Count Zero by William Gibson (1986)

He drank off the black bitter coffee. It seemed to him, just for a second, that he could feel the whole Sprawl breathing, and its breath was old and sick and tired, all up and down the stations from Boston to Atlanta…’ (p.286)

The setting

This is the second novel in what came to be known as Gibson’s ‘Sprawl’ trilogy (because there ended up being three of them: his debut, Neuromancer, and the third novel, Mona Lisa Overdrive.)

It is the future. Vast urban sprawls cover half of America, housing estates and huge malls under enormous geodesic domes blocking out the sky. Japanese culture and cuisine is widespread and everyone uses the New Yen as currency. Computers and digital technology, chips and disks, fuel a digital economy. Oil appears to have run out – possibly because Russia took control of the global supply after a brief war which America and the West lost – to be replaced by hydrogen cells. Electricity is generated by the Eastern Seaboard Fission Authority whose well-protected gleaming towers of data can be seen by hackers in cyberspace. The real power in the world lies with vast multinational corporations known as zaibatsus. At the other end of the food chain, down on the littered streets, cheap bars and derelict spaces are full of veterans from the war, damaged physically or psychologically, many of whom turn up as protagonists in the Sprawl novels and in some of the Sprawl-related short stories collected in Burning Chrome (1986) published at the same time as the novels.

‘Sprawltown’s a twisty place, my man.Things are seldom what they seem.’ (Lucas, p.205)

This setting – ‘the street’ – is characterised by two things:

  1. a Raymond Chandler film noir sensibility in which the world is entirely made up of crime and gangs –  especially the terrifying Yakuza gangs
  2. drugs, lots of drugs, everyone is on one type of drug or another, the hero of Neuromancer is off his face a lot of the time, and the drugs range from cheap street drugs like amphetamine (known on the street as ‘wiz’) to new, biochemically-engineered mind-enhancing substances (like ‘the most expensive designer drugs’ which the character named The Wig devotes himself to taking, p.173)

The result is a prose style which combines the basic mood of a thriller – the permanent edginess of protagonists on the run from threatening crime lords or criminal organisations or the cops or someone  – but soaked in slangy, hip, knowing references to the ho-tech, drug-soaked, street gang components of this louche futureworld.

The feel

All that said, Count Zero immediately feels much broader and lighter than Neuromancer. That debut novel was set mostly at night, in often claustrophobic settings, bars, clubs, hotel rooms, dingy back alleys. Also the prose was extremely dense, studded with references to arcane technology or drugs or street gangs. There was barely a run-of-the-mill sentence in the whole book.

Count Zero is much more relaxed and diffused in several ways: its prose style is a lot less hectic – there are plenty of straightforward, factual sentences in it – but also the settings are more varied, and some of them even take place in daylight!

In fact whereas Neuromancer stuck pretty closely to the adventures of its computer hacker hero, Case, Count Zero is a complicated and canny weaving together of what start out as several completely distinct plotlines, featuring completely freestanding characters. Only as the story progresses do we slowly discover how they are linked.

Turner

Turner is an experienced kidnapper of top scientists. In the future this is a recognised profession. The huge scientific multinational corporations which control the world are prepared to pay kidnappers like Turner to poach the star scientists of the rival corporations.

‘You took Chauvet from IBM for Mitsu and they say you took Semenov out of Tomsky.’ (0.68)

Turner is – like the protagonist of every thriller ever written – an outsider, a rebel, the man who doesn’t fit in. Oh how we all wish we could be like him!

Turner himself was incapable of meshing with the intensely tribal world of the zaibatsumen, the lifers. He was a permanent outsider, a rogue factor adrift on the secret seas of intercorporate politics. (p.128)

‘A rogue factor adrift on the secret seas of intercorporate politics’ – cool!

Strikingly, the novel opens with a chapter describing how Turner was blown to pieces by an assassin’s bomb in India, and expensively fitted back together using future technology bythe clients who find him useful. Recuperating in Mexico, he hooks up with a pretty woman he meets in a bar and they have an idyllic romance, with sex on the beach, and sex in the bedroom.

Then – as with half the protagonists in the Burning Chrome stories and in Neuromancer – she walks away, leaving him devastated.

Turns out she was a therapist hired by the client to get Turner back into shape. The client now shows up and tells him this. Turner, super-tough guy that he is, accepts it without a flicker. (This opening reminded me of the idyllic Third World setting at the start of the second Jason Bourne movie, where Jason and his true love are enjoying idyllic times in a beach-front shack in India, till she is killed by mistake by an assassin sent to terminate Jason.)

These are rock solid, straight down-the-line, Hollywood-level, tough guy thriller clichés, and you can see the appeal.

  1. Every timid, shy, boring salaryman and commuter (like myself) thrills to the adventures of people like Turner – young (he is 24, p.131), super-fit, super-alert, super-trained, no-nonsense, super-brave, possessor of ‘a ropey, muscular poise’ (p.129): faces down men bigger and harder than him, immediately wins over the tough bitch in the team, wow, what a man! (it was, apparently, in a review of On Her Majesty’s Secret Service published in the Sunday Times in 1963 that the critic Raymond Mortimer wrote, ‘James Bond is what every man would like to be, and what every woman would like between her sheets.’ Nothing has changed in 56 years.)
  2. And yet, just as predictably, it turns out this tough guy has a heart of soppy mush — for the right woman he can be a perfect gent, picnics on the beach and cunnilingus in the bedroom. What a guy!

We follow as Turner is hired for a new job by his former partner, Conroy. He is to be in charge of setting up a base in the desert with a ragtag bunch of fellow mercs, ready to receive the absconding scientist, Christopher Mitchell, who will be escaping from Maas Biolabs’ high security research base in Arizona. Mitchell is a star science researcher who had developed the ‘hybridoma techniques’ on which much contemporary technology is based (p.127). A very important guy. the client is Hosaka Corp who want his brains and expertise. It’s a major assignment. You won’t be surprised to learn that things go disastrously wrong,

Marly

The Turner chapters are intercut with chapters following Marly Krushkhova, the pretty, rather naive ‘disgraced former owner of a tiny Paris gallery’. She promoted a painting which turned out to be a forgery, so she was fired by the shareholders. Now she’s going for a job interview with a business owned by Josef Virek, rumoured to be the richest man in the world.

Marly is disconcerted to discover that Virek is not present in person, but that she is transported to a life-size hologram of a street in Barcelona, where she sits next to a hologram of him on a park bench and they chat.

In fact, the hologram tells her, the actual ‘Virek’ exists only as a disembodied brain kept alive in a vat in a him security compound in Stockholm.

He doesn’t want to hire her for some straightforward gallery job. Virek wants Marly to track down the artist who created a particular artwork which he once saw and was taken with – a Damian Hirst-style vivarium full of a random collection of detritus.

Virek will authorise money for her use to hire an apartment, planes, whatever she needs in her quest. ‘How long do I have?’ she asks. ‘The rest of your life,’ he replies. It takes a while for her to really understand that he is giving her an unlimited supply of money, over an unlimited period of time, to use all her contacts in the art world to track down the artist who made this one piece.

And, once she has staggered out of the hologram room to be met by Virek’s smooth-talking assistants and given the first instalment of money, she begins to realise that she is being followed and monitored at every step, not least by a suave Spanish man, Paco, who keeps appearing in the background whenever she meets contacts and begins her investigation.

This Quest will turn out to be the central driving force of the narrative, but the fact that Virek is so obscenely rich also gives Gibson plenty of opportunity to reflect on the nature of money, lots of money, super-money, and the effect it has on its owners and on those around them. In this futureworld where people routinely alter their consciousness either with mind-bending drugs or by encountering 3-D holograms or by entering the dizzying world of cyberspace, the rich can quite literally bend reality to their wishes.

‘The unnatural density of my wealth drags irresistibly at the rarest works of the human spirit…’ (p.27)

How could she have imagined that it would be possible to live, to move, in the unnatural field of Virek’s wealth without suffering distortion? Virek had taken her up, in all her misery, and had rotated her through the monstrous, invisible stresses of his money, and she had been changed. (p.107)

Virek’s money was a sort of universal solvent, dissolving barriers to his will… (p.2420

Count Zero

Bobby Newmark, self-styled ‘Count Zero’, still lives with his mom in a crappy apartment in the vast area of cheap, high-rise housing known as Barrytown, New Jersey. He is an apprentice computer hacker, a cowboy of cyberspace, a ‘hotdogger’, hanging round the estate’s chrome-lined bars, trying to be fit in with the local gang members, but keenly aware that he is only a beginner with only a basic, entry-level hacker’s view of cyberspace.

He was like a kid who’d grown up beside an ocean, taking it as much for granted as he took the sky, but knowing nothing of currents, shipping routes of the ins and outs of weather. He’d used decks in school, toys that shuttled you through the infinite reaches of that space that wasn’t space, mankind’s unthinkably complex consensual hallucination, the matrix cyberspace, where the great corporate hotcores burned like neon novas, data so dense you suffered sensory overload if you tried to apprehend more than the merest outline. (p.62)

A local crime boss, Two-A-Day, hands Bobby a state-of-the-art console and asks him to hack into the financial records of some company. Things are going OK when Bobby suddenly experiences an enormous counter-surge of energy directed against him which stops his heart in the real world. Bobby starts to die, when some other undefined force leans in to cyberspace, releases him, and he regains consciousness on his mom’s carpet throwing up.

What the…?

He goes looking for Two-A-Day at the local crappy bar, Leon’s, where Gibson gives us florid descriptions of the drug-selling, computer-game-playing lowlifes. On the TV news he sees that his mum’s flat, indeed the entire row of apartments on that block, have been destroyed by a bomb. Christ! They’re after him.

Bobby goes and hides down a back alley by a dumpster which turns out be a bad idea because someone savagely mugs him. Whoever it is, slashes his chest open and also steals the console Two-A-Day gave him.

When Bobby comes round he is being sewn up using futuristic technology, and then delivered to Two-A-Day’s vast penthouse apartment where he meets a couple of soft-spoken, nattily-dressed and terrifying black men, Beauvoir and Lucas.

Beauvoir explains what’s happened: Two-A-Day had been given some new, high-powered anti-ice (ice being security software devised by corporations to protect their digital assets in cyberspace) program to by unnamed powerful agents. Unwilling to risk anything himself, Two-A-Day had sub-contracted the thing to Bobby – the idea being that, if it’s booby-trapped or dangerous it’ll only be worthless Bobby who gets wasted.

Well, something bad certainly happened to Bobby when he tried to use it. 1. Was that a failure of the program, or was it booby-trapped, or did it trigger a prepared defence mechanism in the corporation Bobby tried to hack?

But 2. and more importantly, whoever mugged him stole the console with the software inside. Now the very High-Ups who sub-contracted testing it to Two-A-Day are pissed off with him… and he is pissed off with Bobby, who needs to get it back.

Three mysteries

These are the three storylines which we follow in short, alternating chapters of Gibson’s over-heated, amphetamine-fuelled prose.

As the night came on, Turner found the edge again. It seemed like a long time since he’d been there, but when it clicked in, it was like he’d never left. It was that superhuman synchromesh flow that stimulants only approximated. (p.126)

All the characters hover on the edge of mind-altering psychotropic drug highs, or mind-expanding plug-ins to the dizzying landscape of cyberspace, or are involved in terror-inducing chases by cops or all-powerful threatening powers. With the result that the prose, and even more the plot, has you permanently on edge. It is a fantastically thrilling, gripping and exciting novel but which can also, partly because of the permanent obscurity Gibson maintains around some of the key motivators of the plot, become quite wearing and draining.

Basically, the narrative hangs around three cliffhanging challenges:

  1. Will Turner’s handling of the defection of the high-level scientist work out as planned?
  2. Who made the artwork that Virek hired Marly to track down, and why is Virek so obsessed by it?
  3. Will Bobby ‘Count Zero’ manage to find the people who mugged him and stole his console, and what is the truth about the new super-program inside it?

Continuities with Neuromancer

I thought the book would be part of the Sprawl trilogy because set in the same futureworld, I hadn’t realised it would literally follow on from the first book, referencing many of the characters and incidents mentioned in Neuromancer and taking them further.

For example, you will remember that the climax of Neuromancer is set on a space station orbiting the earth, only much more than a space station, more like a miniature town set inside a vast offworld which rotates to give it gravity and includes luxury hotels, swimming pools and pleasure gardens. One whole end of this was sealed off and the home of the legendary Tessier-Ashpool family which are the richest in the world and built it.

The Quest in Neuromancer is that Case and the ferocious Molly Millions, she with the 4-centimetry retractable razor blades under each fingernail are hired to co-ordinate an attack on the heart of the Tessier-Ashpool stronghold – Molly has to kidnap the daughter of old man Ashpool, named 3Jane because the wicked old man has manufactured clones of his daughters, and drag her to a jewel-studded head, there to utter the codeword which activates it, at the same time as Case the hacker has hacked into the Tessier-Ashpool security system and disabled it.

Straightforward as this may sound the novel kind of crumbles or disintegrates into increasingly visionary prose as the goal of the Quest is reached and we learn, through welters of mystical-cum-hi-tech prose, that two separate artificial intelligences crafted by 3Jane’s mother, are, at the mention of the codeword, allowed to unite thus creating a sort of super-intelligence which, at that moment, becomes identical with all of cyberspace. In a sort of apocalyptic vision the matrix becomes self-aware, and although it doesn’t affect the material reality of humans out in the real world, it is a transformative event in the collective consensual hallucination of all the world’s data which we call ‘cyberspace’.

‘It’s just a tailored hallucination we all agree to have, cyberspace…’ (the Finn, p.170)

What happens in Count Zero is this story continues. It is seven years after the events of the first novel (p.177) and the sharp-dressed spades Bobby has met are privy to what’s happened to cyberspace since that seismic event, namely that the One has split into a variety of entities which share the names of traditional voodoo gods and goddesses. Yes, voodoo. The latter half of the book is coloured by what Beauvoir and Lucas tell Bobby about the presence in cyberspace of these gods who represent primeval forces, though it is very hard to understand whether they existed before cyberspace, since the dawn of time and have infiltrated it, or are entirely man-made constructions, or what.

‘Jackie is a mambo, a priestess, the horse of Danbala…Danbala rides her, Danbala Wedo, the snake. Other times she is the horse of Aida Wedo, his wife…’ (p.122)

Beauvoir brings Bobby to a bar, Jammer’s, on the 14th floor of a high-rise block in New York.

The most important event in the Turner plotline is that, when the ultralite arrives at the reception site prepared by Turner and the other mercs, it is carrying not Mitchell, but his teenage daughter Angie. Even as she arrives a ferocious firestorm breaks out, presumably Maas Biolabs’ security people having followed its course and now attacking. Turner unstraps the girl from the ultralite and runs with her to a small, high-powered, self-steering jet which takes off at terrific speed just as Turner watches the campment and all the mercs manning it – who we have spent half the book getting to know – vaporised in some kind of semi-nuclear blast.

Bloodied and half conscious Turner steers to plane to crash land near the ranch of his long lost brother, Rudy, and his partner, Sally. Here they fix up the girl, whose name is Angie and have a couple of scenes reminiscing about the old days, about mom and pa and huntin’ and fishin’ in the unspoilt countryside.

This is precisely the kind of low-key interlude you get in Hollywood thrillers, a break after an over-tense fight/crash/conflict sequence. Then it is time to load up into a spare hovercraft (yes, hovercraft are a popular form of transport in this futureworld) and head off, with a vague plan of hiding out in the Sprawl, the name given to the vast urban conurbation stretching from Boston to Florida.

Meanwhile Marly’s investigations keep turning up the name of Tessier-Ashpool and her quest leads her to buy a ticket to the off-world satellite, named Freeside – exactly the place where Neuromancer climaxed. Now, though, the entire section of the satellite which contained the Tessier-Ashpool compound has been hacked off and set into a separate orbit.

Here Marly discovers a mad old cyberhacker, Wigan Ludgate known as The Wig hiding out, guarded by a young crook on the run, Jones (‘me, I came here runnin” p.274) – both of them protective of the core of the complex which is a vast space in which great clusters of waste objects and detritus float in zero gravity. ‘The dome of the Boxmaker’ (p.312)

Attached to a wall is a multi-armed computer-driven robot which uses its arms to grab passing flotsam, cut and shape them with a laser, and then place them in vivariums. This is the robotic creator of the work of art which so entranced Virek.

But along the way, being sent messages from Virek in cyberspace, when she jacks into simstim, by couriers and agents, she’s slowly come to realise that the artist is in danger. Virek doesn’t just want an art work. And now, here in this gravityless dome, a screen flickers into life and his face appears, explaining.

He explains that for some time he’s known that a Christopher Mitchell working at Maas Biolabs has been fed information from some source in cyberspace, this being the real source of Mitchell’s astonishing tech breakthroughs. And his numerous agents and researches have led him to believe that the source of this information, the superbrain behind it, also made the vitrines he set her to track down. Now she has found the source, and is agents, having followed her all the way, are at the doors of the Tessier-Ashpool satellite.

Meanwhile, in the Jammers bar in New York, Bobby and his minder Beauvoir are joined by Angie and Turner. On his long journey – interspersed by attacks from various unnamed opponents (Maas? Hosaka? Conroy?) – Turner has had plenty of opportunity to learn that Angie’s brain has been laced with some kind of physical entity (‘a biosoft modification has been inserted in his daughter’s brain’). This may or may not explain her ability to see visions. While asleep she dreams of voodoo gods and talks to them and, sometimes, they speak through her mouth, as one possessed. At one point she retales to Turner the events at the climax of Neuromancer which we recognise though mean nothing to him.

By the time Turner and Angie meet up with Beauvoir and Bobby in the New York bar, all these characters have had quite a few conversations about what is going on in cyberspace, what the voodoo gods represent, and how they’re linked to the events in the Tessier-Ashpool offworld compound (which, of course, most of them only know about from confused rumour).

The result, for the reader, is to be in a state of sort of permanently confused tension. Turner is chased and attacked, the girl Angie has premonitions of disaster, Bobby is mugged and then on the run from Two-A-Day and whoever his bosses are, the New York nightclub is surrounded by threatening mobs who are under someone’s control, when they open the door laser guns are fired through it.

Only right at the end is Turner contacted by the man who hired him, Conroy, who explains at least part of the plot. According to him, Josef Virek, the world’s richest man, has heard about a new form of biosoft developed by Mitchell and his investigators were all over Mitchell’s attempt to escape Maas. But when he sent his daughter out instead – her head actually laced with the new biosoft invention) Maas’s own men pursued Turner and Angie, observed by Virek’s men, and complicated by the fact the corporation who was paying for Mitchell to be extracted, Hosaka, thought they’d been double crossed and were also tracking Turner.

By the end of the book I think that one of Beauvoir’s speculations may be close to the truth, that The One created at the end of Neuromancer has, for reasons unknown, split into multiple lesser entities and that these, having ranged through all mankind’s systems of signs and symbols, have settled on the voodoo gods as appropriate interfaces with mankind that humans will understand. The least incomprehensible, anyway.

In Jammer’s Bobby jacks into the matrix to find out why the club is surrounded and how to get rid of the mob and the attackers, when a series of things happens. He is sucked into a powerful programme and suddenly is sitting in the same park on the same bench next to Josef Virek as Marly had early in the novel. But the women he jacked in with, one of Beauvoir’s black associates, was killed almost immediately. Virek has no idea who Bobby is and orders his sidekick, Paco to shoot him but, just as Paco lines up a gun, another far bigger program and presence erupts out of the flower beds and chases Virek’s screaming figure down the path and obliterates him.

It is Baron Samedi, one of the voodoo presences and he is taking his revenge for one of their number being killed by a Virek programme. In his vat in Stockholm Virek’s life support fails. He is dead with the result that a) up in the dome of the Boxmaker his face suddenly disappears from the screen where Marly had been listening to his orders and b) outside Jammer’s the assassins and mercs who had assembled to grab Angie – which was the goal of them surrounding the place – are abruptly called off.

Conroy, the menacing merc who had hired Turner for the extraction job and who appears on a videocall right at the end explaining to Turner the combination of forces who’ve been pursuing him, well in the attack on the merc’s camp back at the moment when Angie’s ultralight touched down and which killed all the other mercs Turner had assembled – one of them (Ramirez) had a girlfriend, Jaylene Slide, a mean bitch who is plenty angry at Conroy.

‘I’m Slide,’ the figure said, hand on its hips. ‘Jaylene. You don’t fuck with me. Nobody in LA,’ and she gestured, a window suddenly snapped into existence behind her,’ fucks with me.’ (p.292)

Turns out she has been tracking him down to his current location in a hotel in New York, Park Avenue to be precise. And, as we and Turner are watching Conroy’s face on the screen, we hear her order her buddies to blow up the entire floor of the building where Conroy and his team are based. Conroy hesitates a moment and then there’s a loud bang then the picture flickers off.

Before being blown up Conroy had told Turner that Hosaka and Maas, the two giant corporations had reached a settlement about Mitchell’s death, a discreet payout with no publicity in the way of giant corporations.

And so, in the space of a few pages, all the baddies who have been chasing our heroes and fuelling the nail-biting narrative, disappear! Turner, Angie, Bobby – suddenly they’re all safe.

Loose ends

So once again, as in Neuromancer, the novel’s climax is an odd mix of the entirely worldly thriller element (Slide’s revenge against Conroy) and typical corporate cynicism (Maas and Hosaka making up) with a strangely mystical and difficult to understand element (the voodoo gods who destroy Virek). And I think that is a deliberate point – the point that the complexity of cyberspace has produced entities which are literally beyond human comprehension and with goals and aims of their own which interact and overlap with human motivations but are extra to them.

Anyway, most of the human characters survive and in a couple of pages at the end of the main narrative we are given a little of their subsequent careers. The teenager Angie, bloodied by some of her experiences, but unbowed, uses her access to the voodoo gods to establish a career as a simstim star for the global entertainment corp, Sense/Net.

If you remember, right back when Bobby jacked into Two-A-Day’s console and was being killed, it was she who stepped in to save him. Thereafter, for the rest of the book, they have a close psychic ink which neither can quite explain and becomes more important as Bobby jacks in in subsequent sequences. The upshot is that Angie hires Bobby as her ‘bodyguard’ in the new life she carves out for herself in California.

Marly returns to Paris unscathed by her adventures and ends up curating one of the largest art galleries in the city.

Turner returns to the ranch where he had briefly holed up with Rudy and Sally earlier in the book. It’s typical of the plot’s complexities that during those brief few days he managed to fall in love with Sally (his brother’s partner) and impregnate her (p.194). Rudy himself was, with the inevitability of a Hollywood thriller, killed by Turner’s pursuers when they tracked the crashed jet to their ranch – but they let Sally live and she gave birth to Turner’s child nine months later. He’s quit the kidnapping business.

But behind all this is the uneasy knowledge that the matrix of cyberspace has, apparently, become home to sentient beings, who take the shape of voodoo gods and can intervene in human affairs. Should we be worried? Is this all going to lead to some Terminator-style apocalypse? You have to read the third in the trilogy to find out.

P.S. the Finn

I should add that Beauvoir at one stage takes Count Zero to see the Finn, an outrageously foul-mouthed, dirty and senior hacker who, it turns out, was the man who passed on the dodgy console to Two-A-Day. It’s only right at the end of the book, and after reading the ending a couple of times, that I think I worked out that the console is one of many objects made by the machine in the Dome of the Boxmaker, which Wigan Ludgate, in his madness, sends off to an unnamed fence back on earth, who I think we are meant to deduce is the Finn. So the program inside the workaday-looking console is in fact an advanced product made by the voodoo AIs. And which explains why Angie, who is a separate creation of the voodoo AIs via her father, Mitchell, was able to lean into it when it began to overpower and kill the Count back in the early pages of the novel.

I mention all this a) because it ties up a loose thread, b) because it gives you a sense of the complexity – and the wacky characters – which the narrative delights in c) because the Finn will turn up in the next novel, Mona Lisa Overdrive.

Credit

Count Zero by William Gibson was published by Victor Gollancz Ltd in 1986. All references are to the 1993 Grafton paperback edition.


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1943 Perelandra (Voyage to Venus) by C.S. Lewis – Ransom is sent to Perelandra aka Venus, to prevent a second temptation by the Devil and the fall of the planet’s new young inhabitants
1945 That Hideous Strength: A Modern Fairy-Tale for Grown-ups by C.S. Lewis– Ransom assembles a motley crew to combat the rise of an evil corporation which is seeking to overthrow mankind
1949 Nineteen Eighty-Four by George Orwell – after a nuclear war, inhabitants of ruined London are divided into the sheep-like ‘proles’ and members of the Party who are kept under unremitting surveillance

1950 I, Robot by Isaac Asimov – nine short stories about ‘positronic’ robots, which chart their rise from dumb playmates to controllers of humanity’s destiny
1950 The Martian Chronicles – 13 short stories with 13 linking passages loosely describing mankind’s colonisation of Mars, featuring strange, dreamlike encounters with Martians
1951 Foundation by Isaac Asimov – the first five stories telling the rise of the Foundation created by psychohistorian Hari Seldon to preserve civilisation during the collapse of the Galactic Empire
1951 The Illustrated Man – eighteen short stories which use the future, Mars and Venus as settings for what are essentially earth-bound tales of fantasy and horror
1952 Foundation and Empire by Isaac Asimov – two long stories which continue the future history of the Foundation set up by psychohistorian Hari Seldon as it faces attack by an Imperial general, and then the menace of the mysterious mutant known only as ‘the Mule’
1953 Second Foundation by Isaac Asimov – concluding part of the ‘trilogy’ describing the attempt to preserve civilisation after the collapse of the Galactic Empire
1953 Earthman, Come Home by James Blish – the adventures of New York City, a self-contained space city which wanders the galaxy 2,000 years hence powered by spindizzy technology
1953 Fahrenheit 451 by Ray Bradbury – a masterpiece, a terrifying anticipation of a future when books are banned and professional firemen are paid to track down stashes of forbidden books and burn them
1953 Childhood’s End by Arthur C. Clarke a thrilling narrative involving the ‘Overlords’ who arrive from space to supervise mankind’s transition to the next stage in its evolution
1954 The Caves of Steel by Isaac Asimov – set 3,000 years in the future when humans have separated into ‘Spacers’ who have colonised 50 other planets, and the overpopulated earth whose inhabitants live in enclosed cities or ‘caves of steel’, and introducing detective Elijah Baley to solve a murder mystery
1956 The Naked Sun by Isaac Asimov – 3,000 years in the future detective Elijah Baley returns, with his robot sidekick, R. Daneel Olivaw, to solve a murder mystery on the remote planet of Solaria
1956 They Shall Have Stars by James Blish – explains the invention – in the near future – of the anti-death drugs and the spindizzy technology which allow the human race to colonise the galaxy
1957 The Black Cloud by Fred Hoyle – a vast cloud of gas heads into the solar system, blocking out heat and light from the sun with cataclysmic consequences on Earth, until a small band of maverick astronomers discovers that the cloud contains intelligence and can be communicated with
1959 The Triumph of Time by James Blish – concluding story of Blish’s Okie tetralogy in which Amalfi and his friends are present at the end of the universe

1961 A Fall of Moondust by Arthur C. Clarke a pleasure tourbus on the moon is sucked down into a sink of moondust, sparking a race against time to rescue the trapped crew and passengers
1962 A Life For The Stars by James Blish – third in the Okie series about cities which can fly through space, focusing on the coming of age of kidnapped earther, young Crispin DeFord, aboard New York
1962 The Man in the High Castle by Philip K. Dick In an alternative future America lost the Second World War and has been partitioned between Japan and Nazi Germany. The narrative follows a motley crew of characters including a dealer in antique Americana, a German spy who warns a Japanese official about a looming surprise German attack, and a woman determined to track down the reclusive author of a hit book which describes an alternative future in which America won the Second World War
1963 Planet of the Apes by Pierre Boulle French journalist Ulysse Mérou accompanies Professor Antelle on a two-year space flight to the star Betelgeuse, where they land on an earth-like plane to discover that humans and apes have evolved here, but the apes are the intelligent, technology-controlling species while the humans are mute beasts
1968 2001: A Space Odyssey a panoramic narrative which starts with aliens stimulating evolution among the first ape-men and ends with a spaceman being transformed into galactic consciousness
1968 Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep? by Philip K. Dick In 1992 androids are almost indistinguishable from humans except by trained bounty hunters like Rick Deckard who is paid to track down and ‘retire’ escaped andys
1969 Ubik by Philip K. Dick In 1992 the world is threatened by mutants with psionic powers who are combated by ‘inertials’. The novel focuses on the weird alternative world experienced by a group of inertials after a catastrophe on the moon

1971 Mutant 59: The Plastic Eater by Kit Pedler and Gerry Davis – a genetically engineered bacterium starts eating the world’s plastic
1973 Rendezvous With Rama by Arthur C. Clarke – in 2031 a 50-kilometre long object of alien origin enters the solar system, so the crew of the spaceship Endeavour are sent to explore it
1974 Flow My Tears, The Policeman Said by Philip K. Dick – America after the Second World War has become an authoritarian state. The story concerns popular TV host Jason Taverner who is plunged into an alternative version of this world in which he is no longer a rich entertainer but down on the streets among the ‘ordinaries’ and on the run from the police. Why? And how can he get back to his storyline?
1974 The Forever War by Joe Haldeman The story of William Mandella who is recruited into special forces fighting the Taurans, a hostile species who attack Earth outposts, successive tours of duty requiring interstellar journeys during which centuries pass on Earth, so that each of his return visits to the home planet show us society’s massive transformations over the course of the thousand years the war lasts.

1981 The Golden Age of Science Fiction edited by Kingsley Amis – 17 classic sci-fi stories from what Amis considers the Golden Era of the genre, namely the 1950s
1982 2010: Odyssey Two by Arthur C. Clarke – Heywood Floyd joins a Russian spaceship on a two-year journey to Jupiter to a) reclaim the abandoned Discovery and b) investigate the monolith on Japetus
1984 Neuromancer by William Gibson – burnt-out cyberspace cowboy Case is lured by ex-hooker Molly into a mission led by ex-army colonel Armitage to penetrate the secretive corporation, Tessier-Ashpool at the bidding of the vast and powerful artificial intelligence, Wintermute
1986 Burning Chrome by William Gibson – ten short stories, three or four set in Gibson’s ‘Sprawl’ universe, the others ranging across sci-fi possibilities, from a kind of horror story to one about a failing Russian space station
1986 Count Zero by William Gibson – second in the ‘Sprawl trilogy’
1987 2061: Odyssey Three by Arthur C. Clarke – Spaceship Galaxy is hijacked and forced to land on Europa, moon of the former Jupiter, in a ‘thriller’ notable for Clarke’s descriptions of the bizarre landscapes of Halley’s Comet and Europa

1990 The Difference Engine by William Gibson and Bruce Sterling – in an alternative history Charles Babbage’s early computer, instead of being left as a paper theory, was actually built, drastically changing British society, so that by 1855 it is led by a party of industrialists and scientists who use databases and secret police to keep the population under control

Modernity Britain: Opening the Box 1957–59 by David Kynaston (2014)

Opening the Box is the first book in volume three of David Kynaston’s epic social history of post-war Britain.

It opens on 10 January 1957 as Harold Macmillan drops by Buckingham Palace to be made Prime Minister, and ends on Friday 9 October 1959 as the final results show that the Conservatives have won a staggering majority of 100 in the General Election: so the book covers about two years and nine months of British domestic history.

I say ‘domestic’ because there is no, absolutely no, mention of the British Empire, the independence struggles / small wars the British Army was fighting, or the impact of foreign affairs on Britain. The Suez Crisis was dealt with briskly and briefly at the very end of the previous volume: this book is utterly focused on the domestic scene.

In its end points Kynaston provides the usual bombardment of quotations from hundreds of diverse sources, from housewives and soldiers, social planners and architects, young and thrusting writers and crusty old critics, politicians idealistic and cynical, commentators on rugby, cricket, soccer and horse-racing – alongside summaries of scores of numerous sociological reports and surveys carried out during these years into all aspects of social life, and social policy – on housing and new towns and flats, consumer behaviour, ideas of class, the family, and so on.

Unlike a traditional historian Kynaston skips quickly past even quite major political events from the period (and even these tend to be viewed through the prism of his diarists and journal keepers) in order to measure their impact on the ordinary men and women caught up in them.

