his character as low-brow and opportunistic. His defining trait is a deep-seated possessiveness, which manifests first in the way he isolates Molly during her final illness and later in his desire to control her memory. He resents her former lovers, particularly Garmony, and this resentment fuels his actions after her death.

George is the story’s key manipulator. He provides the Garmony photographs to Vernon, fully aware of Vernon’s professional desperation. His motive is not public interest but personal revenge against Garmony. He skillfully plays on Vernon’s ambitions, pretending to offer him a career-saving scoop while satisfying his own petty grudge. George operates from the sidelines—he is a string-puller whose actions precipitate the moral collapse of the two protagonists. He is a static and flat character, remaining fundamentally unchanged throughout the narrative. His final appearance sees him callously contemplating asking Vernon’s widow to dinner and planning Molly’s memorial service where “he alone would make the speech” (193). This final thought perfectly encapsulates his character: self-serving, controlling, and utterly devoid of genuine grief or remorse.

Molly is a posthumous character whose life and death function as the novel’s central catalyst. Existing only in the memories of the men who loved her, she represents a past of vitality, wit, and sexual freedom that stands in stark contrast to the bitter, middle-aged world of the novel’s present. Remembered as a “gorgeous wit, and photographer, the daring gardener” (4), she is the emotional and social link between all the main characters: Clive, Vernon, Julian Garmony, and her husband, George. Her undignified death from a rapid degenerative disease haunts Clive and Vernon, prompting them to make their fatal euthanasia pact. Her photographs of Garmony, taken in an act of intimate trust, are corrupted into a tool for professional ambition and personal revenge, symbolizing how easily her legacy is debased by the petty squabbles of the men she left behind.