This is his strength, his forte, the inclusion of so many contemporary voices – experts and ordinary, powerful and powerless – that immersing yourself in the vast tissue of quotes and voices, speeches and reports, diaries and newspaper articles, builds up a cumulative effect of making you feel you really know this period and have lived through these events. It is a powerful ‘immersive’ experience.

But in this, the fifth book in the series, I became increasingly conscious of a pronounced downside to this approach – which is that it lacks really deep analysis.

The experience of reading the book is to be continually skipping on from the FA Cup Final to the Epsom Derby to the domestic worries of Nella Last or Madge Martin to a snide note on the latest political developments by a well-placed observer like Anthony Crossland or Chips Channon, to a report by the town planners of Coventry or Plymouth alongside letters to the local press, to the notes of Anthony Heap, an inveterate attender of West End first nights, or the thoughts about the new consumer society of Michael Young, to the constant refrain of excerpts from the diaries of Kenneth Williams, Philip Larkin and even Macmillan himself.

This all undeniably gives you a panoramic overview of what was happening and, like the reader of any modern newspaper or consumer of a news feed, to some extent it’s up to you, the reader, to sift through the blizzard of voices and information and opinions and decide what is interesting or important to you.

The downside is that you never feel you’ve really got to the bottom of any of the issues. Even the big issues, the ones Kynaston treats at some length (20, 30, 40 pages) never really arrive at a conclusion.

The housing crisis

The housing crisis existed before the war, as social reformers became increasingly aware of just how many millions of British citizens were living in squalid, damp, unlit, unventilated Victorian slums with no running water, baths and only outside toilets – the kind of conditions reported on by George Orwell among others. But the situation was, of course, greatly exacerbated by the German blitz on most of Britain’s major cities, from Plymouth to Glasgow. By 1957 it was estimated there were some 850,000 dwellings unfit for human habitation in the UK.

The result was city councils who were well aware of the need to modernise their cities, to get rid of the old slums and rebuild not only houses but, potentially, the entire layout of the cities. Arguably this was the key issue for a generation after the war and Kynaston reverts to it repeatedly. He quotes town planners and architects as they engaged in fundamental debates about how to go about this task, the most obvious division being between ‘urbanists’, who thought working class communities should be rehoused within the city boundaries, if possible close to or on the same location as the existing slums, once they’d been demolished and new houses built – and ‘dispersionists’, who thought a large percentage of big city populations should be moved right out of the inner cities to a) brand new model estates built on the outskirts of the city, like Pollok outside Glasgow or b) to new towns, overspill towns built 20, 30 or 40 miles away, which could be planned and designed rationally from scratch (places like Stevenage or Harlow).

This debate overlapped with another binary set of alternatives: whether to re-accommodate people in houses or in blocks of flats, with barrages of argument on both sides.

Proponents of flats made the simple case that building vertically was the only way to accommodate such large populations a) quickly b) within the limited space within city borders. They were backed up by zealously modernist architects who had an ideological attachment to the teachings of Le Corbusier and the Bauhaus and thought, at their most extreme, that the new designs for living would change human nature and bring about a new, more egalitarian society. So aesthetics and radical politics were poisonously intertwined in the strong push towards flats.

Ranged against them were a) the tenants, who didn’t want to move into flats, pointing out that flats:

  • are noisy and poorly sound-proofed
  • have no privacy
  • have no gardens
  • so that the kids have to be penned up inside them (‘awful places for families to live in’ – diarist Marian Raynham)
  • the rents are higher

And b) the more conservative or sensitive architects and planners who recognised the simple fact – which comes over in survey after survey after survey that Kynaston quotes – that people wanted a house of their own. Interestingly, this wish turns out to itself be based on an even simpler idea – that almost everyone interviewed in numerous surveys, by writers and newspaper journalists – wanted privacy.

  • ‘I think that the natural way for people to live is in houses,’ Mrs E. Denington, vice-chair of the London County Council’s Housing Committee.
  • ‘Houses are preferred because they are more suitable for family life,’ Hilary Clark, deputy housing manager Wolverhampton

Kynaston emphasises that the years covered in his book were the tipping point.

1958 was the year when modernism indisputably entered the mainstream. (p.129)

During 1958 it became almost a cliché that London’s skyline was changing dramatically. (p.132)

Through the four books so far, and in this one as well, Kynaston gives extensive quotes from slum-dwellers, flat occupiers, new home owners, planners, designers, architects and the sociologists who produced report after report trying to clarify what people wanted and so help shape decisions on the issue.

But – and here’s my point – we never really get to the bottom of the problem. Kynaston quotes extensively and then… moves on to talk about Tommy Steele or the new Carry On film. But I wanted answers. I wanted to hear his opinion. I wanted a systematic exposition of the issues, history and debate which would lead up to conclusions about how we now see it, looking back 65 years.

But there is nothing like that. Kynaston just describes the debate as it unfolded, through the words of reports and surveys and sociologists and architects. But his debate never reaches a conclusion. And after a while that gets a bit frustrating.

Industrial relations

The 1945 Labour government famously nationalised a range of major industries and then, just as famously, ran out of ideas and lost the snap 1951 election.

As the 1940s turned into the 1950s industrial relations remained poor, with Kynaston repeatedly mentioning outbreaks of strikes, sometimes on a big enough scale (like the London dockers strike of 1949) to affect food supplies and spark a range of outraged opinions in the housewife diarists who are among his core contributors.

As the 1950s progress we get snippets of middle class people taking student or holiday jobs down among the working classes and being shocked by the widespread slackness and the culture of skiving which they discover. To balance the picture out, he also gives us, from time to time, vivid portraits of some of the ‘captains of industry’, heads of large companies who turn out to be eccentrics or egomaniacs.

Altogether, as usual, the reader has a vivid sense of the feel of the times and the experiences of a wide range of people living through them. But there are no ideas about industrial policy, trade union legislation, its impact on industry, the economy and the Labour Party which was often seen as being in thrall to stroppy and irresponsibly organisations.

In fact I did glean one idea from reading well over 1,500 pages of Kynaston’s history: this is that around about 1950, the British government and British industry had a once-in-a-generation opportunity to seize the industrial and commercial advantage across a wide range of industrial and consumer goods. German and Japanese industry still lay prostrate after the war and the Americans were focusing on their home markets. If the right investment had been channelled by a capitalist-minded government into the right industries, and if Britain had adopted German-style industrial relations (e.g. having worker representatives on the boards of companies) to ensure unified focus on rebuilding, then Britain might have anticipated what became known as ‘the German economic miracle’.

But it didn’t. The trade unions preferred the freedom of collective bargaining (i.e. found it more convenient to be outside management structure so that they could blame the management for everything and go on strike whenever it suited them), the Labour government was more concerned about a Socialist-inspired programme of nationalising industries in the hope of creating ‘the New Jerusalem’, and many managements found selling the same old products to the captive markets of the Empire and Commonwealth far easier than trying to create new products to market in Europe or America.

At all levels there was a failure of nerve and imagination, which condemned Britain to decades of industrial decline.

The catch is: this isn’t Kynaston’s idea – he quotes it from Correlli Barnett’s searing history of post-war failure, The Audit of War. In a nutshell, Kyanston’s wonderful books present the reader with a Christmas pudding stuffed with a vast multitude of factoids and snippets and post-war trivia and gossip and impressions deriving from an incredibly wide array of eye witnesses. But it is precious thin on ideas and analysis, and at the end of the day, it’s the big idea, the thesis, the interpretation which we tend to remember from history books.

The consumer society

This volume definitely depicts the arrival and triumph of ‘the consumer society’. I had thought it was a later phenomenon, of the 1960s, but no. By 1957 56% of adults owned a TV set, 26% a washing machine, 21% a telephone, only 12% a dishwasher, and 24% of the population owned a car. Aggressive new advertising campaigns promoted Fry’s Turkish Delight, Ready Brek, Gibbs SR, Old Spice, the Hoovermatic twin tub, Camay soap and Blue Band margarine.

People faced with ever-widening products to choose from need advice: hence the Egon Ronay Guide to restaurants, launched in 1957, followed in October by Which? magazine.

Even Mass-Observation, which started with such socialist ambitions in 1937, and has provided Kynaston with such a wealth of sociological material for the previous four books, had, by now, become ‘an organisation devoted to market research rather than sociological enquiry.’

Topics

1957

  • January – Bolton Wanderers beat Leeds United 5-3, the third series of Dixon of Dock Green kicks off, the Cavern nightclub opens in Liverpool, Manchester United beat Bilbao 3-0 to go into the semi-finals of the European Cup, Lawrence Durrell publishes Justine, Flanders and Swann open a musical review at the Fortune theatre, strike at the Briggs motor plant, 20-year-old Tommy Steele continues to be a showbiz sensation, end of the Toddlers’ Truce the government-enforced ban on children’s TV programmes between 6 and 7pm,
  • February – launch of BBC’s weekday new programme Tonight, publication of Richard Hoggart’s The Uses of Literacy, publication of Family and Kinship in East London by Michael Young and Peter Willmott (‘urbanists’ arguing that extended kinship networks in Bethnal Green provide emotional and practical support which Bethnal Greenites who’d moved out to new estates in Debden missed),
  • March – the Daily Mail Ideal Home exhibition visited by the Queen and Prince Philip, a Gallup survey showed 48% wanted to emigrate, start of big shipbuilding and engineering union strikes,
  • April – opening night of John Osborne’s play The Entertainer
  • May – Manchester United lose the FA Cup Final 2-1 to Aston Villa, petrol comes off the ration after five months
  • June – British Medical Council report linking smoking to lung cancer (reinforcing Richard Doll’s groundbreaking 1950 report) the government refuses to intervene; ERNIE makes the first Premium Bonds random draw, brainchild of Harold Macmillan; end of the pioneering photojournalistic magazine Picture Post founded in 1938, whose star photographer was Bert Hardy;
  • 20 July Prime Minister Harold Macmillan speaks at a Tory rally in Bedford to mark 25 years’ service by Mr Lennox-Boyd, the Colonial Secretary, as MP for Mid-Bedfordshire, and claims that ‘most of our people have never had it so good’; national busman’s strike; publication of Room at the Top by John Braine.
  • September – the Wolfenden Report recommends the decriminalisation of homosexual acts between consenting adults in private; Ted Hughes’ first volume of poetry, The Hawk In The Rain, published; film version of Lucky Jim released, criticised for watering down the book’s realism
  • October – at Labour Party conference Nye Bevan comes out against nuclear disarmament, disillusioning his followers and creating a rift between the party and much of the left-leaning intelligentsia; 4 October Sputnik launched into orbit by the Russians; fire at the Windscale nuclear power plant; publication of Declaration, an anthology of essays by Angry Young Men (and one woman): Doris Lessing, Colin Wilson, John Osborne, John Wain, Kenneth Tynan, Bill Hopkins, Lindsay Anderson and Stuart Holroyd.
  • November – top of the charts is That’ll Be The Day by Buddy Holly and the Crickets; the Russians launch a second satellite, this one with a dog, Laika, aboard; the General Post Office introduces postal codes; Campaign for Nuclear Disarmament set up in response to Britain’s detonation of a H-bomb;
  • December – the Queen’s first Christmas broadcast, from Sandringham;

1958

  • resignation of the Chancellor Peter Thorneycroft after his insistence that government spending should be cut was rejected; launch if Bunty comic for girls
  • February – launch of Woman’s Realm magazine; 6 February the Munich Air Disaster in which a plane carrying the Manchester United football team, support staff and eight journalists crashed on take-off, killing 23;
  • March 1 BBC’s Radiophonic Workshop opens;
  • April – publication of Parkinson’s Law and Dr No; first CND march to Aldermaston; Balthazar, second volume in The Alexandria Quartet by Lawrence Durrell; Raymond’s Revuebar opens in Soho; London bus strike;
  • May first performance of The Birthday Party by Harold Pinter and A Taste of Honey by Shelagh Delaney and Chicken Soup with Barley by Arnold Wesker;
  • July The Darling Buds of May by H.E. Bates; introduction of Green Shield Stamps; the first Little Chef; the Empire and Commonwealth Games held in Cardiff;
  • August – release of the first single by Cliff Richard; Kenton and Shula Archer born; the Empire theatre in Portsmouth closes down, replaced by a supermarket; Notting Hill Riots, the most serious public disorder of the decade, petrol bombs, knives, razors, huge mobs chanting ‘Kill the niggers’ – the race problem Winston Churchill had fretted about in 1951 had arrive with a vengeance with about 165,000 non-white immigrants living in the UK; coincidentally, the launch of The Black and White Minstrel Show; Christopher Mayhew presents a TV series titled Does Class Matter?
  • September – Carry On, Sergeant, first of the Carry On films, released; publication of Culture and Society by Raymond Williams, which more or less founded ‘cultural studies’;
  • October – first editions of Grandstand and Blue Peter;
  • November – publication of The Rise of the Meritocracy by Michael Young;
  • December 3 National Coal Board announces the closure of 36 coal mines, as a result of falling demand due to coal being ‘brutally undercut’ by oil (p.236); 5 December Macmillan opens the 8.5-mile-long Preston bypass, first stretch of motorway in England, which will become part of the M6; John Betjeman’s Collected Poems published, representing one strand of middle class culture, while A Bear Called Paddington is published, first in a series of books, plays and films which continues to this day; 30 the government announces the full convertibility of the pound, meaning it won’t have to run down gold stocks defending it, but at the same time becomes vulnerable to speculation;

1959

  • January Henry Cooper becomes British and British Empire heavyweight champion;
  • February 3 Buddy Holly dies aged 22; film version of Room at the Top released marking ‘the start of the British new Wave in the cinema’; debut of Fings Ain’t Wot They Used T’Be at the Theatre Royal Stratford East; March To Aldermaston a documentary about the 1958 march, edited by Lindsay Anderson with Richard Burton reading Christopher Logue’s script;
  • March release of Carlton-Brown of the Foreign Office starring Terry-Thomas; the year’s most popular film, Carry On Nurse; Goldfinger published, the seventh James Bond novel; march from Aldermaston to London; expansionary Budget;
  • May: C.P. Snow gives his lecture about the two cultures (ie most people who run things knowing masses about the arts and nothing about science); Sapphire directed by Basil Dearden is a whodunnit with strong racial overtones; 17th a black student Kelso Cochrane is stabbed to death in Notting Hill leading to raised tensions in West London and ‘Keep Britain White’ rallies and worried reports about the lack of ‘racial integration’ in Birmingham;
  • June
  • July: The Teenage Consumer, a pamphlet by Mark Abrams defining them as aged 15-24 and unmarried;
  • August: Cliff Richard number 1 with Livin’ Doll; President Eisenhower makes a state visit and is on TV chatting with Harold Macmillan;
  • September: City of Spades by Colin McInnes and Billy Liar by Keith Waterhouse published;
  • October: The Loneliness of the Long-Distance Runner by Alan Sillitoe; Noggin the Nog created by Oliver Postgate and Peter Firmin; and the General Election: Conservatives win 49.4% of the vote and 365 seats, Labour 43.8% and 258, the Liberals 6, giving the Conservatives an overall majority of 100.

Studies and surveys

Being a list of the studies and surveys carried out during the period by sociologists, universities, newspapers and polling organisations:

  • 1954 Early Leaving a study of who left state school early, and why (children of the unskilled working class made up 20% of grammar school intake but only 7% of sixth forms)
  • 1957 Abrams study of 200 working class married couples (they lacked the ambition required to push their children on to further education)
  • 1958 Edward Blishen survey of TV’s impact on families (too much violence; difficult to get the kids to go to bed afterwards)
  • 1958 J.B. Cullingworth surveyed 250 families who’d moved to an overspill estate in Worsley from Salford
  • 1959 J.B. Cullingworth surveyed families who’d moved to Swindon
  • Floud et al study of grammar schools in Hertfordshire and Middlesborough (over half of working class parents wanted no further education for their children after school)
  • Margot Jeffreys interviewed housewives in an out-county LCC estate in Hertfordshire (1954-5)
  • 1957 Maurice Broady conducted interviews on the huge Pollok estate outside Glasgow
  • Eve Bene survey of 361 London grammar school boys on attitudes and expectations (45% of working class kids wanted to stay on past 16, compared with 65% of middle class pupils)
  • 1958 Ruth Glass investigation of racial prejudice
  • 1958 Geoffrey Gorer study of television viewing habits (families don’t talk as much)
  • 1958 Television and the Child by Hilde Himmelweit (kids routinely watch TV till it stops, TV is a great stimulator but fleetingly, shallowly)
  • 1962 Brian Jackson and Dennis Marsden Education and the Working Class a study of 88 working class kids in Huddersfield who went to grammar school (charts the parents’ progressive incomprehension of what their children are studying)
  • 1958 The Boss by Roy Lewis and Rosemary Stewart, about the social background of captains of industry e.g. family connections and public school still paramount
  • 1959 The Crowther Report, 15 to 18 (children of unskilled working class over-represented, the kids of non-manual workers under-represented: i.e. they were a sink of the poorest)
  • 1959 Ferdynand Zweig survey of working class men and their attitudes to washing machines
  • 1960 Michael Carter survey of 200 secondary modern schoolchildren as they left school
  • 1961 William Liversidge survey of grammar school and secondary modern school leavers

Patronising and condescending

Although Kynaston several times harps on the fact that Macmillan (Prime Minister from 1957 to 1963) was an Old Etonian, that his first Chancellor, Peter Thorneycroft, was another old Etonian and when he was sacked he was replaced by Derick Heathcoat Amory, another old Etonian, that in fact nearly half of the Macmillan cabinet went to Eton – there turns out to be surprisingly less condescension and patronage from these phenomenally upper-class toffs as you’d imagine. In fact the reverse: Macmillan’s diaries worry about all aspects of the political and international scene but when he tours the country and meets people, I was rather touched by his genuine concern.

No, the really condescending and patronising comments come, as so often, not from the politicians (who, after all, had to be careful what they said) but from the intellectual ‘elite’, from the writers and cultural commentators and architects who all too often looked right down their noses at the ghastly taste and appalling interests of the proles.

Housing

Throughout the book, most of the modern architects regard themselves as experts on human nature, experts on what people want, and are bravely, boldly undeterred by the actually expressed opinions of real people in places like public meetings, letters to newspapers and suchlike bourgeois distractions. Alison and Peter Smithson were among the leaders of the British school of Brutalism. For them architecture was an ethic and an art. As Alison wrote: ‘My act of form-giving has to invite the occupiers to add their intangible quality of use.’ They helped to develop the notion of ‘streets in the sky’, that ‘communities’ could be recreated on concrete walkways suspended between blocks of flats, a form of ‘urbanism that abandoned the primacy of the ground plane in favour of a rich spatial interplay of different layers of activity’.

No matter that the overwhelming majority of ordinary people opposed these plans. The architect knows best. And the planners. Kynaston lists scores of chief architects and planners in cities like Glasgow, Birmingham, Coventry, London, who oversaw a quickening pace of mass demolitions, of slums, of old buildings of all kinds, in order to widen roads, create urban dual carriageways, build new blocks of flats, taller, more gleaming, more visionary, streets in the sky! And if the poor proles who would then be shepherded into these badly built, dark, leaky, anti-social blocks murmured their reluctance, they were ignored, and patronised. Kynaston quotes an article written by Raphael Samuel on the Labour council of Aberdare in South Wales who devised a plan to demolish a third of the town’s houses despite vehement opposition from the inhabitants.

The Glamorgan planners did not set out to destroy a community. They wanted to attack the slums and give to the people of Aberdare the best of the open space and the amenities which modern lay-out can provide. It did not occur to them that there could be any opposition to a scheme informed by such benevolent intentions; and, when it came, they could only condemn it as ‘myopic’. (quoted page 320)

My point is – neither the planners nor architects who refused to listen to ordinary people were Old Etonians; the opposite; they tended to be locally-born, Labour-voting architects and administrators which made their frustration with their own people’s obstinacy all the more pointed.

Culture

The situation was different in the humanities where the most vociferous Marxists tended to have had staggeringly privileged upbringings. Take the Marxists historians E.P. Thompson (educated at the Dragon Preparatory School in Oxford, Kingswood private School in Bath and Corpus Christi College, Cambridge) and Christopher Hill (St Peter’s Private School, York and Balliol College, Oxford), they took it on themselves and their tiny cohort of like-minded communists and academics, to define what the working classes really wanted, and it turned out it wasn’t clean accommodation with hot and cold running water, a washing machine and a nippy new car out the front – Thompson and Hill knew that the working classes really wanted to create a new kind of man for the modern age!

Thus Kynaston ironically quotes E.P. Thompson ticking off Labour politician Anthony Crosland for the crime of suggesting, in his pamphlet The Future of Socialism, that after a decade of austerity and rationing what the people wanted was cafés, bright lights and fun. No no no, lectures Thompson:

Men do not only want the list of things which Mr Crosland offers; they want also to change themselves as men.

Says who? Says Edward Thompson, Kingswood School Corpus Christi College.

However fitfully and ineffectually, they want other and greater things; they want to stop killing one another; they want to stop this pollution of their spiritual life which runs through society as rivers carried their sewage and refuse throughout nineteenth-century industrial towns.

‘This pollution of their spiritual life’ – Thompson is talking about television, specifically ITV, which was polluting the working class with poisons like Gunsmoke and Opportunity Knocks. The actual working class has always been a terrible disappointment to men like Thompson and Hill. Kynaston details at length their agonising about whether to leave the communist party after the Soviet invasion of Hungary in 1956, and then how they go on to set up independent Marxist magazines and write articles for other like-minded over-educated academics who fondly thought their little articles made a bit of difference to anything.

But it wasn’t just the privately educated Marxists, genuine men of the people like playwright Arnold Wesker, son of a cook and a tailor’s machinist, who had a really tough upbringing and meagre education in  Stepney and Hackney. He is quoted as attending a left-wing meeting addressed by Raymond Williams (grammar school and Trinity College, Cambridge), author of the pioneering book Culture and Society and then Labour front-bencher Richard Crossman (Winchester and new College), who wrote a column in the Daily Mirror. This is Wesker describing the meeting in a letter to his wife:

How could he, as a Socialist, support a paper [the Mirror], which, for its vulgarity, was an insult to the mind of the working class; a paper which painted a glossy, film-star world. (quoted p.143)

The point is that, at this distance, I admire Crossman for writing a column in the Mirror, the bestselling newspaper of its day i.e. the most-read by the ‘working classes’ – for addressing the world as it is, for making the most of it, and find it hard not to dislike Wesker for his arrogance: ‘the mind of the working class’ – where is that exactly? how does he, Wesker, know what ‘the mind of the working class’ is thinking, or wants?

A little later Kynaston quotes the anthropologist Geoffrey Gorer (Charterhouse and Jesus College, Cambridge) who wrote a series of articles about television in which ‘he came down hard on working class viewers’:

Not only did they eschew ‘topical programmes, discussions and brains trusts, serious music and ballet,’ instead obstinately preferring ‘films and serials, variety and quizzes’, but almost half of them were ‘addicts’ (defined as watching at least four hours a night), with as a result ‘all sense of proportion lost in their gross indulgence, and their family life, if not wrecked, at least emptied of nearly all its richness and warmth.’ (p.152)

My point being that is it not Macmillan and his Old Etonian chums saying this; it was left wing architects, planners, historians, intellectuals, writers, anthropologists and sociologists who were most critical and patronising of the actual working class as it actually existed (despairing that ‘the workers’ were not the idealised heroes of communist propaganda, but lazy blokes who liked to drink beer from cans in front of the Benny Hill show).

Race

There is a similar sense of disconnect on the issue of race and immigration, which Kynaston explores in some detail à propos the Notting Hill Riots of August 1958.

He shows how almost all the reporters, journalists, sociologists and so on who visited Notting Hill and other areas with high immigrant populations (the West Midlands was the other hotspot) discovered, not the virulent hatred of the American South, but nonetheless consistent opinions that immigrants got unfair advance on the housing waiting lists, exploited the benefits system, lived in overcrowded houses and made a lot of noise – all leading to a strong groundswell of popular opinion that immigration needed to be controlled. (There were 2,000 immigrants from Commonwealth countries in 1953, 11,000 in 1954, 40,000 by 1957).

But all the leading politicians, and most MPs, stood firmly against introducing immigration restrictions and were careful not to blame or stigmatise the coloured communities, even when there were gross incidents of racially aggravated riots, like at Notting Hill. The politicians realised it would be very difficult to devise any form of immigration control which wasn’t, on some level, based on the fact that you were trying to stop people with black skins entering the country i.e. naked racism, tantamount to apartheid in Wedgwood Benn’s opinion.

The handful of Tory MPs who did call for restrictions accompanied were shouted down. At one parliamentary meeting, one Tory MP, Cyril Osborne, accompanied his calls with accusations that blacks were lazy, sick or criminal, and drew down such a tsunami of criticism that he was reduced to tears. All MPs observing this realised that immigration was not a topic to speak out on. If any mention was made of it, it must be in the most positive and emollient terms. Thus the political class, the men who ruled the country, painted themselves into a position where free and frank debate of the issue was impossible.

But the actual population of the country, ‘the people’ which all parties claimed to speak for, disagreed. There is a surprising paucity of sociological research, field studies and surveys on the subject (compared with the welter of research done into the endlessly fascinating subject of ‘class’). But Kynaston quotes a Gallup poll taken at the time of the riots, in August 1958, which revealed that:

  • 71% disapproved of mixed marriages
  • 61% would consider moving if significant numbers of coloured people moved into their neighbourhood
  • 55% wanted restrictions on non-white immigration
  • 54% didn’t want people from the Commonwealth put on housing waiting lists on the same level with locals

People’s opinions were simply ignored. The rulers of the country knew best. No attempt was made to limit immigration which continued to grow throughout the 1960s and indeed up to the present day, which has resulted in our present blissful political situation.


Related links

Related reviews

Reviews of fiction from the period

The Golden Age of Science Fiction edited by Kingsley Amis (1981)

Science fiction is a pessimistic medium… Most of it is about things going wrong. (Amis in his preface)

Amis

Kingsley Amis was a grumpy old bugger. This judgement is based not only on reading his articles and reviews when he was still alive (he died in 1995), but having read and reviewed all twenty of his novels for this blog.

Amis was deliberately middle-brow and flexible. He wrote a James Bond novel (under the pseudonym Robert Markham), a lot of light poetry, reviews and articles, as well as several odd science fiction novels.

In fact he was a science fiction hound, a real addict, and tells us that he leaped at the chance to deliver a series of lectures on the subject at Princeton University in 1959. These were then published as a book purporting to review the history and state of science fiction as it had led up to the state of the genre in 1960, garishly titled New Maps of Hell.

Twenty years after New Maps of Hell, in 1981, Amis was asked to make a selection of favourite science fiction short stories and to write an introduction. Hence this book.

Amis’s introduction

With typical glumness, Amis reckons science fiction has had its glory days and is in decline. He judges this decline to have started at more or less the moment he delivered those lectures, back at the start of the 1960s. He describes how, in the 1940s and 1950s, science fiction belonged to ‘an embattled few’ – hard-core fans who read everything they could get their hands on, despite the sniggers of their parents or teachers. A bit like the ‘hot jazz’ which he and his buddy Philip Larkin liked listening to, while their mothers and girlfriends told them they really ought to be listening to Haydn.

But all this changed in the 1960s. Up till then Amis and other fans had called it SF. During the 60s it became rebranded as ‘sci-fi’, symptomatic of the way it got infected with all the other radical experiments of the decade.

Suddenly there was ‘experimental’ and ‘avant-garde’ ‘sci-fi’, as there was free poetry, rock music, women’s lib and hosts of other innovations which Mr Grumpy objects to. The first two university courses on science fiction were opened in 1961, and Amis thinks that as soon as you start teaching literature or film, you kill its originality.

Only twelve years separate the hilariously kitsch Forbidden Planet (1956) from the slick and sophisticated 2001: A Space Odyssey (released in 1968, and which Amis found repellently self-indulgent) but they inhabit different cultural universes.

The New Wave

The young writers with their trendy experimental approaches to science fiction who came in with the 1960s, became known as the New Wave. Fans argue to this day about when New Wave started, but most agree a tipping point was when Michael Moorcock became editor of New Worlds magazine in 1964, and Moorcock, along with J.G. Ballard and Brian Aldiss, were the prime movers of British New Wave. All three moved away from ‘hard’ science fiction stories about space ships and robots and aliens, showing more interest in literary effects and psychology, often in a very garish late-60s, tricksy sort of way.

Planetary exploration

Another problem which the SF writers of the 1960s faced was that a lot of science fiction came true. In the 1960s men actually started rocketing into space and in 1969 walked on the moon, thus killing all kinds of fantasies with their dull discovery that space was empty and bathed in fatal radiation, while the moon is just a dusty rock. So no fantastic civilisations and weird Selenites after all. In the story Sister Planet in this collection, Poul Anderson imagines Venus to consist of one huge, planet-wide ocean teeming with intelligent life, where men can stride around requiring only respirators to breathe. But when information started to come back from the Mariner series of probes, the first of which flew by in 1962, and the Venera 7 probe which actually landed on the surface in 1970, Venus turned out to be a waterless rock where the atmospheric pressure on the surface is 92 times that of earth, and the temperature is 462 C.

Fiction becomes fact

Meanwhile, in terms of terrestrial gadgets and inventions – the kind of mind-liberating technological innovations which festoon H.G. Wells’s fantastic prophecies – well, jet planes came in, along with intercontinental travel and it turned out to be glamorous but in a, well, yawn, touristy kind of way. Everyone got coloured televisions, but these weren’t used for announcements by the World State or amazing educational programmes; they were used to sell soap powder and bubble gum. Satellites were launched and people were amazed by the first live global broadcasts, but none of this led mankind onto some higher level of culture and civilisation, as so many thousands of sci-fi stories had predicted. Now we have digital communication with anyone on the planet, but the biggest content area on the internet is pornography, closely followed by cats who look like Hitler.

To sum up: a lot of what had seemed like exciting technical predictions in the 1940s had turned into commonplaces by the 1960s. As Amis pithily puts it, ‘Terra incognita was turning into real estate.’

So you can see why the New Wave wanted to take a new approach and look for the weird and alien here on earth, particularly Ballard. By the mid-70s the New Wave was itself declared to be over (about the same time that post-war Serialism in classical music breathed its last gasp), at the same time that a lot of the political and cultural impedimenta of the post-war years ran out of steam. As I view it, this led to a decade of doldrums (the 1970s), and then the appearance, during the 1980s, of bright new commercial styles, Post-modernism in art and literature and architecture, the importation of Magical Realism in fiction, and a new era of sci-fi blockbusters in cinema, the rise of computer aided animation which has transformed the look and feel of films, and to an explosion of all kinds of genres and cross-fertilisations in writing.

Specific examples

But to Amis back in 1980, he says science fiction suffers from ‘gross commercialism’, and uses the Terra incognita argument to explain why many even of the New Wave writers had dried up or gone into alternative forms – Arthur C. Clarke ceasing to write novels, Aldiss writing histories of the genre, and Ballard turning out never to have really been a sci-fi writer, more a writer about modern psychosis who started out by using sci-fi tropes, before moving on.

All this goes to explain why the stories Amis selected for this collection are all from the 1950s (1948 to 1962, to be exact) – from the decade when sci-fi writers had racked up a tradition of sorts to build on, had achieved a mature treatment of recognised tropes – but before those tropes were burned out from over-use and the 1960s ruined everything with its silly experimentalism. You can strongly disagree with this view, but at least it’s a clear defined view, put forward with evidence and arguments.

The short stories

He Walked Around the Horses by H. Beam Piper (1948) (American)

It is 1809. A series of letters from officials in Imperial Austria tell the tale of Benjamin Bathurst, who claims to be a British government envoy who, we slowly realise, has somehow got transported from out 1809 to a parallel history in which the Americans lost the war of independence, there was no French Revolution, no Napoleon, no wars raging across Europe, and so Herr Bathurst is regarded as a lunatic.

The Xi Effect by Philip Latham (1950) (Pseudonym used for his sf by American astronomer Robert Shirley Richardson)

Physicists Stoddard and Arnold discover that radiation above a certain frequency is no longer being detected. Radio stations are becoming unavailable. They measure the eclipse of one of Jupiter’s moons as happening absurdly nearby. Suddenly they think of Friedmann and his theory of the Xi Effect, namely that space isn’t continuous but made up of ‘clots’, clots which can be disrupted by bigger-scale events. Stoddard and Arnold and then everyone else learns that the world and the solar system are shrinking. Since everything is staying in proportion relative to everything else you’d have thought that wouldn’t be a problem except that the one thing which can’t shrink is electro-magnetic radiation. In other words, the world is getting too small for light to travel in it. One by one all the colours disappear, and then everyone is left in universal blackness.

The Quest for Saint Aquin by Anthony Boucher (1951) (American)

After a nuclear apocalypse a ‘monk’ is sent by ‘the pope’ to find the body of a supposed saint in the hills outside San Francisco.

It’s a Good Life by Jerome Bixby (1953) (American)

Genuinely upsetting story in which a child with telepathy and unlimited powers is born and, while still young, either destroys the world or transports his small town into some void wherein the remaining inhabitants must think nothing but positive thoughts – repeating to themselves ‘it is a good world’ for fear that the little monster – Anthony – will detect negative thoughts and turn them into something unspeakable.

The Nine Billion Names of God by Arthur C. Clarke (1953) (English)

A computer company supplies its latest model to a Tibetan lamasery whose abbot tells the chief exec that they will use it to work through every permutation of names for God. They have a belief that, once all the names of God have been expressed, the need for a planet and humanity will cease and the universe will move on to the next stage.

Months later, the two bored technicians tasked with overseeing the installation and running of the machine are relieved to be making their way to the little Tibetan airport to return Stateside when the computer reaches the end of its run and… the world comes to an end.

Specialist by Robert Sheckley (1953) (American)

Interesting description of a galactic spaceship made up of living parts which all perform specialist functions e.g. Walls, Eye, Tracker, Feeder. When their ‘Pusher’ dies in an accident they trawl nearby planetary systems for a new one and, of course, come to earth, where they kidnap a guy who is out camping under the stars, and induct him into the galactic code of co-operation.

Student Body by F. L. Wallace (1953) (American)

Colonists arrive on a new planet where the Chief Exec is keen to get biologist Dano Marin to manage infestations of mice and rats which attack the crops and stores. Slowly Marin realises they are dealing with a species which can mutate at need, almost instantly, in order to survive and which will always manage to evolve into shapes which can elude them. Worse, he realises it will have stowed away on the earlier reconnaisance ships and have made its way back to earth.

The Game of Rat and Dragon by Cordwainer Smith (1954) (pen-name of American author Paul Myron Anthony Linebarger)

Deep space travel reveals vicious entities which attack man’s ships, which get nicknamed ‘dragons’. The only way to kill them is with light bombs which disintegrate their bodies, but it all happens so fast that only the handful of humans who have telepathic powers can manage to be plugged into the ‘pin sets’ which detect the dragons; and the whole effort went up a notch when it was discovered that some cats can be in telepathic unison with the humans, and have even faster reflexes.

The Tunnel under the World by Frederik Pohl (1955) (American)

Maybe the best story, relatively long and persuasive i.e. you get totally drawn into it.

Guy Burckhardt wakes up on June 15 from a nightmare of an explosion, then goes about his humdrum life in the small town American town of Tylerton, dominated by its state-of-the-art chemical works which is run mostly by the recorded brainwaves of technicians. A new guy in the office shops tries to hustle him a new brand of cigarettes. Later a lorry stops in the street and blares out ads for Feckles Fridges. A flustered man named Swanson accosts him on the street then runs away.

Then he wakes up on June 15 from a nightmare, and goes about his day. New cigarettes, lorry ads, flustered Swanson. That night the fuse blows and, rooting around in the cellar, he discovers that behind the brick walls is metal. And under the floor. The reader begins to wonder if he is in some kind of alien prison. He is down there when overcome by sleep.

Next morning he wakes up remembering everything from the day before except that… his wife thinks it is June 15, the radio says it is June 15, the newspaper says it is June 15. On the street Swanson finds him and, discovering that Burckhardt is confused, takes him through shops and into a cinema, all the time telling him that ‘they’ will be after him. they exit the auditorium, Swanson takes him through corridors, into the manager’s office, then opens a closet door into… a vast steel tunnel stretching in both directions.

Swanson thinks it must be Martians? Is it aliens? Or the Chinese who everyone in the 1950s were so terrified of? Read it yourself.

A Work of Art by James Blish (1956) (American)

Richard Strauss is brought back to life 200 years in the future. He immediately wants to carry on composing and Blish gives a very good analysis of the composer’s music, its characteristics, what he looks for in a libretto and so on and the whole process of composing a new opera.

But at its premiere, the applause is not for the composer, but for Dr Kris, the mind sculptor who has, in fact, used all the traits of the composer to create him and impose him on the mind of a perfectly ordinary unmusical man, Jerom Bosch. At a click of Kris’s fingers, Bosch will revert to his normal workaday self.

The Country of the Kind by Damon Knight (1956) (American)

A rare thing, a first person narrator. In a perfect society of the future (after ‘the Interregnum’) he has been born a brute and a sadist, capable of killing and injuring and defacing while all around him are placid and calm and sensitive. We see, from his point of view, how intolerable and anguished his existence is, forced to live among ‘the dulls’.

Sister Planet by Poul Anderson (1959) (American)

This is a long, involving and bitingly pessimistic story. A small colony of scientists is established on a platform floating on Venus’s endless stormy ocean. They have made contact with ‘cetoids’, dolphin-like creatures and some kind of exchange goes on i.e. the humans leave paintings, sound recordings and so on which the cetoids take off in their mouths, and the cetoids return with various objects, including rare and precious ‘firestones’. These are so precious that ferrying them back to earth and selling them has so far funded the scientific research.

In among their practical duties, the half dozen or so scientists on the outstation chat about how overcrowded and polluted and violent earth is becoming. The main figure among them, Nat Hawthorne is particularly sensitive and close to the cetoids. One day he is astonished when the most friendly of them, who he’s named Oscar, nudges at his feet (on the pontoon which stretches out from the base, where they distribute goodies to the cetoids and receive the jewels in return, level with the ocean and often slopped over by waves) indicating he wants to give him a ride.

Hawthorne puts on breathing apparatus and Oscar takes him deep under the sea to show him a vast coral cathedral which appears to have been shaped, or grown, by the cetoids. there is no doubt that they are ‘intelligent’.

Back in the crew quarters of the colony, he is about to tell everyone about his encounter, when the quiet, intense Dutch scientist Wim Dykstra bursts in to make a major announcement. He has been analysing Venus’s core and has realised that it is on the unstable edge of making a quantum leap upwards in size. If it did that, it would project magma up through the sea creating continents and the presence of rocks would absorb carbon dioxide from the (currently toxic) atmosphere. In other words it could be ‘terraformed’, made fit for human inhabitation – an overflow for what has become a poisoned earth.

it is then that Hawthorne tells the roomful of colonists about his discovery, that the cetoids are undeniably intelligent and creative. At which point there is an earnest discussion about man’s right to colonise new planets, even at the expense of the natives – all of which made me think of contemporary, 2018, discussions about colonialism and racial oppression etc. Reluctantly Dykstra agrees to suppress his work in order to let the cetoids live.

But Hawthorne is gripped by a kind of panic fear. Sooner or later more scientists will come to Venus. They will repeat his experiments. Sooner or later humans will realise they can transform Venus for their own use. Tortured by this knowledge, Hawthorne blows up and sinks the research station, flees in a mini submarine and, when the cetoids come to investigate, slaughters them with a laser machine gun. Then submerges to go and blow up their beautiful coral cathedrals. Before calling the ferry ship which is in orbit down to pick him up. He will claim the cetoids blew up the centre despite his attempts to stop them.

His aim is to demonstrate to earth that Venus is a violent environment which cannot be colonised. And to show the cetoids that humans are murdering barbarians who cannot be trusted.

To save the cetoids – he has to destroy them and their cultural achievements.

The Voices of Time by J. G. Ballard (1960) (English)

A classic expression of Ballard’s interest in entropy and decline. Among the empty swimming pools of some desert American town, scientists go about their work in alienated isolation from each other. A plague of narcolepsy has attacked humanity. More and more people are falling asleep never to waken, the central figure, Powers, keeps a diary of the way he, too, is falling asleep earlier and earlier, his days are getting shorter and shorter. In what time he has left he conducts obscure experiments on plants and animals which seem to mutate at an accelerated rate if exposed to near fatal doses of radiation. He has a typically distant, autistic ‘relationship’ with a patient whose brain he operated on and who now is collecting the last works of art, books and so on by famous artists, writers and such. And has discovered that astronomical research centres have come across series of numbers being sent from apparently different locations around the universe, all of which are running down, like countdowns.

The Machine that Won the War by Isaac Asimov (1961) (American)

A short and characteristically tricksy Asimov story. It is the end of the war against the Denebians. Everyone credits victory to the vast supercomputer, the Multivac, which processed all the information and provided pinpoint accurate decisions about the war.

Executive Director of the Solar Federation, Lamar Swift, has gathered the key men in the team who ran Multivac to celebrate, namely Henderson and Jablonksy. But as both hold their champagne glasses, one by one they reveal that the data they received was never good enough, the sources around the solar system and beyond were too scattered, information came in too slowly… and that the head of the team processing it never trusted them, and so falsified many of the figures.

But instead of being shocked, Swift smile and says, he thought as much. He made all the key decisions which won the war by using a much older technology. And he takes out a coin, flips it with his thumb, covers it as it lands in his palms, and asks: ‘Gentlemen – heads or tails?’

Harrison Bergeron by Kurt Vonnegut (1961) (American)

A short glib story set in 2018 when everyone is equal because everyone is handicapped by the Handicapper General. Fast athletic people are weighed down by weights. Tall people forced to stoop. Beautiful people wear face masks. Clever people have earpieces fitted which emit piercing noises every 30 seconds. Thus everyone is reduced to the same level, and is equal. Anyone tampering with any of this equality equipment is arrested and imprisoned.

George and Hazel Bergeron’s son, Harrison, was born unusually tall and handsome. He was immediately locked up. The trigger for this short story is George and Hazel settling down to watch TV (George’s thought processes continually interrupted by the screeches in his ear, to prevent him being too clever) and hearing on the news that their son has escaped from prison.

Then he bursts into the TV studio and throws off his restraints, the handicap harness which weighs him down, the rubber mask which makes him ugly – to reveal that he is a tall god. He declares to the watching audience that he is the Emperor, who must be obeyed.

He had interrupted a live broadcast of a ballet and now he asks who among the ballerinas wants to be his wife. One comes forward, throws off her face mask and feet cripplers to reveal that she is beautiful and elegant. Together they start dancing a beautiful ballet of freedom.

At which point the Handicapper General, Diana Moon Glampers, bursts into the studio and machine guns both of them dead. The TV goes black. Loud sounds burst in George’s ear. He goes to get a beer from the fridge. Loud sounds interrupt him on the way back. By the time he’s back on the sofa he has a sense that something sad happened on the TV but neither he nor his wife can remember what.

The Streets of Ashkelon by Harry Harrison (1962) (American)

Trader John Garth is happy living alone on Wesker’s World, dealing with the slow but logical alien inhabitants, the Wesker amphibians, who have learned to speak English.

One day a fellow trader stops by (his spaceship causing hundreds of square metres of devastation) to drop off a priest. Garth tries to prevent him landing, then is very rude to him. To his horror, the slow logical Wesker creatures are awestruck by the priest and the stories he has to tell about God their father and how they are saved. Garth is a typical trader, rough and ready, a hard drinker, but he has been honest with the Wesker creatures and told them as much about the universe and earth as he thought wise.

One day Garth is called along to a meeting the Weskers are having with the priest. In their slow logical way they have come to the conclusion that the priest needs to prove his religion. The Bible – which he has given them to study – brims over with examples of miracles which God was happy to perform to prove his existence. Surely he will perform at least one miracle to convert an entire new planet and save an entire species.

Suddenly Garth sees where this is heading and leaps up to try and bundle the priest out of the meeting hall but he is himself overwhelmed by the Wesker creatures and tied up, from which powerless state he has to watch the creatures overcome the priest and very methodically nail him up to a cross, just like the pictures in the Bible he had given them, the Weskers expecting him to be resurrected.

But of course he isn’t. Days later, still tied up and in a pitch black lumber room, Garth finds the most sympathetic of the Weskers undoing his ropes and telling him to flee in his space ship. Having failed with the priest the Weskers have decided to experiment with him next.

The Wesker asks: ‘He will rise again won’t he?’ ‘No,’ replies Wesker. ‘Then we will not be saved and not be made pure?’ asks the Wesker. ‘You were pure’, Garth sadly replies. ‘You were pure, but now…’ ‘We are murderers,’ replies the Wesker.

Old Hundredth by Brian Aldiss (1963) (English)

This is the most poetic of the stories, Aldiss deliberately using onomatopeia and rhyme in his prose, as well as rich verbal pictures, to convey a dreamlike scenario.

In the far distant future the Moon has left the earth and earth and Venus orbit each other. Humans have long ago left the planet which is now populated by a mix of of animals and ”Impures’, intelligent creatures created by human experimenters on Venus.

Dandi Lashadusa is a giant sloth who traipses round the desert world seeking out musicolumns, insubstantial pillars into which the last people converted themselves, and which become audible music when life forms come close enough to them.

She is guided and advised by a mentor who she is telepathically in touch with, who is slowly revealed to be a dolphin living in a coral cell.


Almost all the stories – 14 out of 17 – are by Americans, the other three by Brits i.e. all very anglophone i.e. wasn’t there any Russian, French, German etc sci-fi during the period? Even in translation?

That’s probably something which came in to rejuvenate the genre after Amis’s day, particularly stories from Russia and the Eastern bloc.

The pros and cons of science fiction

Is Amis right when he says: ‘Science fiction is a pessimistic medium… Most of it is about things going wrong’? Well, on the evidence here, Yes. The Xi Effect, Sister Planet, The Streets of Ashkelon, Student Body and, especially It’s a Good Life, which I found very disturbing – they are extremely negative and pessimistic. But then gloomy Amis chose them. Is the genre as a whole pessimistic? Well… I’d make a case that most of literature is pessimistic. I’m looking at F. Scott Fitzgerald books next to Flaubert’s on my shelves. Not many happy endings there.

Maybe you could argue that there is a kind of ‘global conceit’ about science fiction. In ‘ordinary’ novels one or two people may die; in a science fiction story it is likely to be a whole world, as the world comes to an end in the Clarke story, or man corrupts an entire species as in the Harry Harrison.

Science fiction may be more apocalyptically pessimistic than other types of fiction. This is one of its appeals to the adolescent mind – the sheer sense of scale and the world-ending nihilism. But is at the same time one of the reasons it used to be looked down on. As a flight from the trickier complexities of real human relations in the here and now, the kind of thing supposedly tackled by ‘proper’ fiction.

But all this is to overlook the positive, uplifting and inspiring aspect of science fiction, the teenage sense of exuberance and escape and release conveyed by some of the stories. The sense of the genuinely fantastical and imaginative, that life is stranger and richer and weirder than non-sci-fi readers can ever realise.

A feeling conveniently expressed in one of the stories here:

As a boy he had loved to read tales of time travel and flights to other planets, and the feeling that something transcendent was lurking around the corner had never entirely left him. (The Xi Effect, p.65)


Related links

Other science fiction reviews

1888 Looking Backward 2000-1887 by Edward Bellamy – Julian West wakes up in the year 2000 to discover a peaceful revolution has ushered in a society of state planning, equality and contentment
1890 News from Nowhere by William Morris – waking from a long sleep, William Guest is shown round a London transformed into villages of contented craftsmen

1895 The Time Machine by H.G. Wells – the unnamed inventor and time traveller tells his dinner party guests the story of his adventure among the Eloi and the Morlocks in the year 802,701
1896 The Island of Doctor Moreau by H.G. Wells – Edward Prendick is stranded on a remote island where he discovers the ‘owner’, Dr Gustave Moreau, is experimentally creating human-animal hybrids
1897 The Invisible Man by H.G. Wells – an embittered young scientist, Griffin, makes himself invisible, starting with comic capers in a Sussex village, and ending with demented murders
1898 The War of the Worlds – the Martians invade earth
1899 When The Sleeper Wakes/The Sleeper Wakes by H.G. Wells – Graham awakes in the year 2100 to find himself at the centre of a revolution to overthrow the repressive society of the future
1899 A Story of the Days To Come by H.G. Wells – set in the same London of the future described in the Sleeper Wakes, Denton and Elizabeth fall in love, then descend into poverty, and experience life as serfs in the Underground city run by the sinister Labour Corps

1901 The First Men in the Moon by H.G. Wells – Mr Bedford and Mr Cavor use the invention of ‘Cavorite’ to fly to the moon and discover the underground civilisation of the Selenites
1904 The Food of the Gods and How It Came to Earth by H.G. Wells – two scientists invent a compound which makes plants, animals and humans grow to giant size, leading to a giants’ rebellion against the ‘little people’
1905 With the Night Mail by Rudyard Kipling – it is 2000 and the narrator accompanies a GPO airship across the Atlantic
1906 In the Days of the Comet by H.G. Wells – a passing comet trails gasses through earth’s atmosphere which bring about ‘the Great Change’, inaugurating an era of wisdom and fairness, as told by narrator Willie Leadford
1908 The War in the Air by H.G. Wells – Bert Smallways, a bicycle-repairman from Bun Hill in Kent, manages by accident to be an eye-witness to the outbreak of the war in the air which brings Western civilisation to an end
1909 The Machine Stops by E.M. Foster – people of the future live in underground cells regulated by ‘the Machine’ until one of them rebels

1912 The Lost World by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle – Professor Challenger leads an expedition to a plateau in the Amazon rainforest where prehistoric animals still exist
1912 As Easy as ABC by Rudyard Kipling – set in 2065 in a world characterised by isolation and privacy, forces from the ABC are sent to suppress an outbreak of ‘crowdism’
1913 The Horror of the Heights by Arthur Conan Doyle – airman Captain Joyce-Armstrong flies higher than anyone before him and discovers the upper atmosphere is inhabited by vast jellyfish-like monsters
1914 The World Set Free by H.G. Wells – A history of the future in which the devastation of an atomic war leads to the creation of a World Government, told via a number of characters who are central to the change
1918 The Land That Time Forgot by Edgar Rice Burroughs – a trilogy of pulp novellas in which all-American heroes battle ape-men and dinosaurs on a lost island in the Antarctic

1921 We by Evgeny Zamyatin – like everyone else in the dystopian future of OneState, D-503 lives life according to the Table of Hours, until I-330 wakens him to the truth
1925 Heart of a Dog by Mikhail Bulgakov – a Moscow scientist transplants the testicles and pituitary gland of a dead tramp into the body of a stray dog, with disastrous consequences
1927 The Maracot Deep by Arthur Conan Doyle – a scientist, engineer and a hero are trying out a new bathysphere when the wire snaps and they hurtle to the bottom of the sea, there to discover…

1930 Last and First Men by Olaf Stapledon – mind-boggling ‘history’ of the future of mankind over the next two billion years
1932 Brave New World by Aldous Huxley
1938 Out of the Silent Planet by C.S. Lewis – baddies Devine and Weston kidnap Ransom and take him in their spherical spaceship to Malacandra aka Mars,

1943 Perelandra (Voyage to Venus) by C.S. Lewis – Ransom is sent to Perelandra aka Venus, to prevent a second temptation by the Devil and the fall of the planet’s new young inhabitants
1945 That Hideous Strength: A Modern Fairy-Tale for Grown-ups by C.S. Lewis– Ransom assembles a motley crew to combat the rise of an evil corporation which is seeking to overthrow mankind
1949 Nineteen Eighty-Four by George Orwell – after a nuclear war, inhabitants of ruined London are divided into the sheep-like ‘proles’ and members of the Party who are kept under unremitting surveillance

1971 Mutant 59: The Plastic Eater by Kit Pedler and Gerry Davis – a genetically engineered bacterium starts eating the world’s plastic

1980 Russian Hide and Seek by Kingsley Amis – in an England of the future which has been invaded and conquered by the Russians, a hopeless attempt to overthrow the occupiers is easily crushed
1981 – The Golden Age of Science Fiction edited by Kingsley Amis – 17 classic sci-fi stories from what Amis considers the Golden Era of the genre, namely the 1950s

The Man Who Was Thursday by G.K. Chesterton (1908)

‘We say that the most dangerous criminal now is the entirely lawless modern philosopher. Compared to him, burglars and bigamists are essentially moral men; my heart goes out to them. They accept the essential ideal of man; they merely seek it wrongly. Thieves respect property. They merely wish the property to become their property that they may more perfectly respect it. But philosophers dislike property as property; they wish to destroy the very idea of personal possession.’
(A policeman, talking to the novel’s protagonist, Gabriel Syme)

Chesterton’s paper-thin characters

Having just read four novels on the trot by H.G. Wells, I am well aware that one of Wells’s notorious shortcomings is the way his characters are often mere pawns in scenarios or plotlines designed to convey Wells’s social, technological and political ideas.

At least that’s what I thought until I read these two novels of Chesterton’s. Wells’s characters have Shakespearian depth compared to Chesterton’s.

Chesterton’s characters are names attached to attitudes, or positions, and a great deal of the interchanges between these entities are really the cut and thrust of opposing ideas in a debating society.

I find Wells’s characters endearing because, by comparison, they do have real back stories and histories – for example, Wells goes to maybe silly lengths to give realistic depth to his character Bert Smallways. He builds up our sense of Bert’s ability with mechanics and engines, at repairing bicycle and motor bikes, a skill which will come in handy as he proceed through the adventures in the novel, The War In the Air.

Chesterton’s characters, by contrast, are almost all the same. They all give clever speeches. They are all fond of paradoxes. And very fond of generalising about human nature, about God. Reminiscent of the kind of ‘soft’ theologising you get in Graham Greene. But whereas Greene does it (at length) in his novels mainly to make the reader share Greene’s basically suicidal worldview by blackening human nature at every opportunity…

Human nature is not black and white but black and grey.

We are all of us resigned to death: it’s life we aren’t resigned to.

In human relationships, kindness and lies are worth a thousand truths.

Innocence is like a dumb leper who has lost his bell, wandering the world, meaning no harm.

… Chesterton does it to make the reader chortle with the recognition of a clever paradox, to satirise the progressive philosophies of his day, and to point to something deeper and more mysterious about human existence.

The introductions to The Napoleon of Notting Hill or The Man Who Was Thursday confidently extract from them certain ‘messages’ and ‘meanings’; but the experience of actually reading the books is nowhere near as clear-cut and simple. I found them both to be murky and difficult reads. I sensed that a ‘message’ was being propounded, I just couldn’t work out what it was.

Chesterton’s characters are, in fact, so featureless and interchangeable that they do, often, interchange. The Man Who Was Thursday is not so much a novel, more a fantasy entirely concerned with false identities and secret sides, and characters who flip, in a moment, from being on the side of darkness to being on the side of light – or vice-versa.

The plot

The novel is set in the present-day, Edwardian era, where we find two poets in the garden of an artist’s colony, located in a fictional new garden city, named Saffron Park.

Mr Lucian Gregory, the red-haired poet, is holding court. All the young ladies of the town flock to admire him and his daringly ‘anarchistic’ sentiments. But on this evening Gregory is confronted by another poet, flaxen-haired Mr Gabriel Syme, who politely doubts the anarchist’s ‘commitment’.

Gregory argues that poetry is anarchy and breaking the rules. This makes the young ladies swoon with excitement. Syme counters that poetry is law and gives as an example the wonderful poetry of the London Underground, where you have a map and know exactly which station is coming next on any journey. Law and logic and certainty are the only poetry (says Syme).

Angered, Gregory waits for the party to end then confronts Syme outside the ground of his house. In a feverish conversation Gregory reveals that he really is an anarchist and makes Syme swear not to tell anyone. At which point Syme reveals that he is really a policeman, but that Gregory must swear to tell no-one. They both solemnly swear to keep each other’s secrets.

You see how Chesterton’s taste for symmetry and paradox overcomes any attempt at ‘realism’.

Gregory promptly takes Syme along to a pub which contains a secret table which – in true James Bond style – at the touch of secret button descends down through the floor to a basement below the pub.

This turns out to be the meeting place of the most dangerous Anarchists Club in London. Syme accepts all this with upper-class sang-froid. He is told he is attending a meeting to decide who will become the next leader of this anarchists’ ‘chapter’. He learns there are seven anarchist groups, each ruled by someone given the codename of a day of the week. Head of the entire Anarchist Movement is a mysterious man named Sunday.

As it happens the man named ‘Thursday’, who was leader of this section, recently passed away and tonight they are voting for his successor. Everyone expects Gregory to be elected ‘Thursday’, but he is suddenly overcome by worry that, making them all sound too dangerous will prompt Syme to denounce them all to his police colleagues.

So Gregory makes a surprisingly tame speech recommending they obey the Law, which is met with general disappointment from the assembled anarchists. At which (in a characteristically Chestertonian paradox) Syme the policeman leaps to his feet and makes a startlingly violent speech, denouncing Gregory’s pacifism – and he is elected by an overwhelming majority. Humorous paradox, and ironic reversal.

Thus Syme is made the new ‘Thursday’ and is led off down a secret passage which opens onto the Thames where a steam boat is waiting – leaving Gregory seething with anger and impotence. It is, to say the least, odd to the modern reader that Gregory keeps his promise not to expose his rival – but then the entire novel is odd, and is really more of a psychological fantasia than a ‘novel’. If you try applying realistic criteria you will get nowhere.

The man who was Sunday

The steam boat chugs along to the Embankment in central London where ‘Thursday’ is met by ‘the secretary’, a posh man with a disfigured face who takes him through the streets up to Leicester Square where the Anarchists are holding a meeting on a balcony overlooking the tourists.

Their leader, Sunday, has a theory that if you loudly announce to everyone that you are an anarchist no-one will believe you. Thus they make their plans to blow up kings and emperors, at an open-air restaurant while waiters come and go bringing drinks and dishes, tut-tutting and laughing at those funny old anarchists who do like their little jokes. Irony. Paradox.

Syme is greeted by the assembled anarchist leaders as the new Thursday and promptly introduced to Monday, Tuesday etc. Chesterton takes the time to introduce them all to us, along with their real identities and histories, including a grey-haired professor.

After all the introductions, Sunday does in fact call them away from the terrace and into a locked room, where he announces that one among them is a traitor!!

This is a scene I’ve seen in so many James Bond and other spy adventure movies, I wonder if it originated with Chesterton. Probably not, in which case I wonder if an origin can be found – or whether the trope of the spy among the band of conspirators, the traitor in our midst, is not in fact as old as story-telling.

Anyway, Sunday ratchets up the tension with furious denunciations of the as-yet-unidentified spy in their midst, and Syme is just about to stand up and confess that it is he when, to his amazement, a scraggy-haired Polish anarchist does just that – stands up and confesses to being a policeman, throwing his blue police card onto the table.

Sunday is incomprehensibly magnanimous, and asks him to go now and promise not to tell their plans to anyone (!).

Then Sunday gets down to organising an assassination outrage against a politician visiting Paris. After this the group break up and go their separate ways.

Syme is pursued

There is then a spookily atmospheric sequence where Syme wanders along to a Soho restaurant… only to find the so-called Professor has followed him.

Syme gets up, walks through Covent Garden and stops in a pub… only to find the Professor sitting at a table.

Syme storms out and runs along to St Pauls, its dome shimmering as night falls and with it a shower of snow and hears, in the snowdrift quietness… the sound of the Professor pottering along behind him.

Gripped by a kind of panic fear Syme runs on through the black London streets, down to the docks and ducks into a rough pub. Where the Professor walks through the door straight after him.

Sequences like this fully justify the novel’s sub-title, ‘A Nightmare’. There is something fully nightmareish, something creepily uncanny, about this unstoppable pursuit.

The Professor finally confronts Syme, asking whether he is a policeman, which Syme furiously denies. ‘Shame,’ replies the Professor’, because I am,’ and he tosses onto the table the same type of blue police identity card that the Pole had done earlier, at the same time ripping off the mask which makes him look like a senile old man, to reveal a fresh-faced young chap beneath!!!!

So now Syme knows that three of the seven dangerous anarchists sitting round the meeting table off Leicester Square… were in fact policemen (the one who got throw out, himself and now, the Professor)!

Double identities and ironies!

Revealing the other police spies

This has taken us up to chapter 8 of 15. To cut a long story what happens next is that Symes and the Professor then track down the other three members of the group and discover, one by one, that they are all policemen masquerading as anarchists.

Unmasking the last one requires the by-now assembled squad of undercover policemen to catch the ferry to France and track down the last member of the seven, who was nominated to be the assassin sent to blow up a leading politician in Paris. The last of the seven is a French aristocrat named the Marquis de Saint Eustache.

This turns into a really compelling and weird fantasia of a sequence as our man Syme ends up fighting an elaborately staged duel with the Marquis, under the misapprehension that the latter is actually an anarchist.

During the duel (with fencing swords) Syme repeatedly sticks his point into the Marquis with no apparent result. Exactly as in a nightmare where, whatever you do to stop it, the monster keeps getting back up.

The solution of the mystery, revealed at the climax of the contest, is that the Marquis is wearing an early type of bullet-proof vest.

Anyway, the Marquis has no sooner revealed that he, like all the others, is in fact an undercover policeman than the train, which everyone thought he was intending to catch to Paris to carry out his terrorist outrage – pulls into the nearby station.

Chased by anarchists

To the horror of the assembled anarchists-now-revealed-as-policemen, a great crowd of genuine anarchists swarm out of it, all wearing Keystone Cops-style black masks over the tops of their faces, and led by none other than the ‘secretary’ who had escorted Syme from the Embankment to the anarchist meeting in Leicester Square, in the earlier chapter.

The chase is on! Our chaps run through woods with the gang of black-masked figures gaining on them. They arrive at a farm the marquis knows, where the kindly old owner lends them horses. But the anarchists are still gaining on them and then they are horrified to hear the sounds of horse galloping after them and to recognise the kindly old man among them. He is one of the Enemy!!

Our chaps gallop onto another house where a friend of the Marquis’s lends them cars and off they zoom. But one breaks down and they hear… other motor cars chasing them, look up and see the ‘friend’ among their pursuers. The whole world is against them!

This nightmare sense becomes overwhelming when they arrive at a fishing village on the coast and… the entire population rises up against them, forming a mob, joined now by the horse riders and the car drivers, creating an enormous crowd of black-masked anarchists and villagers and fishermen who surround them and chase them down onto a pier, pushing them further and further out till they reach the end of the pier and have nowhere left to turn.

The earth in anarchy

No wonder this chapter is titled ‘The Earth In Anarchy’. Apparently, Chesterton wrote the book during a bout of severe depression. It was partly caused by the great wave of anarchist, socialist, positivist and nihilist thinking which swept over Europe in the 1890s and 1900s. All these trends were materialist, denying the existence of a ‘soul’ or God, insisting on the purely material view of life as a constant struggle unmediated by any kind of transcendent values.

As a devout Anglican, Chesterton found all of these philosophies represented profound attacks on his most deeply cherished beliefs and all the things he loved in life.

The Man Who Was Thursday is thus a kind of ecstasy of horror, a vision of a world borne down in a great black tide of nihilism. As he explained: ‘It was intended to describe the world of wild doubt and despair which the pessimists were generally describing at that date.’

At this, its hysterical climax, Syme, pushed to the end of the quay, suddenly rebels and runs straight at the anarchist crowd and, in particular, at the ‘secretary’ who is leading them. He accuses them of being filthy anarchists who deny the beauty of order and law and life.

At which point the ‘secretary’ steps back, tears off his mask and announces ‘I arrest you in the name of the law.’

‘The law?’ screams Syme. ‘But you’re anarchists.’

‘No you’re the anarchists,’ says the secretary. ‘I am a policeman and these are my deputies, and we have dressed up as anarchists as a disguise, to try and mix in with you.’

!!!!!!

The crowd which has been chasing them all this time was doing so because they had been told they were pursuing dangerous anarchists. They aren’t anarchists at all. The entire thing has been a mistake and a misunderstanding.

‘There is some mistake,’ [the Secretary] said. ‘Mr. Syme, I hardly think you understand your position. I arrest you in the name of the law.’
‘Of the law?’ said Syme, and dropped his stick.
‘Certainly!’ said the Secretary. ‘I am a detective from Scotland Yard,’ and he took a small blue card from his pocket.
‘And what do you suppose we are?’ asked the Professor, and threw up his arms.
‘You,’ said the Secretary stiffly, ‘are, as I know for a fact, members of the Supreme Anarchist Council. Disguised as one of you, I – ‘
Dr. Bull tossed his sword into the sea.
‘There never was any Supreme Anarchist Council,’ he said. ‘We were all a lot of silly policemen looking at each other. And all these nice people who have been peppering us with shot thought we were the dynamiters. I knew I couldn’t be wrong about the mob,’ he said, beaming over the enormous multitude, which stretched away to the distance on both sides. ‘Vulgar people are never mad. I’m vulgar myself, and I know. I am now going on shore to stand a drink to everybody here.’

Note this last little speech. Bull is one of the anarchists-who-is-really-a-policeman and here he expresses one of Chesterton’s shibboleths.

It is the intellectuals who we should be worried about, the intellectuals who are promoting anarchy and socialism and nihilism, the intellectuals who are attacking everything good and sweet and clean.

By contrast, the so-called common people have never lost touch with the real values of life, with country lanes and Anglican churches and pints of good old English ale.

Who is Sunday?

So all the six anarchists named after the six days of the week, who are now all revealed to be policemen in disguise, catch the ferry and train back to London and all troop off to Leicester Square to confront big black-suited Sunday. He is still (as in a dream) sitting eating on the balcony overlooking the square where they left him. To be honest I didn’t understand the ending at all. Here is the Wikipedia summary:

Sunday reveals that setting them against each other was all part of his Master Plan. In a surreal conclusion, Sunday is unmasked as only seeming to be terrible; in fact, he is a force of good like the detectives. Sunday is unable to give an answer to the question of why he caused so much trouble and pain for the detectives.

Gregory, the only real anarchist, seems to challenge the good council. His accusation is that they, as rulers, have never suffered like Gregory and their other subjects and so their power is illegitimate. Syme refutes the accusation immediately, because of the terrors inflicted by Sunday on the rest of the council.

So the crux of the thing seems to be that Gregory (the poet, the man we met in the opening scene) is the only spokesman for real anarchists – and he says that the opinions of Syme and all the rest are not valid because they have never suffered.

Only Gregory and his kind have suffered, and their terrorism is justified by their suffering.

But Symes denies this. He and others like him have suffered. The anarchists don’t have a monopoly of suffering. Syme shouts:

‘No agonies can be too great to buy the right to say to this accuser, “We also have suffered.”‘

A dream

And then… it all turns out to be a dream! Syme awakens. He has napped while on a country walk. He resumes his walk along a country lane, in a little epiphany of the kind of values, images and ideas which Chesterton values: the countryside, tradition, good fellowship.

And this hymn leads up to a vision of one of the pretty young women who Syme had met and chatted to in that garden at the start of the novel.

As [Syme] gazed, the great face grew to an awful size, grew larger than the colossal mask of Memnon, which had made him scream as a child. It grew larger and larger, filling the whole sky; then everything went black. Only in the blackness before it entirely destroyed his brain he seemed to hear a distant voice saying a commonplace text that he had heard somewhere, ‘Can ye drink of the cup that I drink of?’

* * *

When men in books awake from a vision, they commonly find themselves in some place in which they might have fallen asleep; they yawn in a chair, or lift themselves with bruised limbs from a field. Syme’s experience was something much more psychologically strange if there was indeed anything unreal, in the earthly sense, about the things he had gone through.

For while he could always remember afterwards that he had swooned before the face of Sunday, he could not remember having ever come to at all. He could only remember that gradually and naturally he knew that he was and had been walking along a country lane with an easy and conversational companion. That companion had been a part of his recent drama; it was the red-haired poet Gregory. They were walking like old friends, and were in the middle of a conversation about some triviality. But Syme could only feel an unnatural buoyancy in his body and a crystal simplicity in his mind that seemed to be superior to everything that he said or did. He felt he was in possession of some impossible good news, which made every other thing a triviality, but an adorable triviality.

Dawn was breaking over everything in colours at once clear and timid; as if Nature made a first attempt at yellow and a first attempt at rose. A breeze blew so clean and sweet, that one could not think that it blew from the sky; it blew rather through some hole in the sky.

Syme felt a simple surprise when he saw rising all round him on both sides of the road the red, irregular buildings of Saffron Park. He had no idea that he had walked so near London. He walked by instinct along one white road, on which early birds hopped and sang, and found himself outside a fenced garden. There he saw the sister of Gregory, the girl with the gold-red hair, cutting lilac before breakfast, with the great unconscious gravity of a girl.

Sunday’s parting question as the nightmare collapses – ‘Can ye drink of the cup that I drink of?’ is the question Jesus asks St. James and St. John in the Gospel of Mark, chapter 10, vs 38–39. It is a challenge to Syme and maybe to the reader, asking whether they have the ‘commitment’ to follow in Jesus’ footsteps… Maybe this makes sense to a Christian but within the context of the novel it is difficult to… pin down, to really understand.

Metaphysical landscapes

At its most intense – in the sequence where Syme is followed by the spooky Professor across London, and in the delirious chase scene across the French countryside where everyone on earth seems to be pursuing our heroes – The Man Who Was Thursday becomes a really effective spine-chiller.

And throughout there is an otherworldly sensibility at work. Chesterton’s is a mind which doesn’t flow toward the concrete but naturally leads him off into apocalyptic theological and symbolical landscapes. Here he is summing up Syme’s first impression of the other anarchists sitting round the conference table.

Such were the six men who had sworn to destroy the world. Again and again Syme strove to pull together his common sense in their presence. Sometimes he saw for an instant that these notions were subjective, that he was only looking at ordinary men, one of whom was old, another nervous, another short-sighted. The sense of an unnatural symbolism always settled back on him again.

Each figure seemed to be, somehow, on the borderland of things, just as their theory was on the borderland of thought. He knew that each one of these men stood at the extreme end, so to speak, of some wild road of reasoning. He could only fancy, as in some old-world fable, that if a man went westward to the end of the world he would find something – say a tree – that was more or less than a tree, a tree possessed by a spirit; and that if he went east to the end of the world he would find something else that was not wholly itself – a tower, perhaps, of which the very shape was wicked. So these figures seemed to stand up, violent and unaccountable, against an ultimate horizon, visions from the verge. The ends of the earth were closing in.

‘An ultimate horizon, visions from the verge.’ That is where a lot of Chesterton’s imagination is always tending. He is always moving from the actual towards the metaphysical, but the metaphysical with an Edwardian twist.

The strangeness of some of these visions reminds me of the weird otherworldly landscapes conjured up in C.S. Lewis’s great science fiction trilogy, or even in Wyndham Lewis’s very peculiar theological science fiction novel, The Childermass.

London landscapes

However, the parts of the book I liked most were when Chesterton’s natural taste for the fantastical is tied, anchored and embedded in naturalistic descriptions of Edwardian London.

For example, on the tugboat journey from the secret basement where Syme is elected ‘Thursday’ to a mooring at the Embankment near Charing Cross, where he first meets the ‘Secretary’ and is escorted to Leicester Square.

Over the whole landscape lay a luminous and unnatural discoloration, as of that disastrous twilight which Milton spoke of as shed by the sun in eclipse; so that Syme fell easily into his first thought, that he was actually on some other and emptier planet, which circled round some sadder star.

But the more he felt this glittering desolation in the moonlit land, the more his own chivalric folly glowed in the night like a great fire. Even the common things he carried with him – the food and the brandy and the loaded pistol [which he has brought from the anarchists meeting] – took on exactly that concrete and material poetry which a child feels when he takes a gun upon a journey or a bun with him to bed.

The sword-stick and the brandy-flask, though in themselves only the tools of morbid conspirators, became the expressions of his own more healthy romance. The sword-stick became almost the sword of chivalry, and the brandy the wine of the stirrup-cup. For even the most dehumanised modern fantasies depend on some older and simpler figure; the adventures may be mad, but the adventurer must be sane. The dragon without St. George would not even be grotesque.

So this inhuman landscape was only imaginative by the presence of a man really human. To Syme’s exaggerative mind the bright, bleak houses and terraces by the Thames looked as empty as the mountains of the moon. But even the moon is only poetical because there is a man in the moon.

The tug was worked by two men, and with much toil went comparatively slowly. The clear moon that had lit up Chiswick had gone down by the time that they passed Battersea, and when they came under the enormous bulk of Westminster day had already begun to break. It broke like the splitting of great bars of lead, showing bars of silver; and these had brightened like white fire when the tug, changing its onward course, turned inward to a large landing stage rather beyond Charing Cross.

The great stones of the Embankment seemed equally dark and gigantic as Syme looked up at them. They were big and black against the huge white dawn. They made him feel that he was landing on the colossal steps of some Egyptian palace; and, indeed, the thing suited his mood, for he was, in his own mind, mounting to attack the solid thrones of horrible and heathen kings. He leapt out of the boat on to one slimy step, and stood, a dark and slender figure, amid the enormous masonry. The two men in the tug put her off again and turned up stream. They had never spoken a word.

Chesterton’s point in the middle of the passage is a conservative, Christian one, that even the little things in our life are illuminated and somehow redeemed by repeating older, more noble ‘figures’ and archetypes.

Maybe. Maybe not. But there is no denying the majesty of his description of day breaking like the splitting of great bars of lead, nor the power of his description of Syme leaping onto the slimy steps of a quay, a slender figure dwarfed by the enormous stones of the Embankment.

For Chesterton that physical description is the basis for his theological points; but for me the physical description is the metaphysical. The depiction of the actual world around us – whether in well-chosen phrases or in lines of pen or charcoal – is, for me, the really true worship.

The seven days of the week

Monday

He was the Secretary of the Council, and his twisted smile was regarded with more terror than anything, except the President’s horrible, happy laughter. But now that Syme had more space and light to observe him, there were other touches. His fine face was so emaciated, that Syme thought it must be wasted with some disease; yet somehow the very distress of his dark eyes denied this. It was no physical ill that troubled him. His eyes were alive with intellectual torture, as if pure thought was pain.

Tuesday

The man’s name, it seemed, was Gogol; he was a Pole, and in this circle of days he was called Tuesday. His soul and speech were incurably tragic; he could not force himself to play the prosperous and frivolous part demanded of him by President Sunday… Gogol, or Tuesday, had his simplicity well symbolised by a dress designed upon the division of the waters, a dress that separated upon his forehead and fell to his feet, grey and silver, like a sheet of rain

Wednesday

A certain Marquis de St. Eustache, a sufficiently characteristic figure. The first few glances found nothing unusual about him, except that he was the only man at table who wore the fashionable clothes as if they were really his own. He had a black French beard cut square and a black English frock-coat cut even squarer. But Syme, sensitive to such things, felt somehow that the man carried a rich atmosphere with him, a rich atmosphere that suffocated. It reminded one irrationally of drowsy odours and of dying lamps in the darker poems of Byron and Poe. With this went a sense of his being clad, not in lighter colours, but in softer materials; his black seemed richer and warmer than the black shades about him, as if it were compounded of profound colour. His black coat looked as if it were only black by being too dense a purple. His black beard looked as if it were only black by being too deep a blue. And in the gloom and thickness of the beard his dark red mouth showed sensual and scornful. Whatever he was he was not a Frenchman; he might be a Jew; he might be something deeper yet in the dark heart of the East. In the bright coloured Persian tiles and pictures showing tyrants hunting, you may see just those almond eyes, those blue-black beards, those cruel, crimson lips.

Friday

Next a very old man, Professor de Worms, who still kept the chair of Friday, though every day it was expected that his death would leave it empty. Save for his intellect, he was in the last dissolution of senile decay. His face was as grey as his long grey beard, his forehead was lifted and fixed finally in a furrow of mild despair. In no other case, not even that of Gogol, did the bridegroom brilliancy of the morning dress express a more painful contrast. For the red flower in his button-hole showed up against a face that was literally discoloured like lead; the whole hideous effect was as if some drunken dandies had put their clothes upon a corpse. When he rose or sat down, which was with long labour and peril, something worse was expressed than mere weakness, something indefinably connected with the horror of the whole scene. It did not express decrepitude merely, but corruption. Another hateful fancy crossed Syme’s quivering mind. He could not help thinking that whenever the man moved a leg or arm might fall off.

Saturday

Right at the end sat the man called Saturday, the simplest and the most baffling of all. He was a short, square man with a dark, square face clean-shaven, a medical practitioner going by the name of Bull. He had that combination of savoir-faire with a sort of well-groomed coarseness which is not uncommon in young doctors. He carried his fine clothes with confidence rather than ease, and he mostly wore a set smile. There was nothing whatever odd about him, except that he wore a pair of dark, almost opaque spectacles. It may have been merely a crescendo of nervous fancy that had gone before, but those black discs were dreadful to Syme; they reminded him of half-remembered ugly tales, of some story about pennies being put on the eyes of the dead. Syme’s eye always caught the black glasses and the blind grin. Had the dying Professor worn them, or even the pale Secretary, they would have been appropriate. But on the younger and grosser man they seemed only an enigma. They took away the key of the face. You could not tell what his smile or his gravity meant. Partly from this, and partly because he had a vulgar virility wanting in most of the others it seemed to Syme that he might be the wickedest of all those wicked men. Syme even had the thought that his eyes might be covered up because they were too frightful to see.

Sunday

At the nearest end of the balcony, blocking up a great part of the perspective, was the back of a great mountain of a man. When Syme had seen him, his first thought was that the weight of him must break down the balcony of stone. His vastness did not lie only in the fact that he was abnormally tall and quite incredibly fat. This man was planned enormously in his original proportions, like a statue carved deliberately as colossal. His head, crowned with white hair, as seen from behind looked bigger than a head ought to be. The ears that stood out from it looked larger than human ears. He was enlarged terribly to scale; and this sense of size was so staggering, that when Syme saw him all the other figures seemed quite suddenly to dwindle and become dwarfish.


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The Man With The Golden Gun by Ian Fleming (1965)

Now the grey-blue eyes looked back at him from the tanned face with the brilliant glint of suppressed excitement and accurate focus of the old days. He smiled ironically back at the introspective scrutiny that so many people make of themselves before a race, a contest of wits, a trial of some sort. He had no excuses. He was ready to go. (p.95)

This is Fleming’s final Bond novel, written when he was in failing health. Hard to read without this knowledge shedding a twilight glow. As in so many of the previous novels, it’s a strange combination of the garishly new and the surprisingly tried and tested, hackneyed, even.

Bond’s amnesia

Novel and arresting is the opening scene: At the end of You Only Live Twice Bond had lost his memory after a fall in the old castle rented by his arch-enemy Blofeld. He manages to blow up the castle but a further fall into the sea further damages his head, resulting in complete amnesia. He is rescued by the Japanese pearl diver, Kissy Suzuki, who had fallen in love with him while Bond used her island community of divers as cover for his mission.

But after 6 months of bliss, with Bond unaware of his identity, a chance reading of the word ‘Vladivostok’ stirs ancient feelings. The amnesiac Bond knows it’s an important word, he must go there and find out why… Sadly, Kissy helps Bond travel to mainland Japan from where he goes to Vladivostok.

Bond the assassin

This novel opens with Bond back in London, making contact with MI6, but behaving oddly, causing comment about his strangely mechanical unemotional aspect. He makes it through all MI6’s screening processes, causing increasing concern, until he gets his wish of a personal interview with M. Breaking into a sweat and reciting a KGB-written speech, Bond accuses the man he loves most in the world of being a warmonger and pulls out a cyanide shooting device — just as M presses a button to let a bullet-proof shield fall in front of his desk. Phew! This is probably the most gadgety gadget in all the books (p.24). Bond has clearly been picked up and brainwashed by the KGB to assassinate his former boss. Now, collapsed and unconscious, Bond is packed off to a Service sanatorium, ‘the Park’.

Scaramanga

One month and 24 sessions of electro-shock therapy later (!) Bond is restored to his steely-eyed self and has been given a tasty mission. It is literally as if nothing had happened. There’s a little retrospective explanation of the treatment (pp.49-50) and then, whoosh! it’s business as usual.

A notorious assassin has come to prominence in the Caribbean since the Cuban revolution, one Scaramanga. As with all his other baddies, Fleming gives us a detailed background and psychological profile of this stony killer (pp.32-41), including a long-winded and preposterous account of his boyhood with a travelling circus. It was here that he looked after a performing elephant who, one day, jeered by the crowd, ran amok, crushed a few people, but Scaramanga was lovingly calming down when the local police chief shot it dead. According to the two-penny, ha-penny psychology of the Service ‘expert’, this accounts for Scaramanga’s psychopathy.

‘The subject is in my opinion a paranoiac in subconscious revolt against the father figure (i.e. the figure of authority) and a sexual fetishist with possible homosexual tendencies’ (p.41).

Whatever the cause, Scaramanga has carried out a number of high profile assassinations throughout the Caribbean – including five British Service agents – with his special gold-plated gun, hence the title. (In fact Scaramanga refers to himself as ‘the man with the golden gun’ on page 71.)

And so M sends Bond (after rest & recuperation and then intensive retraining etc) to ‘eliminate’ him (p.51). Bond is using the cover name Mark Hazard, and is now working for ‘the Transworld Consortium’ (p.46) – the cover name ‘Universal Export’ having been blown long ago, not least by all these James Bond books!

Bond has spent 6 weeks following Scaramanga’s spoor around the Caribbean, and has stopped off in Jamaica before pursuing him to his home base of Cuba.

Jamaica! The island where Fleming himself, of course, lived and worked and – not coincidentally – the setting of many of his greatest adventures, as he himself reminisces, sitting in the departure lounge running over the characters he’s met – Solitaire and Mr Big, Honeychile Rider and Dr No, to name the two obvious ones (p.45). [It is odd that this supposedly globe-trotting spy, active at the height of the Cold War, ends up spending so much of his time on a fun-loving, tropical island, nowhere remotely near Russia or the Soviet bloc?]

Funny coincidence department

As always there is little or no detection involved: Bond is waiting at Kingston airport for a flight on to Cuba and, flicking through the local newspaper, comes across the sale of a property in Love Lane. Then in the message rack (which they apparently had in airports in those days) he simply finds a letter left for ‘Scaramanga’! Handy! He opens the letter and it refers to a rendezvous at the very same Love Lane address which he just happened to be reading about (p.46). Ha! What a lucky coincidence!

So Bond decides to cancel his flight on to Cuba and go check out this Love Lane address, in the southern town of Savannah La Mar.

Mary Goodnight

Bond contacts the station commander of Jamaica, only to find – in another lovely coincidence – that the station’s assistant is none other than the fragrant Mary Goodnight, the good-looking ex-WREN who was Bond’s own secretary in smoggy old London, before being posted out here (p.47).

In no time at all she’s slipped into something more comfortable and is meeting him at a luxurious bar where they sip Martinis and she explains the practical arrangements she’s made: money and the old Sunbeam Alpine (p.53) which belonged to Strangways (the former station chief who we saw being assassinated at the start of Dr No). She’s also worried about the current station head, Ross, who went off a few days earlier to look for someone called Scaramanga (Bond keeps quiet about the details of his mission).

[Bond and Goodnight discuss the international situation, specifically the hefty subsidies Moscow has to pay Cuba to keep the fledgling revolutionary state afloat, and how Moscow wants Cuba’s sugar crop in return. Goodnight (reflecting Fleming’s views?) gives Castro another 6 months before the regime collapses. It is, of course, now over fifty years later, and Castro is still there albeit no longer in power – the country is ruled by his brother, Raúl Castro.]

No detection

Bond motors 120 miles over bad roads from Kingston to the south coast of Jamaica, which is where the town of Savannah La Mar is, to the Love Lane address in Scaramanga’s letter. He finds it is a rather genteel whorehouse kept by a pretty black girl, Tiffy, who flirts with Bond in the cheap bar, pours him a beer and plays with her two tame local birds, Jamaican grackles called Joe and May (p.63).

At which point Scaramanga enters the bar, cold and cruel. He is tough and confrontational with Bond and when Tiffy is a bit lippy, shoots her two birds dead (p.67). Bond pumps up his cover story, playing ‘Mark Hazard international security consultant’. After a lot of male antagonism and insulting each other, Scaramanga reveals he needs some ‘protection’ at an event he’s hosting. He’s poured money into a hotel development along the coast, but the tourist market has collapsed, it’s only half built and a number of ‘investors’ are flying in to discuss its future. Scaramanga shouldn’t mind a bit of extra ‘security’ to keep watch on the event: does Bond want to earn a quick $1,000?

Wondering what he’s getting himself into, Bond says yes. He walks out of the Love Lane whorehouse with Scaramanga and into his chauffeur-driven car. For a moment he realises he could just shoot Scaramanga in the nape of the neck and fulfil his mission: but he hates killing in cold blood and also – he’s intrigued.

At Scaramanga’s hotel

So Bond finds himself arriving at the half built hotel, shown to a comfortable room, showering, padding round his hotel room naked (as usual) changing and enjoying a nice dinner, and sleeping like a baby. Next morning he checks out the perimeter, all the buildings and familiarises himself with the layout. Then the ‘business partners’ start to arrive.

They are hoods, gangsters, cut from the same cloth as the Las Vegas gangsters in Diamonds Are Forever or the gangsters Goldfinger invites to join him in his scheme to capture Fort Knox. Only on a smaller scale, somehow. Investing in a crooked hotel is hardly the same as holding the Western world to ransom with atom bombs or raiding the US Gold Reserve.

Bond – exactly as in Goldfinger – acts as a secretary to the meeting, ticking off the names, circulating and getting to know them. After a hotel lunch they have a big meeting in the conference room. Bond eavesdrops and learns they are a Group or Syndicate dedicated to much wider criminal activities than just investing in this hotel: the Group has interests in the sugar market, in pushing prices up and so is behind the recent spate of fires and sabotage to the Jamaican sugar crop. He learns that ‘Mr Hendricks’, the Dutch man, is almost certainly KGB, and Hendricks warns Scaramanga, in front of the group, that British Intelligence have sent a man named James Bond to assassinate him.

When they leave the room and from that point onwards, the assembled hoods look askance at Bond for the rest of the proceedings. In fact, Bond overhears Scaramanga boast in the room that he recently killed another British agent who came snooping after him – Ross. So. Being head of station J (for Jamaica) seems like the most dangerous job in the Service: first Strangways (in Dr No), now Ross, have been bumped off! So Bond’s mission to eliminate Scaramanga has become personal.

That evening Bond livens up the tame calypso band by shooting the pineapple off the head of the girl singer, telling them all to play louder and faster and the girls to do a strip tease. This transforms the ‘entertainment’, with the girls performing semi-naked, doing limbo dancing, and one oiled naked woman doing rude gyrations around a life sized model of a hand. The hoods appreciate the more lively entertainment but still treat Bond like a leper.

Enter Goodnight

Bond is woken from a deep sleep in his hotel bed by Goodnight banging on the window. What the hell? She’s driven down in person from Jamaica to tell him that Hendriks is a KGB assassin, tasked with killing Bond. She’s half way through the explanation when the light goes on and Scaramanga is standing in the room (having entered through a secret passage in the wardrobe – just as Sluggsy does in The Spy Who Loved Me). Bond play acts that Mary is his fiancée come to tell him his mother is unwell. Scaramanga pretends to buy the story, but tells Bond to his face that he’s heard that a certain James Bond from the British Secret Service is on his tail: you wouldn’t happen to be him, would you?

I suppose, Mr Hazard, that your real name wouldn’t be James Bond? You showed quite a turn of speed with the gun tonight. I seem to have read somewhere that this man Bond fancies himself with the hardware. I also have information that he’s somewhere in the Caribbean and that he’s looking for me. Funny coincidence department, eh?’ (p.125)

Bond sticks to his cover story but doubts whether Scaramanga believes him, and Bond realises his time has pretty much run out.

Felix Leiter

In the final and most preposterous coincidence, Bond stumbles on the fact that the hotel is also being staked out by his old old buddy, Felix Leiter, supposedly retired to work for the Pinkerton Agency but somehow constantly being called back by the CIA to help with just the same missions James Bond happens to be one. Here he is posing as senior hotel staff, with an assistant named Henderson. [What hotel would hire a man with a big steel hook instead of a hand?]

The boys have been bugging the conference room and confirm that Hendriks is a KGB hit-man, tasked with executing Bond. They inform Bond that the second day of the ‘conference’ is going to feature ‘entertainment’ in the form of a ride on the miniature train round the hotel estate, followed by a fishing trip out to an island. The attempt on Bond’s life might come at any moment. [If they know all this, why don’t they just shoot Scaramanga and flee in a fast car?]

A web of crime

Bond eavesdrops on one further conversation between Scaramanga and Hendriks in which he learns that the Group’s subversive activities are far more wide-ranging than he initially thought: The KGB is directly funding Scaramanga to carry out assassinations, organise sabotage of the sugar and bauxite industries, promote marijuana smuggling between Jamaica and the States, and in a plan to pay off Jamaican politicians with a view to introducing a casino industry. The idea behind this is not only to make a profit but to stir up the social trouble that always accompanies gambling. They go on to talk about recruiting a new member of The Group and this leads them to a useful review of the leading criminals in Venezuala, Guiana and Mexico.

The purpose of this five-page scene is to big Scaramanga up, to try and make him more than a local hoodlum who’s good with a gun and show that he is a lynchpin in organised crime across the Caribbean, and that this crime itself is only a sub-set of the ways the Russians are seeking to destabilise the whole region and, ultimately, America.

It is a naked attempt by Fleming to try and boost Scaramanga’s importance to the same kind of global level as a Drax or Goldfinger or Blofeld.

The Belle locomotive

So Bond knows that Scaramanga knows that he is Bond and Bond knows that Scaramanga is planning to murder him, somewhere during the day’s ‘entertainment’ for the gathered gangsters. They all pile into cars and drive to a mock-up of a 19th century Wild West railroad station, complete with beautiful old engine, named The Belle, and one open carriage behind and a brake car (p.147). The plan is to take this through the sugar cane plantations to a jetty and then a cruise out to some island.

But Scaramanga starts openly taunting Bond – who is riding in the locomotive, with the hoods in the single carriage and Scaramanga at the back. Scaramanga starts kind of joky shooting, by shooting down a vulture flying near the train. When Bond tells him it’s a protected species, Scaramanga puts a few shots past his ears so Bond ducks back into the safety of the locomotive. But then he sees something on the track ahead. Something pink with, yes, billowing blonde hair. At which point Scaramanga cheerfully tells the hoods he has found the squeeze of this Secret Service man Bond – some dame called Goodnight – and his men stripped her and laid her across the line, old movie-style (p.151).

Bond goes into panic mode. Poking his head out from the protection of the locomotive’s steel frame, he sees Hendriks with gun in hand but expecting Bond the other side of the locomotive and so looking in the wrong direction. Bond shoots him dead between the eyes. Bullets wing past from Scaramanga and Bond hears a scream. Scaramanga has shot dead the Rasta driver of the train. Bond leaps for the controls, reducing speed and applying the brake, but there’s only fifty yards to go to the body on the line, it’s far too late, he hears two shots wing past then a third slams into his shoulder, throwing him to the floor, at the edge of the footplate and it’s from there that he sees the train thunder over the figure on the track which is… a shop window mannequin!

Even as Bond’s fevered brain processes the realisation that it’s not the real Mary at all, he hears Felix Leiter’s voice from the back of the train. Good God, somehow Felix hid in the back of the brake van and has now emerged with the drop on the bad guys. Felix tells the hoods to drop their guns then there’s a loud bang. One of them was a bit slow so Felix shot him dead; the others hastily obey. Now when he looks out, Bond sees the three remaining hoods cowering in fear, Hendriks lolling dead, and Scaramanga on his knees in the brake van, his shirt covered in blood.

Felix yells at Bond to jump off the train. Why? It takes a couple of yells before Bond – now swaying and dizzy from his shoulder wound – realises how urgent Felix is, so he jumps, landing in a great morass of swamp mud which immediately releases vile stinks in his face.

But something goes wrong, because further down the track he sees Felix himself be thrown from the train instead of carefully jumping, followed by a tall, thin figure – Scaramanga! So he wasn’t dead after all! (p.156). Then, as Bond watches, the runaway train arrives at the big bridge over a river, and suddenly bridge and train blow up in a huge gout of flame – crash – with all the shattered pieces slowly falling down into the river gorge. So that’s why Felix was so urgent. He and his boys had booby-trapped it!

[Having a restored Wild West locomotive as the centrepiece of the showdown is very reminiscent of the climactic scenes of Diamonds Are Forever with its speeding locomotive chasing Bond and Tiffany Case through the desert, before reaching an explosive end.]

Showdown in the swamp

Bond, badly wounded in the shoulder and feeling the appalling heat of the Jamaican sun at mid-day, hauls the unconscious Leiter into the shade of some mangroves, then sets about stalking Scaramanga. Fleming draws out this final sequence as long as he can, maybe to pad out what feels like a thin story.

Eventually, after sneaking slowly through the jungle in the sweltering heat, Bond hear a quiet cough which leads him to the clearing where the tall man is lying propped against a tree. Bond watches fascinated while a venomous snake slides towards him as if for the kill. Scaramanaga appears too wounded, lying there drenched in blood and sweat, to do anything. But in fact at the snake comes into reach, like lightning the tall man leaps forward and skewers the snake with a concealed stilleto, before filleting it and eating it raw. Yuk. And that’s the moment Bond walks into the clearing, pointing his gun at the bloody figure.

And then there’s the corny movie-house scene where Bond finds he can’t, he just can’t, kill a wounded man in cold blood. He tries to rouse his temper by reminding Scaramanga (and himself) of one of the Service agents, Margesson, who he shot in both elbows and knees then forced to crawl across the floor and kiss his shoes before killing him. But even as he tells the story, Bond feels faint, and can hear his voice wavering. To his surprise Scaramanga asks to say a final prayer. Bond, weakening, lets him, and fails to notice one of the tall man’s hands moving slowly towards his right ear.

Suddenly, whiplash fast, he pulls out a pocket Derringer pistol and shoots Bond in the guts. As Bond spins and falls he fires all five of his bullets in Scaramanga’s direction then, from his position in agony on the ground, watches the tall assassin’s body finally collapse to the floor, shot through the heart.

Fleming had previously described not only the snake but the land crabs, among other fauna, which inhabited the mangrove. In an effective piece of word painting, he describes how the crabs wait a while after the last of the thuds, and then slowly emerge from their holes to feast on this rich array of fresh carrion…

Wind-up

Leiter, Bond and Scaramanga are found by Constable Percival Sampson of the Negril Constabulary, who had been called to the scene of the railway bridge explosion. In the hospital at Savannah La Mar the local doctor realises the bullet Scaramanga shot Bond in the gut with was tipped with horse poison, and administers an antidote [exactly as Bond is saved from fugu poison at the end of From Russia With Love].

Cut to Bond in his hospital bed in Kingston, one week later. To his embarrassment he is attended by the Commissioner of Police, a Judge of the Supreme Court, ‘Colonel Bannister’ from Washington (presumed CIA) Head of Station C (Caribbean) who’s flown in, and Mary Goodnight to take notes. The Judge reads out an ‘official’ account of events which not only exonerates Bond and Leiter of any crime but a) reinforces the scope and scale of Scaramanga’s criminal activities and attempts to undermine Jamaica b) awards him and Leiter medals, specifically the Jamaican Police Medal for gallantry and meritorious services to the Independent State of Jamaica.

Smiles, applause, the officials troop out, Leiter says farewell (to Bond and us devoted readers), Bond – exhausted by the effort – falls asleep.

Goodnight

A week later Bond is on the mend when Goodnight visits, looking trim in her 1960s office outfit. Not for the first time Bond fantasises about slipping it slowly off her to reveal the delights below. But in fact she has brought a ciphered message for Bond. She decodes it: Bond is being offered a knighthood. Goodnight is gleeful with happiness for him. Bond is sardonic and tells her to send a message turning it down: ‘My principal reason is that I don’t want to pay more at hotels and restaurants’ (p.188).

Goodnight says he’s allowed to leave hospital but needs to rest for another three weeks before flying back to London. She shyly tells him she’s got a nice bungalow up in the hills. With a spare room. With a great view. Near a good club where he can play golf during the day and bridge in the evening. Would he like to… you know…

Knowing what it will lead to, but knowing he will never settle down, that one woman will never be enough, that the world, in fact, is not enough, Bond agrees to stay with her and so ends his last adventure with the promise of some warm Jamaican loving.


Bond biographical snippets

Most of Bond’s biography was given in the obituary M wrote for him at the end of You Only Live Twice. Here we learn that M’s full name is Admiral Sir Miles Messervy (p.10). M’s number 2 is the Chief of Staff, Bond’s friend Bill Tanner.

Jamaica

Jamaica, where Fleming built his beloved house, Goldeneye and wrote most of the Bond novels, gained independence from Britain in 1962. According to its Wikipedia article, some ‘60% of Jamaicans would push to once again become a British territory’, due to decades of mismanagement and economic decline.


Credit

The Man With The Golden Gun by Ian Fleming was published in April 1965 by Jonathan Cape. All quotes and references are to the 1989 Coronet paperback edition.

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Other thrillers from 1965

The Bond novels

1953 Casino Royale Bond takes on Russian spy Le Chiffre at baccarat then is gutted to find the beautiful assistant sent by London to help him and who he falls in love with – Vesper Lynd – is herself a Russian double agent.
1954 Live and Let Die Bond is dispatched to find and defeat Mr Big, legendary king of America’s black underworld, who uses Voodoo beliefs to terrify his subordinates, and who is smuggling 17th century pirate treasure from an island off Jamaica to Florida and then on to New York, in fact to finance Soviet spying, for Mr Big is a SMERSH agent. Along the way Bond meets, falls in love with, and saves, the beautiful clairvoyant, Solitaire.
1955 Moonraker An innocent invitation to join M at his club and see whether the famous Sir Hugo Drax really is cheating at cards leads Bond to discover that Drax is in fact a fanatical Nazi determined on taking revenge for the Fatherland by targeting an atom-bomb-tipped missile – the Moonraker – at London.
1956 Diamonds Are Forever Bond’s mission is to trace the route of a diamond smuggling ‘pipeline’, which starts in Africa, comes to London and then to follow it on to New York, and further to the mob-controlled gambling town of Las Vegas, where he wipes out the gang, all the while falling in love with the delectable Tiffany Case.
1957 From Russia, with Love Bond is lured to Istanbul by the promise of a beautiful Russian agent who says she’ll defect and bring along one of the Soviets’ precious Spektor coding machines, but only for Bond in person. The whole thing is an improbable trap concocted by head of SMERSH’S execution department, Rosa Klebb, to not only kill Bond but humiliate him and the Service in a sex-and-murder scandal.
1958 Dr. No Bond is dispatched to Jamaica (again) to investigate the mysterious disappearance of the station head, which leads him to meet up with the fisherman Quarrel (again), do a week’s rigorous training (again) and set off for a mysterious island (Crab Key this time) where he meets the ravishing Honeychile Rider and the villainous Chinaman, Dr No, who sends him through a gruelling tunnel of pain which Bond barely survives, before killing No and triumphantly rescuing the girl.
1959 Goldfinger M tasks Bond with finding out more about Auric Goldfinger, the richest man in England. Bond confirms the Goldfinger is smuggling large amounts of gold out of the UK in his vintage Rolls Royce, to his factory in Switzerland, but then stumbles on a much larger conspiracy to steal the gold from the US Reserve at Fort Knox. Which, of course, Bond foils.
1960 For Your Eyes Only (short stories) Four stories which started life as treatments for a projected US TV series of Bond adventures and so feature exotic settings (Paris, Vermont, the Seychelles, Venice), ogre-ish villains, shootouts and assassinations and scantily-clad women – but the standout story is Quantum of Solace, a conscious homage to the older storytelling style of Somerset Maugham, in which there are none of the above, and which shows what Fleming could do if he gave himself the chance.
1961 Thunderball Introducing Ernst Blofeld and his SPECTRE organisation who have dreamed up a scheme to hijack an RAF plane carrying two atomic bombs, scuttle it in the Caribbean, then blackmail Western governments into coughing up $100,000,000 or get blown up. The full force of every Western security service is thrown into the hunt, but M has a hunch the missing plane headed south towards the Bahamas, so it’s there that he sends his best man, Bond, to hook up with his old pal Felix Leiter, and they are soon on the trail of SPECTRE operative Emilio Largo and his beautiful mistress, Domino.
1962 The Spy Who Loved Me An extraordinary experiment: an account of a Bond adventure told from the point of view of the Bond girl in it, Vivienne ‘Viv’ Michel, which opens with a long sequence devoted entirely to her childhood in Canada and young womanhood in London, before armed hoodlums burst into the motel where she’s working on her own, and then she is rescued by her knight in shining armour, Mr B himself.
1963 On Her Majesty’s Secret Service Back to third-person narrative, and Bond poses as a heraldry expert to penetrate Blofeld’s headquarters on a remote Alpine mountain top, where the swine is carrying out a fiendish plan to use germ warfare to decimate Britain’s agriculture sector. Bond smashes Blofeld’s set-up with the help of the head of the Corsican mafia, Marc-Ange Draco, whose wayward daughter, Tracy, he has fallen in love with, and in fact goes on to marry – making her the one great love of his life – before she is cruelly shot dead by Blofeld, who along with the vile Irma Bunt had managed to escape the destruction of his base.
1964 You Only Live Twice Shattered by the murder of his one-day wife, Bond goes to pieces with heavy drinking and erratic behaviour. After 8 months or so M sends him on a diplomatic mission to persuade the head of the Japanese Secret Service, ‘Tiger’ Tanaka to share top Jap secret info with us Brits. Tiger agrees on condition that Bond undertakes a freelance job for him, and eliminates a troublesome ‘Dr Shatterhand’ who has created a gruesome ‘Garden of Death’ at a remote spot on the Japanese coast. When Bond realises that ‘Shatterhand’ is none other than Blofeld, murderer of his wife, he accepts the mission with gusto.
1965 The Man With The Golden Gun Brainwashed by the KGB, Bond returns from Japan to make an attempt on M’s life. When it fails he is subjected to intense shock therapy at ‘The Park’ before returning fit for duty and being dispatched to the Caribbean to ‘eliminate’ a professional assassin, Scaramanga, who has killed half a dozen of our agents as well as being at the centre of a network of criminal and political subversion. The novel is set in Bond and Fleming’s old stomping ground, Jamaica, where he is helped by his old buddy, Felix Leiter, and his old secretary, Mary Goodnight, and the story hurtles to the old conclusion – Bond is bettered and bruised within inches of his life – but defeats the baddie and ends the book with a merry quip on his lips.
1966 Octopussy Three short stories in which Bond uses the auction of a valuable Fabergé egg to reveal the identity of the Russians’ spy master in London; shoots a Russian sniper before she can kill one of our agents escaping from East Berlin; and confronts a former Security Service officer who has been eaten up with guilt for a wartime murder of what turns out to be Bond’s pre-war ski instructor. This last short story, Octopussy, may be his best.

You Only Live Twice by Ian Fleming (1964)

This is a strange and eerie tale about a ‘Garden of Death’ in remote and exotic Japan, so I liked it more than the straightforward adventure yarn of On Her Majesty’s Secret Service, set in France and Switzerland.

As often, Fleming uses a simple but attractive structure for his tale, in this case dividing it into two parts: 1. ‘It is better to travel hopefully…’ 2. ‘… than to arrive.’

Plot summary

If Bond was hacked off in OHMSS (which began with him composing a letter of resignation from the Service), in this one he has lost all interest in not just his job, but life itself. Eight months have passed (p.24) since his wife, Tracy, was shot dead just hours after their marriage, by the dastardly Blofeld, and Bond has gone to pieces. He’s drinking heavily, not sleeping, missing appointments (to the anguished concern of his secretary, Mary Goodnight, and M’s PA, Miss Moneypenny). Bond has (not very believably) been sent on two missions during this period, both of which he’s ballsed up (p.22). Again he says he wants to resign (p.29).

M calls in the latest of umpteen nerve specialists, Sir James Molony (p.20) who says Bond needs to be shocked out of his gloom with a good tough mission, just like the last war forced so many people to stop dwelling on themselves and pitched them into challenging situations, which ‘cured’ them.

Cue M calling Bond in and giving him a rather peculiar mission. Turns out the Japanese secret service have been cracking Russian codes in the East (‘from Vladivostok and Oriental Russia’, p.30) and deciphering vital information about nuclear weapons testing, giving the system the codename MAGIC 44 (p.49). But they only share it with the CIA, not us. Bond’s mission is simple: go meet the head of the Japanese secret service, ‘Tiger’ Tanaka, and do whatever it takes to persuade him to secretly share their deciphered information with us (behind the backs of the CIA; maybe not that difficult as Tanaka is given a page-long speech expressing his dislike of American ‘culture’ and its revoltingly decadent exports, p.59).

Tanaka is a hard man. He gained a First in PPE (Politics, Philosophy, Economics) at Trinity College, Oxford, before the war – and so has a veneer of Western manners – but returned to Japan to join the military, becoming a member of the Kempeitai (‘their wartime Gestapo’), rising to be personal aide to Admiral Ohnishi before training as a a kami-kaze in the closing stages of the war, only saved by the abrupt nuclear end to the war from flying his plane into an American battleship (p.15). Now he has risen to the top of his country’s secret service, the Koan-Chosa-Kyoku and is a canny, sly, ironic operator.

Rather oddly, Bond will be posing as a member of the Australian secret services, under the guidance of the loud, drunk, profane head of Australia’s station in Japan, one Richard ‘Dikko’ Henderson. (‘Henderson looked like a middle-aged prize fighter who has retired and taken to the bottle’, p.37). This leads to a sequence of hard drinking nights in geisha bars, and a lot of background briefing on Japanese culture, politics and society, all presented as drunken rants by the colourful Dikko.

(At one point he makes a typically tipsy and grandiose reference to ‘brother Hemingway’, p.43 – the only use of the ‘brother X’ formula in all the Bond books – and I immediately thought of John le Carré, many of whose self-mythologising, grand-standing characters refer to others in their little circles as ‘brother’ this or that. Also, the hard-drinking, swearing, boorish ex-pat culture which Dikko represents reminded me of The Honourable Schoolboy, the overblown middle novel of le Carré’s ‘Karla’ trilogy, set among Hong Kong’s hard-drinking, boorish, ex-pat community.)

As so often, Fleming uses flashbacks to depict the various scenes outlined above and to give selected highlights of the month or so Bond has spent in Japan, steadily getting to like and respect Tanaka, which are all told from the position of the ‘now’ when the story proper begins.

‘Now’ is a lengthy sake-fuelled session lasting into the early hours, during which Tanaka finally states the terms of his deal. First a little background: He and his superiors have been dismayed by Britain’s decline and fall, by the speed with which she lost an empire and divested herself of her colonies, and then appalled at the fiasco of the Suez Crisis (1956). The long, apparently rambling conversation then wanders round to Japanese national characteristics and to the national fondness for suicide as an ‘honourable’ way out of various problems and of gaining face with family and ancestors. (Some 25,000 Japanese commit suicide every year and Tanaka is lavish in his praise of the rituals of seppuku, pp.70-73 [the current annual rate is 30,000, according to Wikipedia]).

In fact, Tanaka, goes on to explain, over the past year a strange sequence of events has occurred. Nearly a year ago a foreign scientist – Dr Guntram Shatterhand – and his wife, Frau Emmy (p.61) came to Japan, toured the country, then bought a derelict castle in the southern island of Kyūshū. From here they have imported every form of poisonous plant, tree, fish and insect known to man (spiders, scorpions etc) to create a ‘Garden of Death’. They gained permission from the Japanese authorities after promising to ultimately leave the garden to Japanese botanists, as well as to make available various rare poisons which Japanese scientists could use to experiment with cures and serums. (Fleming gives a four-page list of the poisonous species of tree, shrub and bush in the Garden, complete with Latin names and precise properties – pp.66-69).

But news of this intense ‘Garden of Death’ has leaked out to the general Japanese population with the result that depressed, unhappy, shamed or humiliated Japanese have been making their way there to kill themselves – to break into the ‘Garden of Death’, assured of being stung, bitten, grazed, poisoned or infected by any of the poisonous life forms in it. In the past year no fewer than 500 (!) Japanese have died in the Garden, despite Dr Shatterhand’s best attempts to put up security fences, employ security guards from Japan’s notorious Black Dragon Society (p.64), and so on.

The deal

‘So, Bond-san,’ Tanaka says. ‘My government is willing to share the secret Russian information we are intercepting – on condition you show your country still has pride, still has valour and that you enter the Garden of Death, uncover its secrets, render it harmless.’ In other words, kill Dr Shatterhand. No Japanese could do it, because the government would lose face if it failed. If Bond is caught or exposed, the government can claim he was a foreign agent (which he is).

Kill Dr Shatterhand and you get the secret information. Then Tanaka shows Bond photos and maps of Shatterhand’s hide-out on a remote coastal promontory, along with photos of the man himself and his wife. Bond is electrified: it is Blofeld, the wicked evil Blofeld who planned to detonate atom bombs in America in Thunderball and to decimate British agriculture in On Her Majesty’s Secret Service and who, along with his squat ugly accomplice, Irma Bunt, shot dead Bond’s newly-wed wife, Tracy on the last page of the previous novel.

Bond had been hesitating before, about the propriety of assassinating a foreign national on foreign soil. Now his heart is set. Now it is personal. It is going to be revenge, pure and simple (p.115).

Turning Japanese

You Only Live Twice often reads like Fleming swallowed a guide book on Japan whole. There’s a friendly amount of cultural background on Jamaica, whenever Bond goes there; Fleming provides 2 or 3 page backgrounders to Saratoga races or Harlem or Las Vegas when Bond visits them in the States; half of From Russia With Love is set in Turkey which gives Fleming plenty of opportunity to describe Istanbul, Turkish food, customs and people: but none of the previous books has been so saturated with local colour as You Only Live Twice, which offers up guidebook facts and schoolboy explanations of Japanese history, customs and language on every page. Among many other things, we learn that:

  • samisen is a three-stringed musical instrument played at geisha parties
  • sake is Japan’s alcoholic spirit, to be drunk warm and, ideally, giving no outward sign that you are getting drunk
  • sumo wrestlers oil and massage their testicles from an early age so that, before a fight, they can retract them into their body cavity
  • bonsan means priest (p.54) so the Japanese can make a pun on Bond’s name, since it is polite to add san to the end of a name, thus Bond-san
  • futon is Japanese for bed
  • gaijin is Japanese for foreigner
  • tanka is a poem with 31 syllables
  • haiku is a poem of three lines and 17 syllables whose master was probably the 17th century poet, Basho (pp.100-101)
  • in Japan they don’t close doors to ensure security, they open all the doors and slender partitions in their houses so they can see that no-one else is eavesdropping
  • light switches go up, taps turn to the left, door handles likewise
  • samsara is a generic phrase for the good life, for wine, women and song
  • ‘All Japanese have permanent ON [a kind of moral/spiritual duty] towards their superiors, their Emperor, their ancestors and the Japanese gods.’ (p.42) The only way to discharge this burden of ON is to do the right thing, to behave ‘honourably’.
  • futsukayoi is an honourable hangover
  • four is an unlucky number in Japanese culture, as unlucky as 13 is for us in the West
  • According to Tanaka, the Japanese have no swearwords, which Bond finds hard to believe and gets him to explain at length (pp.83-84)
  • Food: Bond is astonished when the lobster he’s served begins to move – he is expected to eat it alive (p.89). He is similarly unimpressed at the fine strips of fugu, raw poisonous blowfish he is served later (p.104), or the bland and over-salty seaweed which comes with everything – although the raw beef he eats after meeting a farmer and massaging his cattle (!) does turn out to be the best steak he’s ever tasted (p.93). But he politely refuses a bowl of fresh bull blood when it is offered.

But for all the book’s immersion in Japanese culture, Fleming and Bond are still very sceptical and uneasy about the Japanese and their well-proven taste for the violent and the bizarre.

This suicide business in Japan is nothing more than a form of mass hysteria – an expression of the streak of violence that seems to run all through the history of Japan. (p.71)

It doesn’t change his mind when Tanaka gives a long and moving account of what inspired him to become a kami-kaze pilot on pages 87 to 89 – describing the excitement of dive bombing an American aircraft carrier, with detailed advice on where best to aim the plane (at the deck-top cranes and equipment). Tanaka makes it sound moving and heroic. Even worse is his eye-witness account of watching his boss, Admiral Ohnishi, commit ritual suicide by inserting a dagger in his belly and moving it from left to right and then upward to cut into the breast bone, all without flinching. Ohnishi in fact didn’t die of these self-inflicted wounds, but refused to move from his position and sat expiring for 24 hours. ‘A most sincere gesture of apology to the Emperor’ (p.89), Tanaka remarks.

Bond dislikes ‘the automatic, ant-like subservience to discipline and authority of the Japanese’ (p.152). Even the half-mad Blofeld is made to discuss ‘the profound love of horror and violence of the Japanese’ (p.134).

And the exaggerated politeness and stifling rituals get on his nerves. Bond becomes very exasperated at the never-ending bowing and sibilant hissing all the Japanese make from extreme politeness –

Bond had had about enough for one day. There weren’t many bows and smiles left in him, and he was glad when he was left alone… (p.85)

Bond hates having to sit on the floor in the lotus position until your knees are screaming with pain, and finds it impossible to sleep on an uncomfortable futon.

The isle of Kuro

Tanaka plans the operation with his lieutenants and Bond: the promontory with the Garden of Death is not far from a group of islands inhabited by the Ama, a self-contained tribe of Japanese who make a living diving for pearls in awabi or oysters (p.135). The divers tend to be lithe young women who often dive completely naked. They plan to dye Bond’s hair and skin to give him a Japanese complexion, then embed him in the little fishing village of Kuro, population 200 (p.121).

Travelling south Tiger takes him to visit a training camp for ninjas or ‘stealers-in’ (pp.93-98). Bond will be given a ninja black outfit, climbing rope and knife.

Here, Tanaka smirks broadly, Bond will be helped by the presence of one of the daughters of the community, Kissy Suzuki (p.113), a young girl who was talent spotted by roving Hollywood agents and went all the way to Hollywood to make a feature film, hated it, and has returned to the bosom of her family and community, but with a good working knowledge of English and of the Western mind-set.

So they travel down to the southern island, taking in various tourist sights along the way (the oldest whorehouse in Japan (p.99) taking the Murasaki Maru, a modern ocean liner to cross to Kyūshū (p.100). Here they meet the commissioner for police of Fukuoka, the administrative capital of the island. There are a few incidents along the way, most notable of which is when a stranger jostles Bond in the crowd and picks his pocket. Later they become aware of a motorcyclist who’s following their car. Tanaka orders the driver to ram the biker, who then puts up a fight and is killed. The body is found to have Bond’s wallet on him. Hmm – someone knows who Bond is and is paying hoods to trail his movements. Suspense!

Once again, Fleming gives a very persuasive description of this idyllic place and of his first sight of the simple fisher people. In the midst of this perilous mission and Bond’s personal trauma, Fleming is able to convey the sense that this is a ‘good place’, these are good people. You often come across these persuasive and powerful scenes in Fleming.

Bond is introduced to the smiling sardonic Kissy, her ancient parents and the local priest. For the next few days he goes pearl fishing with her, obviously attracted by her firm sexy body which wears just a g-string while diving, but Fleming also devotes pages explaining the diving technique, the lives and values of this community.

The idyllic setting makes Fleming relaxed and whimsical: he invents a pet for Kissy, a tame cormorant who she keeps tethered to a string, who dives with her and who she calls ‘David’ after the only person she met in Hollywood who respected her, the English actor David Niven.

This sequence climaxes rather beautifully when Kissy takes Bond to see the squat stone statues of the six Jizo guardians, the ‘Kings of Death’, old Buddhist gods who look over the island and its people, also known as ‘the Children of the Sea’ (p.136). Kissy prays devoutly to them for Bond’s safety and Bond finds himself making a prayer and then – in an astonishing moment – thinks he sees the one he prayed to nod its head. Nonsense! Just a trick of the gathering dusk. Pull yourself together man.

The Garden of Death

That night Bond slips into the ninja outfit Tanaka left him and Kissy accompanies him as he swims to the mainland setting of the ‘Garden of Death’ and the ominous, ruined Japanese castle at its centre.

Using his ninja grappling iron, Bond ascends the defensive wall, then steps carefully through the Garden, witnessing two Japanese who are killing themselves – one whose face and hands are hideously swollen by some plant poison and who blunders into the central pond where he is shredded by piranha, another who bows politely and walks down into one of the Garden’s stinking fumaroles or volcanic mudholes, voluntarily incinerating himself with a final shriek of agony (p.147). Bond finds a work shed and hides behind a big pile of sacking, eating and drinking a little, and waiting till dawn.

He is awoken by the sight of Blofeld dressed in medieval chain mail (as protection against all the poison) and Irma Bunt in a rubber suit with a beekeeper’s hat, strolling around their macabre domain. Bond is tempted to attack them there and then but the armour would be difficult to pierce and he has seen members of the violent Black Dragon Society roaming the Garden as security.

Inside the castle

Bond hides until night falls and then breaks into the castle. A couple of tense pages describe his faltering process up dark stone staircases, along deserted corridors etc, all eerily empty. Finally, he enters a corridor he saw a servant just leave and is half way along it when it swivels in the middle and tips him helplessly into a stone oubliette where he cracks his head very badly. He comes to being beaten around the face by some of the Black Dragon goons and then Blofeld intervenes.

These final scenes feel oddly disconnected: they’re gruesome enough but somehow lack conviction.

First of all it takes Blofeld, dressed incongruously in a silk kimono, a little while to realise that this intruder is in fact James Bond, come to kill him. Blofeld and Bunt take their captive to the ‘Question Room’. This turns out to be a stone throne Blofeld has built over one of the Garden’s many volcanic geysers. Bond is forced to sit on a toilet seat above a little hole up which a spurt of 1,000 degree-hot volcanic mud erupts every fifteen minutes. So Bond sits there as the minutes tick by till the next eruption, his flesh crawling as he imagines the devastating fiery impact incinerating his lower body.

Except that, oddly, Bond isn’t actually tied there and, a minute before the eruption, he simply gets up and strolls over to Blofeld and admits who he is – just as the volcanic mud squirts up the hole. So not that dangerous, really.

Even odder, Blofeld allows Bond to be escorted back to his ‘audience chamber’ and then dismisses his guard, relying on his own skill with a massive, razor-sharp samurai sword to keep Bond in check.

And now, he does what all the baddies do – conducts a long soliloquy in which he justifies all his wicked actions, insofar as they have roundabout beneficent results. And, as usual, this long rant gives Bond the opportunity to scope out the room and make a plan. As it draws to an end (‘and now to finish you for good, Mr Bond’) he makes a leap for a long wooden stave one of the guards had left leaning against a wall.

Bond a) clouts Irma Bunt in the head, knocking her out, then b) embarks on a long and tense fight withg Blofeld, the latter’s razor-sharp sword against Bond’s stave, with Blofeld steadily getting the upper hand, until Bond desperately throws himself at Blofeld, grabbing for his throat and, despite all blows, pummeling and biting, proceeding to strangle Blofeld to death, and to carry on choking and bludgeoning him long after he’s dead in a red mist frenzy.

Balloon escape

Bond comes out of his bloodlust daze and runs into the Question Room, using the machinery he saw to move a lid over the volcanic vent – that should block it up then cause quite an eruption! Back through the audience chamber and out onto the balcony, but it’s a sheer 100 foot drop to the ground, when he sees that a big balloon is tethered to the balcony balustrade. He tethers the loose rope round his body, then undoes the knot and – whoosh – is immediately lifted up into the air and moving away. Only at about this point does he become really bothered by the very painful throbbing in his head from the large bump he picked up when he fell into the oubliette. A few shots from the castle graze him as the Black Dragon goons realise he’s escaping before, suddenly, the entire castle shimmers, shakes and explodes with the force of the mini-volcano he had blocked. Cascades of boiling mud and then flames as various gas pipes etc rupture.

Bond clings to the rope as the balloon flies out over the sea, but the pain in his head is obliterating everything else and he can feel himself getting weaker and then, and then… He feels the rope slipping and passes out as he falls hundreds of feet into the sea below.

Amnesia with Kissy

If certain parts of the previous narrative had seemed disconnected and dreamlike, the final ten pages are unique in the Bond oeuvre for their strange and floaty feel. For Bond has complete amnesia. Impact with the sea completed what the heavy blow to his temple had begun, and he has completely forgotten who he is and what he does. Kissy and Bond had arranged that she would swim out to meet him every night, and so she sees his body fall from the balloon into the sea. But when she gets to him he doesn’t recognise her, doesn’t know what he’s doing in the sea.

Kissy’s heart sings as she realises she can make him hers forever, and she ferries him slowly in the rescue position back across the straight to Kuro, where she calls the village doctor, then fixes up with the village priest to tell the people to keep his presence a secret. While she tends his wounds and nurtures him back to health, the villagers stonewall a succession of visitors from the outside world, first Tiger, then British embassy officials. To all of them the villagers say they saw him depart, then the castle blew up, and they haven’t seen him since.

Far away in London, six months passes and the Service concludes Bond is missing presumed dead. M contributes an official obituary to The Times, in which we get a potted biography of Bond’s life, parents, upbringing and so on. But on the small island Bond is lovingly nurtured to health by Kissy and enjoys the simple healthy life of a pearl diver.

It may be a far-fetched comparison but a lot of this reminded me of Edmund Spenser’s Elizabethan epic poem, The Faerie Queene. In each of its six books a knight from the court of King Arthur sets out on a heroic Quest, encountering, battling and overcoming various allegorical figures along the way. By the sixth and final book, though, you can feel Spenser’s tiredness and are not surprised that, when Sir Calidore encounters a rural community living in complete equality, peace and harmony with its rural surroundings, the knight simply abandons his Quest and decides to live with them and enjoy pastoral simplicity and happiness.

In the last ten pages of You Only Live Twice, something similar happens and James Bond, cynical city slicker and worldly secret agent, forsakes his livelihood, forgets his raison d’etre and, tired and ill like his maker (Fleming was a sick man by the time the book was published in 1963), longs to become part of a simpler world, a healthier life, a place without conflict.

But will it last…?


Bond as Saint George

When Tanaka offers him the challenge, he puts it in Arthurian medieval form: ‘you are to enter this Castle of Death and slay the Dragon within.’ (p.78) Similarly, when Bond realises Shatterhand is Blofeld, he not only declares it is now a matter of personal revenge – he says: ‘It was ancient feud’ (p.116). ‘Ancient’? Hardly. His wife was murdered 9 months earlier. Calling it ‘ancient’ is part of the process of giving Bond a mythic, archetypal overtone.

Later Tiger says: ‘Does it not amuse you to think of that foolish dragon dozing all unsuspecting in his castle while St George comes silently riding towards his lair across the waves?’ (p.119)

In The Spy Who Loved Me Fleming had the female lead, Viv Michel, refer to Bond several times as her knight in shining armour, as her Sir Galahad, and Thunderball contained references to St George. It doesn’t especially deepen the pleasure of reading the books, but it is an indicator of the kind of quest-like, rather simple-minded Victorian-medieval hero worship, which is one thread underpinning the texts.

Visions of paradise

It’s only a paragraph or two, but as Bond arrives at the island community of Kuro he is struck by how it seems to be one of the world’s good places.

It was a pretty scene, with the delicate remoteness, the fairyland quality of small fishing communities the world over. Bond took an immediate liking to the place, as if he was arriving at a destination that had been waiting for him and that would be friendly and welcoming. (p.120)

Fleming’s writing conveys a genuine sense of peace and tranquility. It has several times before, especially in Jamaica or when he was in the hotel in Istanbul looking out over the Bosphorus at sunset. But here the setting has the added fairy tale element which threads strongly through the book.

At that moment, it all seemed to Bond as the world, as life, should be, and he felt ashamed of his city-slicker appearance, let alone the black designs it concealed. (p.123)

This ability to perceive and respond to natural beauty, and to find a refreshing innocence and loveliness in it, is one of Fleming’s most appealing features.

Male camaraderie

Bond may be a figure of male fantasy fulfilment in a number of obvious ways (easily available women, fast cars, tough fights which he always wins). One of the under-reported ones is his male friendships.

There’s the deep, abiding warmth of his father-feeling for M (‘James Bond felt a quick warmth of affection for this man who had ordered his destiny for so long’, p.32).

There’s the buddy-buddy act with his CIA pal Felix Leiter, who appears in no fewer than six of the novels and allows Fleming to let rip with pulp American slang and indulge Bond’s boyish bantering side.

There are the one-off friendships, forged in the intense closeness of a dangerous mission would include the elemental life force of Darko Kerim (From Russia With Love), the wise and clever Marc-Ange Draco (On Her Majesty’s Secret Service), and in this novel, the canny clever ex-kamikaze pilot Tiger Tanaka, owner of a ‘formidable, cruel, samurai face’ (p.14).

All three are elemental figures of masculinity, rooted in foreign cultures untouched by Western norms or political correctness; they have very dubious morals or pasts (Darko involved in various scams against the Russians, Draco the head of the Corsican mafia ie a dyed-in-the-wool criminal, and Tiger with his unapologetic devotion to the kami-kaze ideal); and all three smile big grins every time they explain another outlandish custom, extravagant scam or unacceptable piece of behaviour.

There is an elemental male aspect to their bonding; but there is also naughty schoolboy japery as well.


Credit

You Only Live Twice by Ian Fleming was published in March 1964 by Jonathan Cape. Fleming died in August the same year.

All quotes and references are to the 1965 Pan paperback edition.

Related links

Other thrillers from 1964

The Bond novels

1953 Casino Royale Bond takes on Russian spy Le Chiffre at baccarat then is gutted to find the beautiful assistant sent by London to help him and who he falls in love with – Vesper Lynd – is herself a Russian double agent.
1954 Live and Let Die Bond is dispatched to find and defeat Mr Big, legendary king of America’s black underworld, who uses Voodoo beliefs to terrify his subordinates, and who is smuggling 17th century pirate treasure from an island off Jamaica to Florida and then on to New York, in fact to finance Soviet spying, for Mr Big is a SMERSH agent. Along the way Bond meets, falls in love with, and saves, the beautiful clairvoyant, Solitaire.
1955 Moonraker An innocent invitation to join M at his club and see whether the famous Sir Hugo Drax really is cheating at cards leads Bond to discover that Drax is in fact a fanatical Nazi determined on taking revenge for the Fatherland by targeting an atom-bomb-tipped missile – the Moonraker – at London.
1956 Diamonds Are Forever Bond’s mission is to trace the route of a diamond smuggling ‘pipeline’, which starts in Africa, comes to London and then to follow it on to New York, and further to the mob-controlled gambling town of Las Vegas, where he wipes out the gang, all the while falling in love with the delectable Tiffany Case.
1957 From Russia, with Love Bond is lured to Istanbul by the promise of a beautiful Russian agent who says she’ll defect and bring along one of the Soviets’ precious Spektor coding machines, but only for Bond in person. The whole thing is an improbable trap concocted by head of SMERSH’S execution department, Rosa Klebb, to not only kill Bond but humiliate him and the Service in a sex-and-murder scandal.
1958 Dr. No Bond is dispatched to Jamaica (again) to investigate the mysterious disappearance of the station head, which leads him to meet up with the fisherman Quarrel (again), do a week’s rigorous training (again) and set off for a mysterious island (Crab Key this time) where he meets the ravishing Honeychile Rider and the villainous Chinaman, Dr No, who sends him through a gruelling tunnel of pain which Bond barely survives, before killing No and triumphantly rescuing the girl.
1959 Goldfinger M tasks Bond with finding out more about Auric Goldfinger, the richest man in England. Bond confirms the Goldfinger is smuggling large amounts of gold out of the UK in his vintage Rolls Royce, to his factory in Switzerland, but then stumbles on a much larger conspiracy to steal the gold from the US Reserve at Fort Knox. Which, of course, Bond foils.
1960 For Your Eyes Only (short stories) Four stories which started life as treatments for a projected US TV series of Bond adventures and so feature exotic settings (Paris, Vermont, the Seychelles, Venice), ogre-ish villains, shootouts and assassinations and scantily-clad women – but the standout story is Quantum of Solace, a conscious homage to the older storytelling style of Somerset Maugham, in which there are none of the above, and which shows what Fleming could do if he gave himself the chance.
1961 Thunderball Introducing Ernst Blofeld and his SPECTRE organisation who have dreamed up a scheme to hijack an RAF plane carrying two atomic bombs, scuttle it in the Caribbean, then blackmail Western governments into coughing up $100,000,000 or get blown up. The full force of every Western security service is thrown into the hunt, but M has a hunch the missing plane headed south towards the Bahamas, so it’s there that he sends his best man, Bond, to hook up with his old pal Felix Leiter, and they are soon on the trail of SPECTRE operative Emilio Largo and his beautiful mistress, Domino.
1962 The Spy Who Loved Me An extraordinary experiment: an account of a Bond adventure told from the point of view of the Bond girl in it, Vivienne ‘Viv’ Michel, which opens with a long sequence devoted entirely to her childhood in Canada and young womanhood in London, before armed hoodlums burst into the motel where she’s working on her own, and then she is rescued by her knight in shining armour, Mr B himself.
1963 On Her Majesty’s Secret Service Back to third-person narrative, and Bond poses as a heraldry expert to penetrate Blofeld’s headquarters on a remote Alpine mountain top, where the swine is carrying out a fiendish plan to use germ warfare to decimate Britain’s agriculture sector. Bond smashes Blofeld’s set-up with the help of the head of the Corsican mafia, Marc-Ange Draco, whose wayward daughter, Tracy, he has fallen in love with, and in fact goes on to marry – making her the one great love of his life – before she is cruelly shot dead by Blofeld, who along with the vile Irma Bunt had managed to escape the destruction of his base.
1964 You Only Live Twice Shattered by the murder of his one-day wife, Bond goes to pieces with heavy drinking and erratic behaviour. After 8 months or so M sends him on a diplomatic mission to persuade the head of the Japanese Secret Service, ‘Tiger’ Tanaka to share top Jap secret info with us Brits. Tiger agrees on condition that Bond undertakes a freelance job for him, and eliminates a troublesome ‘Dr Shatterhand’ who has created a gruesome ‘Garden of Death’ at a remote spot on the Japanese coast. When Bond realises that ‘Shatterhand’ is none other than Blofeld, murderer of his wife, he accepts the mission with gusto.
1965 The Man With The Golden Gun Brainwashed by the KGB, Bond returns from Japan to make an attempt on M’s life. When it fails he is subjected to intense shock therapy at ‘The Park’ before returning fit for duty and being dispatched to the Caribbean to ‘eliminate’ a professional assassin, Scaramanga, who has killed half a dozen of our agents as well as being at the centre of a network of criminal and political subversion. The novel is set in Bond and Fleming’s old stomping ground, Jamaica, where he is helped by his old buddy, Felix Leiter, and his old secretary, Mary Goodnight, and the story hurtles to the old conclusion – Bond is bettered and bruised within inches of his life – but defeats the baddie and ends the book with a merry quip on his lips.
1966 Octopussy Three short stories in which Bond uses the auction of a valuable Fabergé egg to reveal the identity of the Russians’ spy master in London; shoots a Russian sniper before she can kill one of our agents escaping from East Berlin; and confronts a former Security Service officer who has been eaten up with guilt for a wartime murder of what turns out to be Bond’s pre-war ski instructor. This last short story, Octopussy, may be his best.

On Her Majesty’s Secret Service by Ian Fleming (1963)

Royale-les-Eaux

The opening chapters are rather downbeat, casting a more sombre mood than we’ve been used to. The narrative skips the adventure recounted in The Spy Who Loves Me altogether and refers back to the events of the previous-but-one novel, Thunderball, ie the attempt by the fiendish Ernst Stavro Blofeld and his SPECTRE organisation to blackmail the West with the threat of detonating two stolen atomic bombs.

Bond is fed up because he has spent a year tasked with tracking down Blofeld in so-called ‘Operation Bedlam’, and has got precisely nowhere. In fact the novel opens with Bond cruising through northern France in his beloved Bentley, mentally composing the umpteenth version of a letter resigning from the Secret Service. He is woken from this gloom when a sports car tears past him, driven by a sexy young lady. He follows her into the next village along the road, and then spots her again at the French coastal gambling resort of Royale-les-Eaux (setting of the very first Bond novel, Casino Royale).

Here, in an uncanny repetition of the central gambling scene in that first novel, Bond once again plays baccarat, initially winning, and then gallantly comes to the rescue of the girl when she gambles rashly and loses – paying her debt for her. (A casino employee tells Bond she is La Comtessa Teresa di Vicenzo, p.20). This leads, rather inevitably to chatting her up in the bar – ‘no one calls me Teresa, call me Tracy’ –  and then rapidly to her bedroom, where she rather violently asks him to shut up and take her roughly, hard, but afterwards bursts into inconsolable sobbing.

Bond realises she is deeply depressed and her wanton behaviour reflects a deep unhappiness. Having tried, and failed, to comfort her, Bond – in a telling phrase – pads back down to the hotel corridor to his room, ‘feeling, for the first time in his life, totally inadequate’ (p.40).

Flashback All the above is told in a flashback, a technique Fleming has got into the habit of using extensively. The actual text opens with Bond spying on the girl at the end of a day sunbathing at the beach, and then following her out across the sand to the water’s edge where he suspects she is going to drown herself. Instead, two goons come up behind him with guns and an inflatable dinghy comes powering into the shallows, and Bond and the girl are forced into it.

All the events outlined above are Bond’s remembrance flashing back from the ‘now’ which is his kidnap and transport in the dinghy..

So who are the goons? Are they SPECTRE? Was the girl bait in a trap? Is he going to be tortured and executed? The boat speeds round to the harbour, docks and Bond is forced at gunpoint into the presence of a short, powerful man who announces that his name is Marc-Ange Draco and he is the head of the Union Corse, the notorious Corsican mafia (p.46).

No, he isn’t going to be harmed – instead, Marc-Ange surprises him by explaining that the girl Bond has been ‘seeing’, Tracy, is his Marc-Ange’s. Her mother was an English governess who Marc-Ange married and swept off into the mountains of Corsica – but Tracy grew up to be a troubled, wayward young woman, who hid her depression by moving in the European Fast Set, eventually marrying a worthless Italian playboy (hence her title, p.54).

The marriage didn’t prosper but when Tracy fell pregnant Marc-Ange hoped it would improve her humour and she indeed loved the resulting baby. But then the baby died of spinal meningitis (p.54) and Tracy made the first of a series of suicide attempts.

Now, in just a few days of their affair, Marc-Ange has noticed that Tracy’s mood has improved and so he has made checks into Bond’s background. Now, Marc-Ange announces that he will pay Bond £1 million to marry Tracy. Bond is flabbergasted, impressed, taken aback. but he knows himself – he is a rolling stone, he doesn’t want to be tied down. Bond turns down the offer but promises to continue the affair and be gentle with Tracy: it’s the best he can offer. But, thinking about work and his frustrated quest, Bond does ask for one thing: does Marc-Ange’s organisation know the whereabouts of a certain Blofeld? The Corsican makes a phone call and establishes that, yes, this Blofeld is somewhere in Switzerland. Aha.

Although this opening is predominantly about the men in Tracy’s life discussing her situation and fate (and so is easily criticised as sexist) nonetheless, it is another long sequence all about a woman, about her life and psychology, about the care and concern she prompts in those who love her. Not something commonly associated with Bond.

The College of Arms

Two months later Bond is back in London, keeping in touch with Tracy by phone, but being briefed by M. Extraordinarily – improbably – London’s College of Arms has been contacted by a man named Blofeld who has asked them to confirm him in what he claims is his ancestral title of the Comte Balthazar de Bleuville. There is some gentle and enjoyable social comedy as Bond reluctantly visits the College and meets the scholarly and obtuse experts there, the main one (Griffon Or – they all have heraldic noms de guerre) mistakenly thinking he’s visiting about his own heritage, and insists on telling Bond (and the reader) a lot about the Bond family (and title) before Bond manages to communicate that he’s come about Blofeld!

At which point Bond is handed over to a younger, more switched-on scholar – Sable Basilisk (p.75) who he consults about the Secret Service plan. Basilisk confirms the queries from Blofeld and confides that no force is as strong as snobbery; once bitten, people will do almost anything to prove they’ve got noble ancestry. This Blofeld fellow is totally hooked.

Would it be possible for Bond to adopt the identity of a heraldic expert and be sent as the official representative of the College out to Blofeld’s address in Switzerland? Yes, the man replies: they can rig him up with the false identity of one Sir Hilary Bray, and it will only take a few days’ mugging up of heraldry books to know enough about the subject to out-bluff anyone.

Switzerland

Bond briefs M, puts the finishing touches to his fake identity and flies to Switzerland as Sir Hilary, where he is met by representatives of Blofeld and driven to a remote Alpine resort, then by cable car up to a swish, modern skiing complex atop the Alp named Piz Gloria, near Pontresina in the Engadine (p.104).

NB Once again, there has been absolutely no detection involved in the novel. MI6 monitor communications coming in and out of Britain and so simply picked up the name Blofeld in his correspondence with the College of Arms. The baddy is a) known already and b) his whereabouts simply revealed. The narrative isn’t interested in crime thriller/Holmes-style detection – it instead focuses on the suspense of wondering when the (inevitable) big Confrontation / Shootout, which we all know will happen, will actually occur.

Bond is met by a squat venomous matron, Irma Bunt, taken up in the ski lift to the mountain-top complex, shown around and to his room. Along the way he identifies a dozen or so goons who are obviously SMERSH professionals. Bond finds it a strain keeping up the masquerade of being a posh heraldry scholar, especially when he is introduced to the ten stunningly good-looking young women who are sharing the base with him, ‘the girls’. To his surprise, he is told that they are all taking part in pioneering scientific work which the ‘Count’ is conducting, to help each of them overcome terrible allergies.

Over the course of a few days Bond (inevitably) gets chatty, then flirty with the women, and ends up going to bed with Ruby. He discovers she used to have a severe phobia of chickens, which was inconvenient because her family run a massive chicken farm. Sleeping in her bedroom Bond is surprised to hear a hypnotic tape start at midnight which lulls her to sleep and then – lullingly tells her that she loves chickens, she’s never happy unless she’s among chickens, and so on. Bond realises the ‘cure’ is a form of hypnotherapy, which is being applied to all the girls and their strange phobias.

Meanwhile he has the long-awaited interview with ‘Blofeld’ but is disconcerted to find a man significantly at odds with the reports of his appearance (Bond, of course, never met him in person in Thunderball). Where Blofeld was reported as immensely fat (20 stone), this Blofeld is lighter, taller and has no earlobes and also wears green (?) contact lenses (p.132).

So the narrative spends quite a few chapters slowly revealing details of the hypnotherapy, slowly revealing that each of the girls has a different phobia or allergy, each of them based on a different agricultural product (chicken, potatoes, beef cows and so on). Bond spends quiet days pretending to work studiously in his (bugged) room, poring over his books of genealogy, in the evenings enjoying the hearty meals and company of the giggling girls, having several interviews with Blofeld posing as Sir Hilary Bray, all the time trying to decide if this really is the Blofeld and what the devil he’s up to.

Two disconcerting incidents disturb the quiet flow of these days. Early on he is in his room when he hears a blood-curdling scream. Later, in the dining room, the girls are all gossiping that one of the ‘helps’ (a ‘Yugo’ named Bertil) tried to molest one of the girls; and Frau Bunt confirms the self-same man has had a terrible ‘accident’, slipping and falling down the mile-long iced bobsleigh run (unable to stop and travelling at speeds of over 60 mph, he will have been scoured and flayed to death by the ribbon-sharp ice walls.)

Secondly, Bond is at a particularly dicey moment in one of his interviews with Blofeld – a moment when Blofeld is apparently on the verge of bribing Sir Hilary – when two of the goons burst into the office and throw a blood-strewn figure down in front of him. To Bond’s horror, he realises it is the number 2 of Zurich Section, a man he knows is called Campbell (p.178).

The goons say he was caught snooping around the complex and Bond’s heart stops when the dazed, beaten-up Campbell recognises him and calls him by name – ‘James, help me, tell them I work from Universal Exports’ etc. Blofeld tells the goons to drag Campbell off to the Pressure Room where he will no doubt be tortured and then turns his green contact lenses on Bond. Bond bluffs confidently, ‘never saw the chap before in my life’ etc, but he knows it’s only a question of time till Blofeld’s men break Campbell who will blow Bond’s cover definitively.

Blofeld abruptly ends the interview and from that moment Bond is tensely planning his escape. He sidles into the ski locker room noting which pair would fit him (p.191), secretes a pair of goggles, steals the biggest pair of the girls’ gloves and so on. While poking around he opens a door into what appears to be a laboratory, illuminated by a dim red light, with sinister white-coated men moving about in it.

After a tense dinner with the girls who have obviously been told not to fraternise with him, Bond withdraws to his room, goes about his usual ablutions, and then pretends to fall asleep for the benefit of any hidden cameras or microphones.

Escape from the mountain

He gives it half an hour then gets up, dresses in his warmest gear, takes goggles, gloves, boots along to the ski room where he knocks out a guard (p.197). The phone rings (as in the corniest movie), Bond answers it in German and is told by the Head Goon that they are coming to arrest den Engländer in ten minutes. Ten minutes head start! Bond feverishly straps on boots, skis, grabs some sticks, exits the door onto the snow, locks it and throws away the key, then heads off as fast as he can down the piste.

There follows the only ski chase in the novels, although it was to become a common motif in the movies. Because it focuses on Bond’s consciousness as he tries to figure out the best way down the mountain, as he becomes aware that the ski lift is chasing him, as he cringes as bright flares are shot into the sky above him to make him an easy target – we don’t get descriptions of the pursuing forces, unlike the movies which dwell on pursuers as well as pursued. Bond has to guess what is going on behind him.

The chase ends as Bond deliberately skis out into a black run deep in new-fallen snow and deliberately triggers an avalanche. He then skis full tilt ahead of it, through a gap in a break of trees, through the narrow passage and then skis round into the protection of the woods. He and we are not absolutely sure but it seems like the pursuing skiers were swept away. As he continues downhill he gets to a road where he flies over and skewers with his ski stick a baddy who was shooting at him next to a car; Blofeld has obviously phoned his men in the valley.

In the same sequence he has seen a train steaming along the railway parallel to the road and realises he’s going to just about squeeze in front of it. The train has a snow clearing fan-rotivator fixed at the front to chew up fallen snow and spurt it out of the way. Bond whistles past it by a hair’s breadth but hears a terrible scream and then is pelted with red snow and clumps of hair and flesh from the goon pursuing him who was not so lucky (p.211).

Tracy to the rescue

Exhausted, dripping with sweat, body aching from the physical endurance test he’s just undergone (‘a grey-faced, lunging automaton’, p.212), Bond staggers on into the village at the foot of the mountain to discover it’s in the middle of a fiesta, with people everywhere drinking, wearing funny costumes, partying, congregating round a funfair and ice rink area.

Bond staggers up to the rink, not looking much the worse for wear than many other revellers, buys a ticket to the rink, gets a festival mask to wear and is staggeringly joining in some conga dancing, when up to him skates the fresh-faced, happy figure of Tracy, his beloved!

He knew she was in Italy but even so, this is a breath-taking coincidence. She immediately takes command of him, helping him towards her nifty Lancia sports car, both of them realising a crew of goons are watching out for him from a black Mercedes. As they hustle the last yards to her car, they realise the baddies have spotted them and are jumping into their car to give chase.

Cue a car chase along slippery, zig-zagging Alpine roads with the baddy car slowly accelerating and firing shots at them whenever there’s a straight line of fire, until Tracy and Bond hurtle round a corner to see a big Warning notice directing people away from a bridge which is being repaired. Bond jumps out and reverses the direction of the signs, so that the Sedan, hurtling round the corner seconds later, takes the wrong turn and goes flying over a cliff wheeeeee smashing and rebounding and crashing to the rocks below. Bond rejoins Tracy in her car and passes out before she’s even got going again.

A proposal of marriage

A few hours later they are in grey Zurich airport at dawn. Bond firms up his tickets for a flight back to London, then goes goes to sit with Tracy. She has tended his wounds and now is concerned at his wrecked state, at his health, his future. Suddenly Bond realises this is what he wants more than anything else in the world: the love of a good woman. And as he lets himself feel his love for Tracy flood through him, it dawns on him that he also needs to love. To his own surprise he asks her to marry him, and she accepts (p.231). Suddenly they are gleeful as children, and set about making plans to be married at the British Embassy in Munich. He has to fly back to London to sort out business; she will drive to Munich, sort out hotels and practicalities.

The conspiracy unmasked

Cut to later that day in London, where Bond has submitted his report to M who has called in some experts from the Ministry of Agriculture, the smartly dressed, beady-eyed Mr Franklin (p.248, it is Christmas Day but no-one is observing the niceties).

In between sleeping with her, Bond had extracted from Ruby a list of the names of the other girls who were receiving the hypnotherapy at Blofeld’s base, and got Ruby to indicate roughly where in the UK they lived (p.186).

The Agriculture expert examines the list, then points out that each of the girls lives in the main production region for the product they claimed to have a phobia of – ie one each to the country’s main areas of potato, chicken, beef production, and so on.

Now it just so happens (very conveniently for the plot) that one of the girls had already left Blofeld’s headquarters and returned to the turkey-producing region of East Anglia a few weeks earlier, and within weeks there had been the most severe outbreak of turkey blight in Britain’s history.

So the team in M’s office hypothesise that the girls are not only being hypnotised to overcome their phobias, but are being issued with germ warfare sprays or aerosols which they are being told to release at trade fairs and sales rooms ‘to boost and improve the nation’s stock’. Except the sprays infect the livestock or crops with virulent diseases: Blofeld’s fiendish plan is to decimate Britain’s agricultural sector and bring the nation to its knees.

Bond is ordered to travel back to Switzerland and foil this dastardly plot. He phones Tracy to tell her he has a bit of business to look after, but will join her in Munich in a few days time.

In Marseilles with Marc-Ange

First stop on the mission to capture Blofeld is Marseilles, the base of Tracy’s father, Marc-Ange Draco. Bond has an entertaining taxi ride from one of Marc-Ange’s tough Marseillais, along with some interesting travelogue description of France’s toughest city, and arrives at Marc-Ange’s base in a dockside warehouse to ask him a favour.

Marc-Ange is thrilled to bits that Bond is actually going to marry his daughter, as he wanted all along. So Bond takes advantage to ask him for a wedding present: will he and his organisation help him organise a raid on Blofeld’s mountain-top retreat? Marc-Ange willingly says yes and the men get down to careful planning, along with several of Marc-Ange’s lieutenants.

Shootout on a hilltop

Marc-Ange is given an interesting speech about how irritating the political situation is in France (1962-63) with the country tearing itself apart over whether to give its African colony, Algeria, independence. The conflict has led to the emergence of a far-right military organisation, the Organisation de l’armée secrète (OAS), devoted to keeping the colony French, whose most notorious action was an attempt to assassinate the French president, Charles de Gaulle, in August 1962. (This historical incident forms the opening scene of Frederick Forsyth’s superb thriller, The Day of The Jackal.) Marc-Ange complains to Bond that the criminal activities of the OSS – and the counter-measures of the special French security agency set up to combat them – have made for peace-loving criminals like himself and his Union Corse much harder (p.285).

Marc-Ange Draco is a humorous, winning character, one of Fleming’s best.

Turns out a renegade OAS General Salan has a helicopter at his remote chateau near Strasbourg and owes Marc-Ange a few favours. So he, his top men and Bond drive there, clamber into the helicopter (recently repainted with innocuous civilian markings) and fly south to Blofeld’s alpine headquarters.

Blofeld’s HQ issues various radio warnings but the chopper lands anyway and Marc-Ange’s men emerge to a stand-off with Blofeld’s tough goons. Two things happen: Bond notices a figure making a break from the back of the building and running towards the ski and bobsleigh shed – must be Blofeld – so Bond himself breaks into a sprint towards him. This sudden movement, plus some of the goons recognising Bond, prompts them to draw their weapons, Marc-Ange’s men to do ditto, and a massive firefight breaks out.

Bond sees Blofeld pull out a ‘skeleton’ one-man bobsleigh and throw himself into the run. He dashes into the shed, ransacking equipment out of the way till he finds another single bobsleigh, also throws it into the run, and there follows a typically detailed and hair-raising description of Bond hurtling down the run at terrifying speed, vainly trying to slow himself with the tips of his boots, finding himself thrown against the icy walls on curves which instantly rip off his protecting coat and flay the skin of his elbows. Still he is gaining on Blofeld and risks a few experimental shots from his pistol when he notices Blofeld throw a small object into the run. With horror he realises it’s a hand grenade, tries and fails to slow the sleigh, then the grenade explodes and throws him and sleigh out of the groove and into the adjacent snow.

Slowly he comes round, realises he has a cut head and a few other bruises but is basically OK. Back onto the badly mangled sleigh he climbs, which limps, grinding its bent runners on the ice, down the run to the bottom. As he descends Bond hears explosions from the mountain top and, as he finally arrives at the ski lift station at the bottom of the mountain, looks up to see Blofeld’s HQ on fire, and then Marc-Ange’s helicopter flying over him and away to safety. Mission accomplished.

Fire engines and police start to arrive and Bond pretends to be an innocent bystander who’s been injured by the broken cable of the chairlift whiplashing across him. The engine gives him a lift to the nearest station and he catches a train north into Germany.

Marriage in Munich

There are numerous pages of the kind of comfy domestic scene which Fleming does unexpectedly well. There are, for example, humorous scenes with Bond pretending to be exasperated at the amount of fuss Tracy is making about getting married; and then a comedy cruise with a Munich taxi driver to choose a wedding and engagement ring, during which spy and taxi driver become good friends (the latter admitting he was a Luftwaffe pilot in the war, and proud of it!) before they repair to a bar for Bond’s last drinking session of singledom.

The wedding itself is described with similar good humour, the British consul enthusiastically throwing confetti at the newly-wed couple which completely misses and goes all over the stocky, swarthy mafia father-in-law, Marc-Ange Draco.

They jump into Tracy’s Lancia, festooned with ribbons and balloons and motor off down Germany’s excellent Autobahns towards the village they’ve selected for their honeymoon. A few pages describing the scenery and their pleasant motoring lull the reader into a false sense of security – but when Bond waves past the flashy, red Maserati that’s been following them from a distance, when there is a sudden hail of bullets, the windscreen explodes and the car goes careering off the road into trees, crashing and Bond just has time to realise the Maserati contained Blofeld and Bunt – before he blacks out.

When he comes to, Bond sees Tracy dead, slumped forward against the steering wheel, the blood beginning to spread down her shoulders, shot by the occupants of the Maserati. A German motorcycle cop appears by the car, looking appalled at the scene of bloodshed. ‘What happened?’ he asks. It’s alright Bond replies, cuddling his murdered wife in his arms. ‘We have all the time in the world.’

I read these lines on a south-bound train on the Victoria line and confess they brought a tear to my eye. The contrast between the ten or 15 pages of whimsy and humour leading up to the wedding are smashed so brutally, and so quickly. And the poignancy of the ending, and Bond’s final stoic despairing phrase… The pacing and control which produce the emotional punch show what a very good writer Fleming was.


Biological warfare

It is interesting that this is a new enough idea for the scene in M’s office on Christmas Day to feature a detailed explanation by the man from the Ministry of Agriculture – explaining the nature and impact of Biological Warfare (chapter 22).

Marriage / all the time in the world

Bond intended to marry Vesper Lynd in the very first book of the series, until she revealed herself as a Russian double agent and killed herself. The thought has occurred to him with respect to several other girls, but this is the only time he goes through with it.

In the last few books I’d begun to notice that the phrase ‘all the time in the world’ seems to crop up at least once, like a slender thread or leitmotif. Now, here at the end of OHMSS, it is used no fewer than three times – the first two times reflecting humorous confidence:

‘Drinks,’ said Bond firmly. ‘We’ve got all the time in the world to talk about love.’ (p.314)

‘No,’ said Bond. ‘Let him go. We’ve got all the time in the world.’ (p.324)

– which makes its repetition as the book’s final, bleak, tear-filled line all the more affecting.

‘It’s all right,’ he said in a clear voice as if explaining something to a child. ‘It’s quite all right. She’s having a rest. We’ll be going on soon. There’s no hurry. You see – ‘ Bond’s head sank against hers and he whispered into her hair – ‘you see, we’ve got all the time in the world.’ (p.325)

Male bonding

No sign of Felix Leiter for once. Instead Bond has a ‘bromance’ with Tracy’s father, Marc-Ange. Just like Darko Kerim in From Russia With Love, Bond warms to the older man’s vitality, the spirit of life which is in him – his capableness, his confidence, his honesty and frankness, his dry sense of humour, his vibrant animal spirits.

[Bond] had developed much love, and total respect, for this man. He couldn’t say why. It was partly animal magnetism and partly that Marc-Ange had opened his heart to Bond, so completely trusted him with his own innermost secrets. (p.279)

Bond lost his father when he was young (as did Fleming). The sense of attraction to an older, mature and confident man after his own heart, the depth of the bond Bond makes with these men, convinces because it taps into something deep in Fleming’s own psyche, and inspires writing which conveys real feeling.


Bond biographical details

We learn that Bond’s mother was Swiss, his father Scottish, from the Highlands, near Glencoe (p.71). Loelia Ponsonby, Bond’s secretary for all the preceding books, has finally moved on, marrying a boring conventional man who works at the Baltic Exchange. She’s been replaced by ex-WREN Mary Goodnight, ‘a honey’ with the vital statistics 37-22-35. A £5 sweepstake has been organised by the male members of the office on who will bed her first with Bond equal favourite with 006, an ex-Royal Marine (p.68). (We’d heard of a 008 and 011 as long ago as the first book; this is the first mention of 006.)

He is driving his favourite car, not the DB III of Goldfinger, but a Continental Bentley, ‘the R type chassis with the big 6 engine and a 13:40 back-axle ratio’ (p.12).

Bond dislikes, in fact ‘abhors’, shoelaces (p.21). He has a new piece of equipment, a Syncraphone, an early version of the bleeper, which works within a ten-mile radius of the office (p.67).

At the Royal College of Heralds Bond is told he may be very remotely descended from a Baronet in the 17th century and remotely connected to the founder of Bond Street. The old family motto was ‘The world is not enough’ which, of course, was used as the title of the 19th Bond movie, starring Pierce Brosnan.


Credit

On Her Majesty’s Secret Service by Ian Fleming was published in April 1963 by Jonathan Cape. All quotes and references are to the 2002 Penguin paperback edition.

Related links

Other thrillers from 1963

The Bond novels

1953 Casino Royale Bond takes on Russian spy Le Chiffre at baccarat then is gutted to find the beautiful assistant sent by London to help him and who he falls in love with – Vesper Lynd – is herself a Russian double agent.
1954 Live and Let Die Bond is dispatched to find and defeat Mr Big, legendary king of America’s black underworld, who uses Voodoo beliefs to terrify his subordinates, and who is smuggling 17th century pirate treasure from an island off Jamaica to Florida and then on to New York, in fact to finance Soviet spying, for Mr Big is a SMERSH agent. Along the way Bond meets, falls in love with, and saves, the beautiful clairvoyant, Solitaire.
1955 Moonraker An innocent invitation to join M at his club and see whether the famous Sir Hugo Drax really is cheating at cards leads Bond to discover that Drax is in fact a fanatical Nazi determined on taking revenge for the Fatherland by targeting an atom-bomb-tipped missile – the Moonraker – at London.
1956 Diamonds Are Forever Bond’s mission is to trace the route of a diamond smuggling ‘pipeline’, which starts in Africa, comes to London and then to follow it on to New York, and further to the mob-controlled gambling town of Las Vegas, where he wipes out the gang, all the while falling in love with the delectable Tiffany Case.
1957 From Russia, with Love Bond is lured to Istanbul by the promise of a beautiful Russian agent who says she’ll defect and bring along one of the Soviets’ precious Spektor coding machines, but only for Bond in person. The whole thing is an improbable trap concocted by head of SMERSH’S execution department, Rosa Klebb, to not only kill Bond but humiliate him and the Service in a sex-and-murder scandal.
1958 Dr. No Bond is dispatched to Jamaica (again) to investigate the mysterious disappearance of the station head, which leads him to meet up with the fisherman Quarrel (again), do a week’s rigorous training (again) and set off for a mysterious island (Crab Key this time) where he meets the ravishing Honeychile Rider and the villainous Chinaman, Dr No, who sends him through a gruelling tunnel of pain which Bond barely survives, before killing No and triumphantly rescuing the girl.
1959 Goldfinger M tasks Bond with finding out more about Auric Goldfinger, the richest man in England. Bond confirms the Goldfinger is smuggling large amounts of gold out of the UK in his vintage Rolls Royce, to his factory in Switzerland, but then stumbles on a much larger conspiracy to steal the gold from the US Reserve at Fort Knox. Which, of course, Bond foils.
1960 For Your Eyes Only (short stories) Four stories which started life as treatments for a projected US TV series of Bond adventures and so feature exotic settings (Paris, Vermont, the Seychelles, Venice), ogre-ish villains, shootouts and assassinations and scantily-clad women – but the standout story is Quantum of Solace, a conscious homage to the older storytelling style of Somerset Maugham, in which there are none of the above, and which shows what Fleming could do if he gave himself the chance.
1961 Thunderball Introducing Ernst Blofeld and his SPECTRE organisation who have dreamed up a scheme to hijack an RAF plane carrying two atomic bombs, scuttle it in the Caribbean, then blackmail Western governments into coughing up $100,000,000 or get blown up. The full force of every Western security service is thrown into the hunt, but M has a hunch the missing plane headed south towards the Bahamas, so it’s there that he sends his best man, Bond, to hook up with his old pal Felix Leiter, and they are soon on the trail of SPECTRE operative Emilio Largo and his beautiful mistress, Domino.
1962 The Spy Who Loved Me An extraordinary experiment: an account of a Bond adventure told from the point of view of the Bond girl in it, Vivienne ‘Viv’ Michel, which opens with a long sequence devoted entirely to her childhood in Canada and young womanhood in London, before armed hoodlums burst into the motel where she’s working on her own, and then she is rescued by her knight in shining armour, Mr B himself.
1963 On Her Majesty’s Secret Service Back to third-person narrative, and Bond poses as a heraldry expert to penetrate Blofeld’s headquarters on a remote Alpine mountain top, where the swine is carrying out a fiendish plan to use germ warfare to decimate Britain’s agriculture sector. Bond smashes Blofeld’s set-up with the help of the head of the Corsican mafia, Marc-Ange Draco, whose wayward daughter, Tracy, he has fallen in love with, and in fact goes on to marry – making her the one great love of his life – before she is cruelly shot dead by Blofeld, who along with the vile Irma Bunt had managed to escape the destruction of his base.
1964 You Only Live Twice Shattered by the murder of his one-day wife, Bond goes to pieces with heavy drinking and erratic behaviour. After 8 months or so M sends him on a diplomatic mission to persuade the head of the Japanese Secret Service, ‘Tiger’ Tanaka to share top Jap secret info with us Brits. Tiger agrees on condition that Bond undertakes a freelance job for him, and eliminates a troublesome ‘Dr Shatterhand’ who has created a gruesome ‘Garden of Death’ at a remote spot on the Japanese coast. When Bond realises that ‘Shatterhand’ is none other than Blofeld, murderer of his wife, he accepts the mission with gusto.
1965 The Man With The Golden Gun Brainwashed by the KGB, Bond returns from Japan to make an attempt on M’s life. When it fails he is subjected to intense shock therapy at ‘The Park’ before returning fit for duty and being dispatched to the Caribbean to ‘eliminate’ a professional assassin, Scaramanga, who has killed half a dozen of our agents as well as being at the centre of a network of criminal and political subversion. The novel is set in Bond and Fleming’s old stomping ground, Jamaica, where he is helped by his old buddy, Felix Leiter, and his old secretary, Mary Goodnight, and the story hurtles to the old conclusion – Bond is bettered and bruised within inches of his life – but defeats the baddie and ends the book with a merry quip on his lips.
1966 Octopussy Three short stories in which Bond uses the auction of a valuable Fabergé egg to reveal the identity of the Russians’ spy master in London; shoots a Russian sniper before she can kill one of our agents escaping from East Berlin; and confronts a former Security Service officer who has been eaten up with guilt for a wartime murder of what turns out to be Bond’s pre-war ski instructor. This last short story, Octopussy, may be his best.

The Spy Who Loved Me by Ian Fleming (1962)

‘Bond. James Bond.’
‘That’s a pretty chump name. From England, huh?’ (p.124)

A colossal experiment, a James Bond adventure told from the point of view of its ‘Bond girl’, Vivienne ‘Viv’ Michel. Fleming had experimented with structure and time-frame in previous novels, but this is an extraordinary departure from the formula. It was panned by the critics and Fleming later tried to suppress it.

The Spy Who Loved Me is a short novel, divided – very slickly – into three sections: Me, Them, Him.

Me (74 pages)

The first 70 or so pages are a first-person narrative told by Vivienne Michel, 23-years-old, five foot six, still fresh, young and naive. It is the long, sensitive autobiography of a well-brought-up young woman in which JB isn’t mentioned – a really remarkable production for the author of the famous bang-bang espionage novels.

Viv comes from an established French-Canadian family, her parents died when she was young (like so many Bond girls, making her that bit more free, wayward and independent – characteristics which always appeal to him) and she was brought up by an aunt who sent her to a traditional, Catholic convent school.

As her education neared completion, the (Protestant) aunt decided she needed to be ‘finished’ in England, and so sent her to a very posh finishing school in the Sunninghill area of East Berkshire, not far from Windsor. There’s a brief account of the bullying she got there from the other girls for having a ‘funny’ accent, before she settles down to be turned into a model young lady.

But the lion’s share of the section is devoted to a long and embarrassingly detailed account of her seduction by ‘Derek’, from a local public school. By this stage Viv has left her school and set up in a shared flat in Chelsea. She and her flat-mate hold their first party, lubricated with plenty of pink champagne and amateur canapés, and she finds herself being charmed by the tall sixth-former, Derek Mallaby, who plays cricket for his school’s first XI.

Viv and Derek proceed to meet up every Saturday throughout that long lovely summer for walks or even little pleasure cruises along the Thames. One thing leads to another and she describes, in minute and excruciating detail, the evening he takes her virginity – first trying it on in the cramped box at the local fleapit cinema, until the management throws them out – then persuading her to go for a ‘walk’ down by the river Thames, till they find an isolated spot, littered with the detritus of previous ‘courting couples’. Here Derek does the deed, Viv cries in pain but, once satisfied, he turns cold and aloof, all but ignoring her on the cold, sad trudge back to Windsor railway station.

We are plunged into her point of view, experiencing all this from the perspective of a confused teenager, puzzled by the  now-passionate, now-frigid behaviour of the man she thinks ‘loves’ her.

It comes as no surprise to the reader when young Derek writes her a ‘Dear Jane’ letter, explaining that now he is going up to Oxford, things are going to be different, his parents don’t want him consorting with someone who isn’t ‘the right type’, in fact – he now reveals – he’s been sort of engaged to a young lady from a good family for a while now. Sorry. Bye.

Viv cries her eyes out for six months. But there’s more, lots more of her narrative. We hear about her career in journalism, first of all in a local paper distributed in the Chelsea area. We learn what its editorial policy is, how Viv turns out to be a natural at researching and sub-editing, as well as chivvying adverts out of local traders. She is promoted, then gets a new job at a large-scale German media company in town. This is run by the excessively Teutonic Kurt Rainer and, once again, we get an extensive description of Viv’s role in the processes whereby news copy is generated, fact checked and distributed to the German news agencies.

Rainer has a fiancée and shares completely inappropriate confidences with Viv about his plans for the marriage, for the honeymoon (sex once a night), then settling down into married life (sex every Wednesday and Saturday). All these confidences draw him into her ambit until the (inevitable) night when he arrives in floods of tears, announcing his fiancée has dumped him and married a man in Germany. One thing leads to another and she ends up sleeping with him and then, basically, becoming her boss’s mistress.

All goes sort of OK until she realises she’s pregnant. When she tells him, Rainer reacts with callous Teutonic coldness and efficiency. He ceases all friendly relations with her, becoming coldly professional in the office and finally calling her in for a ‘meeting’ where he explains that he has organised every detail for her to fly to Switzerland, stay in such and such a hotel, go and see such and such a doctor, and have an abortion. He hands over an envelope with the necessary money (£150) and then announces that she is fired.

The text follows Viv’s experiences flying to Switzerland by herself and enduring the abortion process with no-one to help or support her. It all makes excruciatingly embarrassing reading for any man who’s ever seduced a young woman, or who is father of a teenage girl, or just any man.

[I found Viv’s story a fascinating slice of social history – the experiences of a (in fact, fairly privileged and well-off) young, single woman in England, circa 1956 or 57. Reminds me of the grim kitchen sink dramas of the later 1950s or the black and white movies – Saturday Night and Sunday MorningA Taste of Honey – or another novel about a naive young woman in London (written by a man) Take A Girl By You by Kingsley Amis.]

Back in London, Viv realises she just needs to escape – the horrible weather, the narrow horizons, the snobbery and disapproval. She needs to get back to the wide, open spaces of her youth, back to Canada. She buys a Vespa scooter and flies with it back to Canada, then packs off on an open-ended adventure motoring south into the States, into upstate New York State, to be precise.

Viv scooters round the area, exploring nooks and crannies while her money begins to run low and till, by good luck, she checks into an obscure little motel, ‘The Dreamy Pines Motor Court’ run by lecherous Jed Phancey and his long-suffering wife, Mildred.

This couple explain that the motel is owned by a rich Italian guy – Mr. Sanguinetti – and they’re looking for a young woman to become receptionist and look after the place in the last few weeks of the season till it’s closed up for the winter. Sounds like an easy way to pick up some dollars, so Viv agrees, dodging Jed Phancy’s lecherous comments and gropes as the couple show her where everything is, pack up their stuff, and motor off.

–All the above – Viv’s life story – has been told as a long flashback. It began as Viv watched the Phancies depart – then a violent rainstorm hit the motel, forcing Viv to retreat inside, pour herself a long drink of bourbon, and snuggle up in a comfy chair, as she reflected on her life and on the tangled web of events which had brought her to this isolated motel in the middle of nowhere. It is a persuasive and mesmeric performance.

Them (23 pages)

Viv is roused from her reveries by a harsh knocking at the door. Two men in raincoats are standing in the thundering downpour; they say they’re from Mr Sanguinetti. No-one had told her to expect them and as soon as she’s let them in she realises she’s in trouble, really bad trouble.

Tall, thin Sol Horovitz (aka ‘Horror’) with his bony skull and callous stare is accompanied by bald, fat Sluggsy Morant (‘Sluggsy’), who immediately sizes Viv up and starts making the crudest comments about her figure, promising that, when night falls, he’s going to give it to her good and hard and lots of times. Yuk. Viv has been pitched, with no warning, into a nightmare. — The 20 or so pages of this section amount to a systematic mental and physical degradation of this ‘innocent’ young woman, the kind of punishment which Fleming normally reserves for Bond.

The two men take complete control of the kitchen-diner area, Sluggsy groping and verbally threatening Viv at every opportunity. Eventually she makes a desperate dash for the door and runs in the pouring rain between the cabins and into the nearby pine woods. But Horror switches on the car headlights which penetrate deep among the pines, and Sluggsy easily catches her at gun-point.

Back in the cage of the kitchen-dining area she has another go at her attackers, using a corkscrew to try and skewer Horror, but only managing to scratch his forehead. Now this forbidding scarecrow loses his temper, his tiny black eyes seeing red and, while Sluggsy holds her, Horror sets about systematically punching Viv’s face, then her body, at its most vulnerable and painful points, until she is whimpering, then screaming, then begging, then blacks out.

Viv recovers consciousness stripped naked in the cold shower with Sluggsy leering over her, waiting while she throws up, having been reduced to the level of a beaten animal. ‘Get dressed and come back to the diner and no funny business,’ he tells her.

It takes her a while to recover, to stand up, to dry off, to dress in white overalls, and stagger the short distance to the diner. Once again, the impassive baddies tell her to fix them hot food – eggs and bacon and coffee – while her flayed mind vows that, God, if she makes it through this nightmare night she will never take peace and safety and security for granted again.

As the bad guys come to collect their food, she makes another feeble rebellion, throwing a drawer full of knives and forks in Sluggsy’s face, then trying to fend Horror off with plates, but they easily overpower her and this time Sluggsy begins ripping her clothes off with the declared aim of raping her when — there is a knock at the front door. And, like characters in a bedroom farce, they all freeze in a static tableau.

Him (79 pages)

‘OK, babe,’ they tell her, ‘answer it, but no funny business.’ Viv opens the door and it’s James Bond, six feet tall, lean, fit, scar on his face, cool grey-blue eyes (p.127). As usual, there is no detection involved in a Bond story. He is immediately thrown into confrontation with the bad guys – the only question is when the shootout will erupt.

Viv almost faints with relief as she invites Bond into the dining area, making secret signs with her fingers and winking at him. He says he was driving down to Albany when he got a slow puncture a mile or so back. Now it’s completely flat, he saw the ‘Vacancy’ sign on and wants to stay the night. Menacingly, the two hoods try to deter him, but Bond insists, so they shrug and say, ‘OK doll, get him a key’.

Very relaxed, the goons tell Bond that Viv is in a bit of a state because they’re investigators for the motel’s owner and were sent up to investigate claims she was fiddling the books. Bond instinctively disbelieves them. Amazingly, they let Viv go out to Bond’s car with him to collect his bags and stuff where she tells him in full and graphic detail what a nightmare she’s been in, and how evil the bad guys are. Bond reassures her, palms a gun and a small attaché case, and returns to the dining area, while the two hoods watch resentfully.

Bond confidently orders a meal and Viv scrambles yet more eggs and fries yet more bacon, while he explains why he’s here.

Complicated backstory

Apparently, a high-level Russian scientist from the nuclear sub base at Kronstadt, ‘Boris’, has defected. Our chaps offered him a new identity in the West. The Russians generally shrug when defectors leave, but this one was so high-level they want him liquidated to set an example. So they put out a contract of £100,000 on him.

Word got round to SPECTRE – the nefarious criminal organisation introduced in the preceding novel, Thunderball. (In fact Bond specifically references ‘Operation Thunderball‘ and Viv turns out to have read about it in the papers.)

An ex-Nazi (as so often, cf the ex-Nazi von Hammerstein in For Your Eyes Only or Hugo Drax in Moonraker), Horst Uhlmann, picks up the contract. All this is discovered and reported by the Canadian Mounties and Bond is sent to Canada on the case. They decide he will impersonate ‘Boris’, since he happens – fortuitously – to be a dead ringer for him (handsome physicist!). Thus Bond camps out in the defector’s flat waiting for the assassination attempt to come. So one day the bad guys come knocking and there is a furious shootout in the apartment building hallway. The wounded Horst forces open the apartment door, into where Bond is kneeling to fill him full of lead. End of assassination attempt.

But Horst had recruited a back-up team from bad guys attached to The Mechanics crime gang in Albany, upstate New York, and Bond wants to complete the job by tracking down and capturing them. (This is a very convoluted back story.) So Bond set off to drive from Canada down to Albany and was cruising along the highway when he realised he had a puncture, and limped past the bright ‘Vacancy’ sign on the motel just as the storm broke. That’s why he’s here.

I found this explanation tortuous, implausible and hard to follow. As often, the ‘international espionage element’ felt like it was tacked on to a plot which in essence is much more like a kind of Raymond Chandler / Mickey Spillane gangster story. Remove the defector, and it’s the cops / special agent, against organised criminals / the Mob.

All this has been conveyed by page 140 of this 190-page novel. What remains? The shootout and escape.

The long dénouement

The ending is very dragged-out. Eventually the hoods let Bond and the girl go to their cabins to sleep, though ensuring Bond’s is the one right at the end of the line. Bond shows Viv how to secure her bedroom bu shoving wedges under the door, pushing the TV cabinet against the window, creating a pretend body in the bed, and sleeping on the floor. Only then does he kiss her and go off to his cabin.

In the middle of the night Viv wakes to see a glimmer of light coming from the built-in wardrobe, then there’s a crash and Sluggsy bursts in through a rent the baddies had obviously made through the back of the wall and into her wardrobe, earlier in the evening. Sluggsy seizes Viv by the hair and cuffs her unconscious.

As she comes to, Viv realises she’s being pulled along the ground, in pain, while light and sound rage around her. Slowly she realises the motel complex has been set on fire and that Bond has rescued her from the burning building. He makes sure she’s safe, breathing and conscious, leaving her at the edge of the trees to run back to the burning cabin to retrieve the pistol he gave her. Along with his Beretta, that makes two weapons.

He explains that the bad guys had shot bullets through his cabin window into the fake body Bond created in his bed. Bond had waited till they were satisfied they had ‘killed’ him and left, slipping out the back of his cabin. He had seen them begin to torch the motel buildings, then scampered along to Viv’s cabin, to find her unconscious and rescue her, which is where the narrative picked up.

From their vantage point, Bond and Viv watch the two hoods walking from the motel carrying TV sets; so they’re doing a little freelance looting as well as arson. The plot is finally clear to Bond: it is an insurance scam. The two hoods are paid by Sanguinetti to torch the motel. The girl was to be the patsy. The Phancies were in on the scam. They would testify that they left the girl in charge and told her to turn off the electricity and use oil hurricane lamps. One of these would be found overturned among the burned ruins, along with the body of the girl. It would all be blamed on her and Sanguinetti would collect half a million cash. Tidy.

Now Bond walks into the light and tells the men to freeze. He sends the girl to pat their pockets and armpits to get their guns, but Horror moves like lightning, dropping his TV set, swirling and taking the girl hostage and counter-threatening Bond, as in a million TV and movie scenes. So the baddies edge to the corner of the building using the girl as a shield, then get away, not without a shot or two of Bond’s winging them.

There is then a great deal of crawling round buildings, hiding behind walls – as the fire continues to rage – dodging bullets, with the opposition popping up in unexpected places, everyone firing at everyone else. Might look good on TV or in a film, but a little boring to read. (Compare and contrast with the opening section about Viv’s teenage experiences, which were fascinating and original.)

Then the baddies are in their car, making their escape, and Bond leaps to his feet right in their path and, in classic duelling stance, side-on to his target (exactly as he did when he shot into the cab of the high-speed locomotive in Diamonds Are Forever) Bond shoots point blank into the car, which suddenly veers off the drive, across the lawn and over a small cliff into the lake – SPLASH – and sinks. End of bad guys.

Bond and the girl stagger through the still-burning ruins to one of the remaining motel cabins and have what is presumably meant to be a sensual shower together, tenderly soaping each other, the girl’s extensive injuries and wounds from Horror’s torture now conveniently forgotten. This reader found it impossible to relax into this soft porn after, not just the shootout we’ve just experienced, but the girl’s brutal degradation in the second section, let alone her traumatic sexual experiences in the opening. Far too much has happened and been too serious and traumatic to let the reader enjoy a sudden bit of Emmanuel or Bilitis.

And, disappointingly, we are now subject to paragraphs of gush about how strong, tall and handsome Bond is. As they shower or dry each other with soft towels, Viv thinks how Bond is ‘like the prince from the fairy tales’ who has saved her from the dragon and now is justified in taking his reward – her (p.176). He makes love to her, and she reflects:

All women love semi-rape. They love to be taken. It was his sweet brutality against my bruised body that had made his act of love so piercingly wonderful. That and the coinciding of nerves completely relaxed after the removal of tension and danger, the warmth of gratitude, and a woman’s natural feeling for her hero. (p.176)

After the tremendous insight and sympathy Fleming showed in the opening autobiographical sequence, this feels like an imaginative and moral collapse into pulp, cliché, stereotype.

The lovers fall asleep. In the middle of the night Viv hears something and looks up. There is a nightmare face at the window, slobbering, drooling, grimacing. There is a powerful Edgar Allen Poe-ish paragraph where she says she feels her hair literally stand on end, and tries to cry out but is literally frozen with terror. Then the window smashes and Bond reacts like a snake, whipping the gun out from under his pillow and shooting the figure at the window multiple times. He goes outside to check the body – Sluggsy – is definitely dead, comes back into the room, pulls the curtains over the smashed window, and then takes Viv again, ‘fiercely, almost cruelly’ (p.182). Pulp. Sensationalism. Crudity.

And in the morning he is gone, leaving a long practical letter and Viv to her gushing schoolgirl thoughts.

He would go on alone and I would have to, too. No woman had ever held this man. None ever would. He was a solitary, a man who walked alone and kept his heart to himself. (p.146)

The final section also drags quite badly. Bond’s letter tells Viv he’s up, fixed his wheel and on the road south to track down the Mechanics baddies, as he first explained. He will call the local police to come interview her (and get them to bring hot food) and do everything he can to make sure she gets the reward from the insurance company for foiling the arson scam.

Sure enough, there’s the drone of a police car pulling up outside and then some motorbikes. The handsome young motorcycle policeman has brought hot coffee and doughnuts. While Viv tucks in, the friendly old police chief first takes down all the details of the night before (corroborating the account Bond’s already given) then takes her aside for a friendly word of advice.

In a frankly odd finale, the old cop tells her she has had an insight into the dark underbelly of society, the hidden world of crime and law enforcement. The men who inhabit it – whether good guys like Bond or bad guys like Sluggsy and Horror – live a life apart, different from nice girls like Viv, from most good citizens. So, the cop tells her, she mustn’t go hero worshipping such a man. He comes from a different world, one she doesn’t want to enter. She must stay in the normal world, the real world, of decent folks. Viv agrees. She looks at the handsome young motorbike cop who kindly brought the coffee and doughnuts. Yes, he’s the kind of man she should fall in. Decent, reliable, someone from her world.

With these thoughts she packs up her few worldly goods onto the back of the Vespa and, with a parting wave at the kindly cops, speeds off down the highway.

It feels like a bizarre attempt to reintegrate the narrative into the everyday world of its likely readers. Why? Reminds me of the odd disjunction in many Hitchcock movies, which start in the (to us) stiflingly conformist ‘Hi honey, I’m home’ world of 1950s American suburbia, before taking us off into situations of extreme violence or horror (North by North-West, Psycho) before returning the viewer to normality, closing the violence cupboard, resolving the trauma.

It’s such a reassuringly conformist ending that is seems to us, 50 years later, almost surreal. But her farewell wave, and the image of a tough young woman who has survived a nightmare ordeal, still independent and undaunted, setting off down the highway into an unknown future, that still has a curiously contemporary ring.


Comments

It is an extraordinary tour de force by Fleming to devote so much time and effort to a sympathetic portrait of a young woman in 1950s England. It reminds me straight away of the extended sequence towards the end of its predecessor novel, Thunderball, where that book’s ‘Bond girl’, Domino, shared with Bond a long reminiscence of her teenage fantasies about the sailor figure who appears – or used to appear – on packets of Players cigarettes, a sequence which, the longer it went on, the more moving and beguiling I found it.

For a man sometimes accused of hating or degrading women, Fleming spent a lot of time imagining himself into the lives and experiences of his female characters. (The Wikipedia article on the book – linked to below – includes a round-up of contemporary reviews of Spy: almost all the critics really disliked it, among other things for its graphic sex scenes; but it is notable that the only positive review is from a woman, Esther Howard, who commented on the romantic element in the book, praising its ‘Daphne du Maurier touch’. Odd that the male critics noted only the sex and sexual violence, which they (presumably) felt duty bound to disdain; but it took a woman to recognise and enjoy the various elements of romantic psychology which Fleming had consciously given Vivienne.)

Time

Nearly all the novels mention the phrase ‘all the time in the world’ somewhere or other, here on page 131. It is a leitmotif scattered through the oeuvre, and each time I read it reminds me of the Louis Armstrong version of the song.

But they also nearly always reflect, somewhere well on into the action, on how the early scenes of Bond being briefed by M or arriving at the location fresh and innocent, now seem like months even years ago, so much has happened in the interim.

And so, although the immediate action of this novel takes place over the 8 hours or so of one nightmare night, from the Phancies leaving Viv in the motel at dusk to the police arriving the next morning, the intensity of the psychological experiences feel like a lifetime.

I looked at my watch. It was two o’clock. So it was only five hours since all this had begun! It could have been weeks. My former life seemed almost years away. Even last evening, when I had sat and thought about that life, was difficult to remember. Everything had suddenly been erased. Fear and pain and danger had taken over. (p.160)

A lot is experienced in a very short space of time. Arguably it is the mark of the thriller genre that it focuses on intensity over depth of experience. What sets Fleming apart is that he embeds his intensities into writing with a number of other virtues or merits. I especially like his realistic descriptions of places, people, meals and landscapes. But it is clear from sequences like the long opening section of this novel, that he was also interested in trying to create a realistic psychology for his characters. It is only intermittently successful and when it fails – as with Viv’s collapse into gushing schoolgirl adoration of her hero – it fails badly. But it is the sheer fact of the attempt which is interesting.

The life-affirming effect of danger

And the simplest element in a character’s psychology is their thoughts and reflections. Are they the bare minimum required by the plot, to create a kind of entry-level sympathy? Or are they a bit more ambitious, pointing the moral not only of the story itself, but maybe of the genre and the act of reading?

Thus Viv is given quite a few moments of reflection, in the early section mulling over her disastrous love life (effective), in the final section full of gushing hero worship of the Sir Galahad who has saved her (poor). In the middle sequence, though, while she is being threatened, terrorised, then beaten, she expresses the simple credo which is at the core of the entire thriller genre.

The simple act of living, how precious it was! If I got out of this, I would know it for ever. I would be grateful for every breath I breathed, every meal I ate, every night I felt the cool kiss of sheets, the peace of a bed behind a closed, locked door… Love of life is born of the awareness of death, of the dread of it. (p.111)

‘Love of life is born of the awareness of death, of the dread of it.’ And thrillers, spy novels, pulps, with their varying levels of violence and escape, vicariously take the reader into scenes of danger, then restore them to the everyday world, chastened, stunned, ready to value every moment of health and happiness we can seize in such an unstable world.

The true jungle of the world, with its real monsters, only rarely shows itself in the life of a man, a girl, in the street. But it is always there. You take a wrong step, play the wrong card in Fate’s game, and you are in it and lost – lost in a world you had never imagined, against which you have no knowledge and no weapons. No compass. (p.106)

Hardly profound philosophy, but the frequency of passages like this – or the many places where Bond reflects on his job as a killer and is troubled by the deaths he’s caused – suggest that Fleming is more interested in the thoughts and reflections his characters give rise to than in the rather paltry, often silly scenarios he has to put them through for the entertainment of his pulp audience.


Credit

The Spy Who Loved Me by Ian Fleming was published in 1962 by Jonathan Cape. All quotes and references are to the 2006 Penguin paperback edition.

Related links

Other thrillers from 1962

The Bond novels

1953 Casino Royale Bond takes on Russian spy Le Chiffre at baccarat then is gutted to find the beautiful assistant sent by London to help him and who he falls in love with – Vesper Lynd – is herself a Russian double agent.
1954 Live and Let Die Bond is dispatched to find and defeat Mr Big, legendary king of America’s black underworld, who uses Voodoo beliefs to terrify his subordinates, and who is smuggling 17th century pirate treasure from an island off Jamaica to Florida and then on to New York, in fact to finance Soviet spying, for Mr Big is a SMERSH agent. Along the way Bond meets, falls in love with, and saves, the beautiful clairvoyant, Solitaire.
1955 Moonraker An innocent invitation to join M at his club and see whether the famous Sir Hugo Drax really is cheating at cards leads Bond to discover that Drax is in fact a fanatical Nazi determined on taking revenge for the Fatherland by targeting an atom-bomb-tipped missile – the Moonraker – at London.
1956 Diamonds Are Forever Bond’s mission is to trace the route of a diamond smuggling ‘pipeline’, which starts in Africa, comes to London and then to follow it on to New York, and further to the mob-controlled gambling town of Las Vegas, where he wipes out the gang, all the while falling in love with the delectable Tiffany Case.
1957 From Russia, with Love Bond is lured to Istanbul by the promise of a beautiful Russian agent who says she’ll defect and bring along one of the Soviets’ precious Spektor coding machines, but only for Bond in person. The whole thing is an improbable trap concocted by head of SMERSH’S execution department, Rosa Klebb, to not only kill Bond but humiliate him and the Service in a sex-and-murder scandal.
1958 Dr. No Bond is dispatched to Jamaica (again) to investigate the mysterious disappearance of the station head, which leads him to meet up with the fisherman Quarrel (again), do a week’s rigorous training (again) and set off for a mysterious island (Crab Key this time) where he meets the ravishing Honeychile Rider and the villainous Chinaman, Dr No, who sends him through a gruelling tunnel of pain which Bond barely survives, before killing No and triumphantly rescuing the girl.
1959 Goldfinger M tasks Bond with finding out more about Auric Goldfinger, the richest man in England. Bond confirms the Goldfinger is smuggling large amounts of gold out of the UK in his vintage Rolls Royce, to his factory in Switzerland, but then stumbles on a much larger conspiracy to steal the gold from the US Reserve at Fort Knox. Which, of course, Bond foils.
1960 For Your Eyes Only (short stories) Four stories which started life as treatments for a projected US TV series of Bond adventures and so feature exotic settings (Paris, Vermont, the Seychelles, Venice), ogre-ish villains, shootouts and assassinations and scantily-clad women – but the standout story is Quantum of Solace, a conscious homage to the older storytelling style of Somerset Maugham, in which there are none of the above, and which shows what Fleming could do if he gave himself the chance.
1961 Thunderball Introducing Ernst Blofeld and his SPECTRE organisation who have dreamed up a scheme to hijack an RAF plane carrying two atomic bombs, scuttle it in the Caribbean, then blackmail Western governments into coughing up $100,000,000 or get blown up. The full force of every Western security service is thrown into the hunt, but M has a hunch the missing plane headed south towards the Bahamas, so it’s there that he sends his best man, Bond, to hook up with his old pal Felix Leiter, and they are soon on the trail of SPECTRE operative Emilio Largo and his beautiful mistress, Domino.
1962 The Spy Who Loved Me An extraordinary experiment: an account of a Bond adventure told from the point of view of the Bond girl in it, Vivienne ‘Viv’ Michel, which opens with a long sequence devoted entirely to her childhood in Canada and young womanhood in London, before armed hoodlums burst into the motel where she’s working on her own, and then she is rescued by her knight in shining armour, Mr B himself.
1963 On Her Majesty’s Secret Service Back to third-person narrative, and Bond poses as a heraldry expert to penetrate Blofeld’s headquarters on a remote Alpine mountain top, where the swine is carrying out a fiendish plan to use germ warfare to decimate Britain’s agriculture sector. Bond smashes Blofeld’s set-up with the help of the head of the Corsican mafia, Marc-Ange Draco, whose wayward daughter, Tracy, he has fallen in love with, and in fact goes on to marry – making her the one great love of his life – before she is cruelly shot dead by Blofeld, who along with the vile Irma Bunt had managed to escape the destruction of his base.
1964 You Only Live Twice Shattered by the murder of his one-day wife, Bond goes to pieces with heavy drinking and erratic behaviour. After 8 months or so M sends him on a diplomatic mission to persuade the head of the Japanese Secret Service, ‘Tiger’ Tanaka to share top Jap secret info with us Brits. Tiger agrees on condition that Bond undertakes a freelance job for him, and eliminates a troublesome ‘Dr Shatterhand’ who has created a gruesome ‘Garden of Death’ at a remote spot on the Japanese coast. When Bond realises that ‘Shatterhand’ is none other than Blofeld, murderer of his wife, he accepts the mission with gusto.
1965 The Man With The Golden Gun Brainwashed by the KGB, Bond returns from Japan to make an attempt on M’s life. When it fails he is subjected to intense shock therapy at ‘The Park’ before returning fit for duty and being dispatched to the Caribbean to ‘eliminate’ a professional assassin, Scaramanga, who has killed half a dozen of our agents as well as being at the centre of a network of criminal and political subversion. The novel is set in Bond and Fleming’s old stomping ground, Jamaica, where he is helped by his old buddy, Felix Leiter, and his old secretary, Mary Goodnight, and the story hurtles to the old conclusion – Bond is bettered and bruised within inches of his life – but defeats the baddie and ends the book with a merry quip on his lips.
1966 Octopussy Three short stories in which Bond uses the auction of a valuable Fabergé egg to reveal the identity of the Russians’ spy master in London; shoots a Russian sniper before she can kill one of our agents escaping from East Berlin; and confronts a former Security Service officer who has been eaten up with guilt for a wartime murder of what turns out to be Bond’s pre-war ski instructor. This last short story, Octopussy, may be his best.

Thunderball by Ian Fleming (1961)

Bond laughed, partly in admiration. ‘You’ve been taking mescalin or something. It’s a damned good sequence for a comic strip, but these things don’t happen in real life.’ (p.168)

Shrublands

The tremendous battering Fleming has submitted Bond to over the previous seven novels begins to show, as M – a recent convert to healthy living and wholefood diets – insists he takes a rest cure at a sanatorium in Sussex named ‘Shrublands’. Fleming’s description is amusingly sardonic throughout, from the brylcreemed youth who drives him in a taxi to the spa, through the old health food ‘doctor’ who prescribes his rest cure treatments, to the repellent, fat, old men and women who populate the place.

Bond submits with bad grace to the round of massages, hot baths, and the starvation diet of nut cutlets and dandelion tea, though there are several highlights: 1. He flirts with the unusually pretty, firm-bodied and ‘strict’ health therapist Patricia Fearing until, with dumb inevitability, while she’s massaging him he reaches up and kisses her. For all her flurried objections, Bond knows it is a done deal, and (rather callously) describes bonking her in her little bubble car up on the Sussex Downs.

2. More importantly, someone tries to kill him. He notices a tiny tattoo on the wrist of another ‘guest’, the handsome six-foot Count Lippe, then makes a bad mistake by phoning the Cipher Section of the Service to ask about the tattoo, from a public payphone in the sanatorium’s corridor. Turns out the tattoo is the sign of the Tongs, a secret society based in Macau.

Later the delectable Ms Fearing straps Bond into a complicated spine-stretching apparatus as part of his treatment and leaves the room – only for Lippe to sneak in and turn the machine way up past the danger zone, so that Bond’s body is literally being torn apart. It is only the accidental return of Ms Fearing a bit earlier than scheduled that saves his life. Bond laughs it off as a mishap but plans his revenge and, on the last day of his stay, ambushes Lippe who is sitting in a ‘sweat box’. Bond turns its thermostat up to a scalding 180 degrees.

Bond leaves Shrublands feeling lighter, toned up, fitter and more focused than for years, having bonked a pretty nurse and scored a petty act of revenge.

What he doesn’t realise is that he has impinged on a conspiracy to shake the governments of the world! Chapter five introduces us to Ernst Stavro Blofeld – the most notorious Bond baddie – giving his full backstory as a gifted Polish engineer who set up a bogus spy ring in pre-war Poland and screwed money out of various buyers, before setting up another ring in Turkey during the war itself, then clearing out to South America. Now he is back and he has invented SPECTRE, SPecial Executive for Counter-intelligence, Terrorism, Revenge and Extortion, as a clearing house for all kinds of criminal activities.

Meeting of SPECTRE

In the next scene we are introduced to a meeting of the top men in SPECTRE at a non-descript house in Paris. They are all allotted numbers, and comprise cells of men recruited from the French and Italian Mafia, SMERSH, American underworld gangs etc. Their undisputed leader is Blofeld. Blofeld reads out the monthly summary of profits from their various criminal activities – then melodramatically moves on to punish one of the members seated round the big table. This man is accused of violating a young girl who had been kidnapped, and SPECTRE had promised to return unharmed. Blofeld announces that SPECTRE returned half the kidnap ransom and now the guilty man is punished by the activation of electric pads in his chair which electrocute and virtually cook him. His smoking body slumps onto the table. The other members take this as due justice. This is SPECTRE. Blofeld’s word is law. They then proceed to discuss ‘the Omega Plan’.

This scene feels every bit as overblown and teenage as the movies.

The letter

Next thing Bond knows he’s called in by M who gives him a letter claiming SPECTRE has hijacked an RAF bomber (the fictional Vindicator) carrying two atomic bombs. The governments of the West have one week to hand over £100,000,000 or they’ll explode one of the bombs at a site worth exactly that amount. Then, a day later, if no money is delivered, they’ll explode the other bomb at a major world city.

Frankly, this threat made me nervous and edgy in light of our current geopolitical situation, and I didn’t enjoy thinking about it. Bond is told that the intelligence forces of the Western world have gone into overdrive, everyone and everything is being thrown at the problem. But M has a hunch: before it disappeared off the radar the hijacked Vindicator descended into the main East-West Atlantic traffic (to conceal itself). A few hours later the American DEW radar system detected a plane making a sharp turn south, just off the US coast. M has a hunch it was the baddy plane, and goes to investigate maps of the region. As a result, M thinks the Bahamas might be a perfect hiding place for the crooks, out of the way but not far from the US mainland, no real military or radar presence – good place to ditch a plane. So he is dispatching Bond to the Bahamas to see what he can see. Bond is disgruntled because he thinks he’s being sent on a wild goose chase.

Capturing the plane

There is then a long sequence which describes, in retrospect, how the Italian ‘observer’ on the hijacked plane, Giuseppe Petacchi a) poisoned the five man crew by opening a cyanide capsule in the cockpit, then b) pulled the bodies out of the way and flew the plane single-handedly down into the busy East-West Atlantic commercial plane traffic, then veered south towards the Caribbean, exactly as M hypothesised. Here, overcoming nerves, he locks onto the radio signal then onto the landing lights put out by SPECTRE and skillfully crash lands the plane on the surface of the sea. Proud and happy he walks along the wing of the slowly settling plane towards the motorboat of SPECTRE men who have come to meet him and the first one aboard casually slips a stiletto up under his jaw and into his brain which kills him immediately. Not very nice people.

We are introduced to Number 1 (SPECTRE numbers rotate on a monthly basis) Emilio Largo, a superbly fit figure of a man, Olympic swimmer, fencer etc (p.126), scion of a noble Roman family, with a hooked nose, the mouth of a satyr and enormous hands. He supervises the concealment of the sunken plane and the retrieval of the two atom bombs – using the facilities of his superb, purpose-built, luxury catamaran, the Disco Volante (Italian for ‘flying saucer’, p.134).

There is a tame nuclear physicist on board the ship and on the payroll, Kotze, who is given a speech explaining how you defuse an atomic bomb, then arm it with a timed fuse so you can drop it somewhere and make your getaway. As he explains all this to Largo (and the reader), Largo is wondering when the moment will be right to ‘eliminate’ him. Not very nice people. The bombs are stashed in a remote coral island, and this phase of the mission is complete.

Bond in the Bahamas

Once again Bond is in the sunny Caribbean – in this, as in many other respects, Thunderball feels like a rehash of themes and settings. Bond has quickly latched onto Largo’s mistress, Dominetta ‘Domino’ Vitali, an independent-spirited, beautiful young woman. (The way she is named after a game is reminiscent of Solitaire.) He accidentally on purpose bumps into her in a general store in Nassau and invites himself for a drive in her sporty MG then a drink and get-to-know-you. (We see Bond through her eyes, six foot, black hair, scar on right jaw, cruel smile, confident, p.145).

There is then another flashback, taking us how through Bond got to this point (exactly as the letter from the terrorists was followed by the account of the hijack of the plane which preceded it).

So we learn that Bond arrived in Nassau and went straight to a High Priority meeting with the Governor, Police Commissioner etc. He said he’s looking for a group of 10 or 20 or 30 men, decent and respectable, engaged on a completely innocent purpose, who probably arrived in the fairly recent past. The Police Commissioner mentions the annual Treasure Hunt crew: every year a yacht goes looking for legendary sunken treasure. This year it’s the Disco Volante owned by Emilio Largo, who has been joined by about twenty shareholders in the venture. Bingo!

—This is a really glaring example of the general rule that there is no detection in James Bond. Mr Big, Hugo Drax, Goldfinger, they are all identified very early on as the bad guys – the narrative interest comes not from slowly unveiling the truth, but from the elaborate skirting round each other, which leads to the torture scenes and then the final showdown. a) M had a hunch the hijacked plane flew to the Bahamas and, guess what, he’s dead right b) the police suggest the Largo’s treasure hunters are the only group that fit Bond’s bill and, guess what, they’re dead right.

Bond has identified the baddies by page 180 of this 350-page novel, though admittedly he isn’t absolutely certain they are the ones and, as his snooping makes him more and more certain, he still doesn’t know where the bombs are hidden. 170 pages remain of, well, snooping round, getting caught, getting beaten up, chatting up the girl, escaping, probably a climactic shoot-out of some kind…

Felix Leiter

Bond had asked for help from the CIA and goes to the airport to meet the agent who’s flying in with a state-of-the-art Geiger counter. It is – with heavy inevitability – Felix Leiter, his old bosom buddy with the metal hook instead of a hand (the result of being half-eaten by a shark in Live and Let Die). Leiter allows Fleming to really let his hair down and write loads of American pulp dialogue, with Bond joining in; their buddy conversations are always fun to read. But this is all very familiar territory.

Bond tells Leiter everything and invites him to go with him out to the Disco Volante, Bond posing as a rich Londoner who wants to buy the house Largo is currently renting. Largo is hospitality itself and shows them all over the impressive catamaran and promises to get his ‘niece’ (Domino) to show him the beach-front house. Leiter and Bond depart in their rented motorboat debating whether Mr Largo is really as squeaky clean as he seems – he didn’t show them about half the volume of the boat but then it is on a secret treasure hunt so why should he? And they didn’t see any of the ‘shareholders’ but then it was siesta time, maybe they were all napping…

There may be suspense for Bond, but there is none for the reader.

Confirmations

In quick succession:

1. Bond goes to the Nassau casino that evening where he meets Largo and Domino. First – in a scene which echoes the intense card game scenes in Casino Royale or Moonraker, Bond takes on Largo at baccarat and just about wins. He deliberately spooks Largo by mentioning the word ‘spectre’ several times to see what affect it has. Then Largo encourages him to go have a drink with Domino. She tells him her extended fantasy about the man portrayed on the front of packs of Players cigarettes, an entertaining piece of whimsy which reminds us that Fleming was also the author of the smash hit children’s story Chitty Chitty Bang Bang. For the purposes of the plot, she lets slip that her real family name is Petacchi and that she has a beloved brother who is something in the air force. Like the Italian observer flying in the Vindicator. What a coincidence.

2. Bond borrows a scuba diving kit and swims underwater out to the Disco Volante. He confirms that there is a great seam in the hull which probably opens to allow ingress and egress of possibly naughty machinery. Barely has he done so than he is clobbered by the butt of a compressed gas harpoon and has a vividly described fight with an underwater guard, presumably from the boat which ends when the guard is attacked by a six foot barracuda. Dazed, Bond just about makes it back to shore and the waiting policeman who has accompanied him.

3. Bond and Leiter rent an amphibious plane and go scouting low over the sea, looking for the sunken plane. The odd circling of three sharks prompts Bond to go back to a particular area, land and again scuba dive to the ocean bed where, sure enough, he finds the plane hidden under a large tarpaulin. Fleming again gives a vivid description of the foulness of the water, polluted with the five corpses, and of their wrecked appearance, half eaten by sea creatures. He is particularly memorable on the interior of the plane which is absolutely stuffed with small octopuses which are eating the dead air crew. For the purposes of the plot he discovers a) the atom bombs are not on board – they have been removed, b) the body of Giuseppe Petacchi, and snaps off his identity tag, along with the rest of the crews, before finally escaping the nightmare scene and resurfacing by the flying boat.

While flying around and scouring maps, Leiter and Bond had discussed possible targets for SPECTRE’s attacks. They speculate that the first one might be against the NATO missile-firing base ‘at a place called North-West Cay at the eastern end of the Grand Bahamas’ (p.199). They fly near it, observing the rocket gantries, missile launchers, radar beacons and the rest of the paraphernalia.

Bond and Leiter had been keeping their respective services informed of developments and now are told that senior military men are flying in and Washington has dispatched a nuclear submarine, no less, to Nassau. Bond and Leiter must obey these orders, but have still not located the exact location of the bombs.

Snogging Domino

Back from the flight, and having assimilated the responses of their services, it is still daytime and Bond phones Domino at the house she and Largo are renting and casually asks if she’d like to go swimming. She gives directions to the beach where she’ll be and Bond races there in a Land Rover borrowed from the Governor’s staff. There follows a strange interlude which is meant to be moving: for Bond is affectionate and kind to her, all the time knowing he is about to break the news to her that her brother is dead, and that he was more than likely involved in a massive conspiracy to blackmail the world’s governments.

She emerges from the sea with some bits of black sea urchin in her foot and Bond very gently, very sensuously, sucks them out for her. Then carries her up to the primitive changing rooms and there they make love. And only then, does he tell her the truth. Tears. Recriminations. I hate you. Slowly she recovers as he presses on her the importance of the situation. Eventually he recruits her: will she agree to go on board the Disco Volante with the Geiger counter-disguised-as-a-camera which he will give her and snoop about: if she finds something come on deck; if nothing, remain in her cabin.

Bond leaves her to be collected by the Disco Volante and motors back to the docks to join the police who are now keeping it under surveillance. There is a message to join Leiter for the arrival of the nuclear submarine.

Nuclear submarine

The USS Manta arrives and Leiter and Bond go onboard to be greeted by the cheerful, confident commander P. Pedersen. They brief him on the whole situation including the crux that they don’t know where the bombs are. At this point they are all informed the Disco Volante has weighed anchor and steamed off north-west. The girl didn’t come up on deck, the pre-arranged signal that there were no bombs aboard, if she managed to carry out her search and not get caught, that is…

But Bond is still concerned: a) If the sub intercepts the Volante, they still won’t have the bombs and it’s just possible some other team is gathering and deploying them; b) Captain Pedersen informs Bond and Leiter the catamaran can skate easily over the countless reefs and shallows in the area, whereas the Manta can only follow guaranteed deep water channels, so they can’t give close chase to the baddies.

Aboard the Disco Volante

Cut to the interior of the Disco Volante, where Largo has called an emergency meeting of the ‘shareholders’ ie the other SPECTRE crooks. He announces to the shocked meeting that Domino was found snooping round with a camera which, on closer inspection, turned out to a Geiger counter: looks like someone put her up to it, so someone is on to them.

Domino has been detained and will be tortured to find out who commissioned her snooping. Meanwhile, the Omega plan goes ahead. The meeting is disrupted by one of the Russian delegates who sows seeds of doubt, saying while some of them are being frogmen accompanying the bomb to its destination, who’s to say the boat won’t weight anchor and scarper, leaving them in the lurch. Largo replies by shooting the complainer three times. We get the picture: SPECTRE are ruthless people.

Then Largo goes down to the cabin where Domino is tied spread-eagled to a bed, rips off her clothes and leans over her naked vulnerable body with a lighted cigar and a bucket of ice cubes, and starts to torture her. [This feels like it steps over a line: Fleming torturing Bond is one thing, as happens in the earlier novels – Bond is the hero and at least part of the mind of the male reader is experiencing the physical ordeals vicariously and wondering how he would fare. I think this is the first time we’ve seen a woman be tortured, really sadistically, cold-bloodedly tortured, and it’s not only not entertaining, but it feels wrong for Bond’s persona, for the feel of the books.]

Underwater fight

Bond and Leiter are aboard the American sub. The commander is under orders to take their orders, so Bond gives out a plan of battle to the best ten hand-picked men. They will wear skin-diving outfits, use makeshift spears, and attack Largo’s men wherever they find them.

Hours later the sub makes contact with the Wavekrest anchored off North-West Cay, the missile testing base, just as Bond and Leiter had speculated. Bond, Leiter and the ten best men suit up and exit the submarine with their makeshift weapons. They approach in a flanking movement the SPECTRE crew, but Bond immediately realises the odds are against them, as there are many more of the baddies, who have also got little propeller packs on their backs giving them greater mobility. In the middle of his posse sits Largo, riding an underwater sub which is towing the bomb.

A massive fight breaks out, Bond skewers several bad guys, before himself getting cut, cuffed, then saves Leiter’s life as a bad guy is about to shoot him, then escapes the melee to hunt down Largo. Largo is still riding the mini-sub and Bond throws himself onto it, they have a desperate cat-fight, but Bond manages to slip back onto the rudder and twist it so the machine rears up and breaks the surface, throwing them both off.

Exhausted Bond sinks to the bottom, only for Largo, still fighting fit, to approach him spear-gun at the ready. In a typically Flemingesque ghoulish detail, Largo clamps a baby octopus over Bond’s mask then puts his enormous hands round his throat to strangle him (ah, those enormous hands which have been continually referred to) and Bond is passing out, everything is going black, when….

The pressure has gone, Bond wipes the octopus away, Largo is on the ocean bed flailing with a big spear through his neck, and the girl Domino is behind him, harpoon gun in hand, her body covered in ugly red burn marks from the torture. Together, the wounded hero and heroine struggle to the surface.

Bond has been cut by a harpoon, clubbed in the head, exhausted himself fighting the rudder of the min-sub and then nearly strangled to death, all but blacking out before Domino saved him – but this, like many of the other scenes, felt to me rather like going through the motions: Bond has to be beaten to within an inch of his life because this is what happens in all Bond novels – it doesn’t necessarily follow from the actual action.

Certainly it was a tough fight, but doesn’t compare to being nearly incinerated at the climax of Moonraker, tortured to a bloody pulp in Casino Royale, or subjected to the degrading punishment in Dr No. His suffering, like so much else in the novel, feels willed in order to fit a formula.

Epilogue

Bond in hospital, as at the end of so many other adventures. Leiter visits and tells him what happened: CIA, MI6 et al now know all about SPECTRE, have identified Blofeld (who got away), their plan had been to bomb the missile launching base, then make Miami the second target. 10 men from the yacht including Largo were killed, six of the 10 volunteers from the submarine ditto, both bombs were successfully recovered. And, wow! that girl – she escaped by squeezing through a porthole with a diving suit and a harpoon gun, and saved Bond’s life. Totally believable.

Then Leiter’s gone – but all Bond wants to know about is Domino: Is she alive? How is she? Bond’s doctor comes in next and Bond feverishly asks after the girl. After hesitation, the doc tells Bond she’s next door, still in great pain from having been cruelly burned and tortured. Bond staggers into the next room, holds Domino’s hand as she regains consciousness and weakly murmurs to him, then collapses to the floor and passes out. She moves her pillow so she can lie and watch him.

The book may be manipulative, sentimental slop concocted from preposterous escapades and ridiculous escapes, but something in the desperation of their commitment, the fierceness of their ‘love’, made me burst into tears. Maybe all really fierce, heart-breaking loves are emblems of all others.


Co-authorship

By 1960 Fleming was deeply involved in various schemes for turning his creation into TV series or movies. Thunderball the novel itself originated as the screenplay for a movie which was a collaborative effort between Fleming and four others – Kevin McClory, Jack Whittingham, Ivar Bryce and Ernest Cuneo. After he published the novel, Fleming was sued by two of the collaborators who claimed part authorship of the plot, and the part ownership of the copyright explains why two movie adaptations were subsequently made, by different production companies (Thunderball 1965 and Never Say Never Again 1983 both, rather confusingly, starring Sean Connery.)

I may be influenced by this knowledge, but I think you can feel this troubled origin in the book: in certain turns of phrase which are unusual for Fleming, and in the way the plot – although just as garish and grandiose as other Bond novels – is somehow also very heavy and lumpy. Nuclear weapon threatens major city was the plot of Moonraker; the Caribbean was the setting of Live and Let Die, Dr No, the opening of For Your Eyes Only and tropical diving was the theme of The Hildebrand Rarity.

By this, the ninth book, it feels like the building blocks of a Bond novel have become so well-defined that they are transforming into clichés in front of the reader’s eyes.


Credit

Thunderball by Ian Fleming was published in 1961 by Jonathan Cape. All quotes and references are to the 2006 Penguin paperback edition.

Related links

Other thrillers from 1961

The Bond novels

1953 Casino Royale Bond takes on Russian spy Le Chiffre at baccarat then is gutted to find the beautiful assistant sent by London to help him and who he falls in love with – Vesper Lynd – is herself a Russian double agent.
1954 Live and Let Die Bond is dispatched to find and defeat Mr Big, legendary king of America’s black underworld, who uses Voodoo beliefs to terrify his subordinates, and who is smuggling 17th century pirate treasure from an island off Jamaica to Florida and then on to New York, in fact to finance Soviet spying, for Mr Big is a SMERSH agent. Along the way Bond meets, falls in love with, and saves, the beautiful clairvoyant, Solitaire.
1955 Moonraker An innocent invitation to join M at his club and see whether the famous Sir Hugo Drax really is cheating at cards leads Bond to discover that Drax is in fact a fanatical Nazi determined on taking revenge for the Fatherland by targeting an atom-bomb-tipped missile – the Moonraker – at London.
1956 Diamonds Are Forever Bond’s mission is to trace the route of a diamond smuggling ‘pipeline’, which starts in Africa, comes to London and then to follow it on to New York, and further to the mob-controlled gambling town of Las Vegas, where he wipes out the gang, all the while falling in love with the delectable Tiffany Case.
1957 From Russia, with Love Bond is lured to Istanbul by the promise of a beautiful Russian agent who says she’ll defect and bring along one of the Soviets’ precious Spektor coding machines, but only for Bond in person. The whole thing is an improbable trap concocted by head of SMERSH’S execution department, Rosa Klebb, to not only kill Bond but humiliate him and the Service in a sex-and-murder scandal.
1958 Dr. No Bond is dispatched to Jamaica (again) to investigate the mysterious disappearance of the station head, which leads him to meet up with the fisherman Quarrel (again), do a week’s rigorous training (again) and set off for a mysterious island (Crab Key this time) where he meets the ravishing Honeychile Rider and the villainous Chinaman, Dr No, who sends him through a gruelling tunnel of pain which Bond barely survives, before killing No and triumphantly rescuing the girl.
1959 Goldfinger M tasks Bond with finding out more about Auric Goldfinger, the richest man in England. Bond confirms the Goldfinger is smuggling large amounts of gold out of the UK in his vintage Rolls Royce, to his factory in Switzerland, but then stumbles on a much larger conspiracy to steal the gold from the US Reserve at Fort Knox. Which, of course, Bond foils.
1960 For Your Eyes Only (short stories) Four stories which started life as treatments for a projected US TV series of Bond adventures and so feature exotic settings (Paris, Vermont, the Seychelles, Venice), ogre-ish villains, shootouts and assassinations and scantily-clad women – but the standout story is Quantum of Solace, a conscious homage to the older storytelling style of Somerset Maugham, in which there are none of the above, and which shows what Fleming could do if he gave himself the chance.
1961 Thunderball Introducing Ernst Blofeld and his SPECTRE organisation who have dreamed up a scheme to hijack an RAF plane carrying two atomic bombs, scuttle it in the Caribbean, then blackmail Western governments into coughing up $100,000,000 or get blown up. The full force of every Western security service is thrown into the hunt, but M has a hunch the missing plane headed south towards the Bahamas, so it’s there that he sends his best man, Bond, to hook up with his old pal Felix Leiter, and they are soon on the trail of SPECTRE operative Emilio Largo and his beautiful mistress, Domino.
1962 The Spy Who Loved Me An extraordinary experiment: an account of a Bond adventure told from the point of view of the Bond girl in it, Vivienne ‘Viv’ Michel, which opens with a long sequence devoted entirely to her childhood in Canada and young womanhood in London, before armed hoodlums burst into the motel where she’s working on her own, and then she is rescued by her knight in shining armour, Mr B himself.
1963 On Her Majesty’s Secret Service Back to third-person narrative, and Bond poses as a heraldry expert to penetrate Blofeld’s headquarters on a remote Alpine mountain top, where the swine is carrying out a fiendish plan to use germ warfare to decimate Britain’s agriculture sector. Bond smashes Blofeld’s set-up with the help of the head of the Corsican mafia, Marc-Ange Draco, whose wayward daughter, Tracy, he has fallen in love with, and in fact goes on to marry – making her the one great love of his life – before she is cruelly shot dead by Blofeld, who along with the vile Irma Bunt had managed to escape the destruction of his base.
1964 You Only Live Twice Shattered by the murder of his one-day wife, Bond goes to pieces with heavy drinking and erratic behaviour. After 8 months or so M sends him on a diplomatic mission to persuade the head of the Japanese Secret Service, ‘Tiger’ Tanaka to share top Jap secret info with us Brits. Tiger agrees on condition that Bond undertakes a freelance job for him, and eliminates a troublesome ‘Dr Shatterhand’ who has created a gruesome ‘Garden of Death’ at a remote spot on the Japanese coast. When Bond realises that ‘Shatterhand’ is none other than Blofeld, murderer of his wife, he accepts the mission with gusto.
1965 The Man With The Golden Gun Brainwashed by the KGB, Bond returns from Japan to make an attempt on M’s life. When it fails he is subjected to intense shock therapy at ‘The Park’ before returning fit for duty and being dispatched to the Caribbean to ‘eliminate’ a professional assassin, Scaramanga, who has killed half a dozen of our agents as well as being at the centre of a network of criminal and political subversion. The novel is set in Bond and Fleming’s old stomping ground, Jamaica, where he is helped by his old buddy, Felix Leiter, and his old secretary, Mary Goodnight, and the story hurtles to the old conclusion – Bond is bettered and bruised within inches of his life – but defeats the baddie and ends the book with a merry quip on his lips.
1966 Octopussy Three short stories in which Bond uses the auction of a valuable Fabergé egg to reveal the identity of the Russians’ spy master in London; shoots a Russian sniper before she can kill one of our agents escaping from East Berlin; and confronts a former Security Service officer who has been eaten up with guilt for a wartime murder of what turns out to be Bond’s pre-war ski instructor. This last short story, Octopussy, may be his best.

For Your Eyes Only by Ian Fleming (1960)

Bond liked cheerful, expansive people with a zest for life. (p.146)

Five short stories. Four of them started life as plots for a TV series that was never made, indicating: a) how happy Fleming was to engage in popular culture, and b) how keen to monetise his creation. The hardback editions had a sub-title which seems to have been dropped from my paperback version – Five Secret Occasions in the Life of James Bond.

1. From a View to a Kill
2 For Your Eyes Only
3 Quantum of Solace
4 Risico
5 The Hildebrand Rarity

1. From a View to a Kill

Although he lost his virginity there on a wild night when he was 16 (p.6), Bond has cordially disliked Paris since the War. ‘One cannot drink seriously in French cafés.’ (p.5) Paris has been pawned to East Europeans, tourists, Germans. In his opinion, you can only actually see it properly for two hours between five and seven am; after that it is hidden by a thundering stream of black metal (p.8), ie monstrous traffic (and this is 1959!). Bond is feeling stale after a mission to extract a Hungarian from the East went wrong (the defector was blown up in a minefield).

Into Bond’s ennui bursts a car screeching to the pavement and a glamorous woman walking right up to his table. Turns out to be Mary Ann Russell from the service; there’s a flap on at Station F. Bond is driven there and briefed. A motorbike courier to SHAPE (Supreme Headquarters Allied Powers Europe) has been shot and his Top Secret documents stolen. Bond drives to the SHAPE headquarters in northern France, is greeted by the unhelpful American Colonel Schreiber in charge, and sets about interviewing everyone.

Slowly Bond puts pieces together and is particularly intrigued by the story of a group of gypsies who recently vacated a clearing along the Route Nationale where the cyclist was shot. Bond investigates and finds a suspicious-looking mound at the vacated site. He dresses in camouflage and returns to stake out the clearing. After a very long time, to his amazement, the mound divides in two and people come out of it: a motorcyclist dressed in NATO uniform, helped by two assistants. Off he drives, the assistants withdraw inside the secret hideaway, then the mound slowly closes up. Bond waits a long time then slips away.

Next day he borrows a NATO motorcyclist outfit and sets off on the morning run. He is not surprised when an identically-dressed motorbike courier cruises up behind him. Before the assassin can take a shot, Bond himself swerves his bike and shoots the baddie, who goes flying into a tree. Dead.

Bond motors to the clearing where NATO troops are waiting. When he enters with the bike, the mound opens as the assistants think it is their leader; but when he doesn’t reply to some question put in Russian, a fight breaks out. Shots are fired, Bond is jumped on by one of the baddies who pummels him to the ground and the baddie is making for his gun when a shot rings out and the baddie’s body goes flying. Bond looks up to see Mary Ann Russell striding among the soldiers, dressed in brown shirt and tight jeans, a smoking .22 pistol in her hand. Lucky, eh? And sexy.

This story is so silly it’s hard to know where to start. I sympathised with the notion of Paris ruined by traffic, and enjoyed descriptions of the cafés and geography of north Paris where Bond likes to stay. After that… nonsense.

2. For Your Eyes Only

Introducing a posh old couple, the Havelocks. Their family have owned one of the best estates in Jamaica for 300 years, given it by a grateful Oliver Cromwell to an ancestor who signed King Charles’s death warrant (just as Honeychile Riders’ ancestor was alleged to have done in Dr No, and just as falsely).

Out of the blue they are visited by three Hispanics, led by a Major Gonzales. They represent a businessman in Cuba who wishes to buy the property. Gonzales unzips airline bags which contain half a million dollars cash and offers to pay on the spot. Mr Havelock refuses and angrily tells the three to leave his property, at which Gonzales sighs, signals to his two assistants, who step forward and pump the Havelocks full of bullets. They return to their car, which is stolen, drive down to the bay and abandon it, take a dinghy out to a waiting yacht and sail away.

Cut to M briefing Bond in London. He is uncertain and shifty because he is personally involved: turns out he was best man at the Havelocks wedding in 1925. Gonzales is the hit man for an ex-Nazi, von Hammerstein, who’s made a fortune working for the Cuban dictator Batista’s Intelligence Service. Now it looks like Castro’s communists might take over, von Hammerstein, like others, is getting his money out of Cuba and investing in nearby property, ie in Jamaica. Now the same gang is intimidating the Havelocks’ daughter, Judy, into selling. What does Bond think?

Assassinate them, says Bond. M gives him the file marked ‘For Your Eyes Only’ which shows that von Hammerstein, Gonzales et al are holed up in a luxury ranch near a place called Echo Lake in Vermont, USA, up near the Canadian border.

Bond flies to Canada (he doesn’t like the new faster, bigger jets: less luxury, everything more cramped and rushed; it’s interesting that Fleming records these journeys in such detail just as luxury travel began to be degraded by the advent of mass tourism.)

Bond meets a security man from the Mounties, Colonel ‘Johns’, who humorously says this whole operation is off-the-record but they’ll give him all the help they can, before handing over maps, a hunting rifle and permits, directions, clothes, a hired car.

Bond drives off south, crosses the border into the States on foot, finds his way to the lakeside house – very nice – tests his sights, waits for sunrise except – a voice tells him not to move! A young woman dressed like an Amazon is pointing a bow and very modern steel arrow right at him. She is Judy Havelock and she has also come here to kill von Hammerstein, to avenge her parents, and if Bond gets in her way, she’ll shoot him too.

After some bickering they reach an agreement that Judy has first shot. The group of baddies come out to frolic in the morning sunshine, von Hammerstein an ugly, squat, hairy, pasty man, Gonzales a creepy Hispanic. The two goons have an impromptu competition to shoot empty champagne bottles thrown in the air, the winner gets a night with one of the two scantily-clad hookers who are fawning and simpering around them.

As von Hammerstein goes to dive off the edge of the quay into the lake a steel arrow shoots him through the heart. In a second Bond has shot dead one of the goons with his hunting rifle, then turns to the next one, misses, then hits. But all this has given Gonzales time to let off bursts of machine gun fire into the woods where Bond and the girl are hiding and then push over and hide behind a steel table on the lakeside lawn. After taking pot shots at each other, Gonzales makes a break for the house and Bond stands and nails him with one shot.

Then he finds Judy, wounded and bleeding, hit by one of the goons’ bursts of firing. Disappointingly, she has been transformed from no-nonsense Amazon into simpering girly. When they originally met and were bickering Bond said several times ‘This is man’s work’ and I was hoping she would humiliate him, somehow save him when he got into trouble and generally kick this saying back in his teeth. Alas, the narrative, Fleming and Bond all confirm the saying, as poor girly Judy now says she had no idea it would be so brutal and so horrible and, as Bond ties a tourniquet round her bleeding arm, allows him to kiss her, then kiss her again.

I enjoyed the banter and repartee with the Canadian Mountie, ‘Colonel Johns’, who sets things up for Bond, the working bond created between two professionals who know what each other are about. But the entire hit man storyline is morally dubious, and then the last minute ‘James you’re so manly!’ conversion of tough woman into fawning girl is as sick-making as the similar ‘sudden conversion’ ending of Goldfinger.

3. Quantum of Solace

This is the standout story of the collection, and in a different class from the others.

Bond has done a job in Nassau, capital of the Bahamas, a place he cordially dislikes because it is so disgustingly rich. The job was throwing firebombs into two ships carrying arms to Castro’s forces in Cuba. (Historical note: Castro’s communist forces officially overthrew Batista on January 1, 1959.) Now Bond’s just had to endure a gruellingly formal and dull dinner party at the Governor’s place, but the other guests – a Canadian natural gas millionaire and his chatty wife – have left and, over drinks, after a bit of chat, the Governor settles in to tell Bond a story.

The Governor was telling it in a rather elderly narrative style which gave it a ring of truth. (p.106)

It’s about a man the Governor was at Oxford with, ‘let’s call him Philip Masters’, who won a place in the Foreign Office and was posted to Nigeria. Very shy, troubled childhood (parents divorced, brought up by an aunt) he found happiness among the kindness of Nigerians. On a flight back to the UK he is strapped in and generally fussed over by a stunningly attractive air stewardess, Rhoda Llewellyn. By the end of his flight, he invites her for a date, one thing leads to another, and they get married. Then he is posted out to the Caribbean which is where the Governor ran into him again, in Bermuda.

Briefly, the wife slowly gets bored of being the wife of a colonial official, it’s not at all as glamorous as she’d imagined. They take up golf but she far outshines her husband and enjoys flirting with the men at the club. Eventually, the inevitable happens and she takes up with one of the rich young men in the fast set, son of a millionaire with his own speedboat etc. Doesn’t bother hiding it, brazenly open, demands a separate bedroom from her meek retiring husband, walks all over Masters, humiliates him in public.

The Governor calls Masters in for a meeting, tells him he’s getting a terrible reputation, says he’s packing him off to Washington for five months to handle trade negotiations, during which he must sort out his private affairs.

During those five months, while her husband is away, the millionaire playboy gets tired of Rhoda and, prevailed on by his parents, very publicly dumps her. Chastened and suddenly shunned by posh and smart society, she decides to change her ways and is ready to be meek and obedient when her husband returns. Unfortunately, Masters has also changed and returns utterly ruthless, focused and decisive. He announces he is divorcing her in one year. His private detective has gathered all the evidence required for a quick legal action. For that year their house will be partitioned in two so their paths never cross, he will never see her and, from this point onwards, never speak to her. She pleads, she begs, she breaks down in tears – he doesn’t relent.

By now Bond, despite himself, is genuinely hooked. And this is where the Governor introduces his theory: human relationships can be repaired and made to work as long as there is a bare minimum amount of affection between the partners, just enough warmth for communication to remain open – as long as there is a quantum of solace, the tiniest particle of warmth and sympathy. That gone, everything is gone.

So none of Rhoda’s pleading made any impact, the couple put up a diplomatic facade of man and wife for the rest of his posting, but had not a shred of affection. In his final week before Masters leaves for his next appointment – not taking her – Rhoda pleaded for some money to live on after he left and he rubbed salt in the wounds by grudgingly giving her the car and the radiogram (the house had been rented for the duration of his appointment). When she goes to the car dealer, after Masters had departed, she finds both car and radiogram were themselves hired and have outstanding bill on them, which she has to pawn her belongings to pay. Masters has systematically reduced her to poverty.

Rhoda carries on for a while, eking a living hanging round with the flash set at the golf club, being passed from one man to another until she has sunk to the level of being a sort of posh courtesan. Finally, one of her patrons, a lofty Lady who disapproved of all her behaviour but still pitied her, got her a job as receptionist at a hotel in Jamaica, where she moved, relieved to flee the Bahamas at last.

Throughout the narrative Bond has occasionally commented on the story or the Governor has paused so they can top up their drinks or light a cigar. Reminiscent of the many chaps-chatting-over-port-and-cigars frame narratives of Victorian and Edwardian times, found in Sherlock Holmes stories or, most famously, in the long after-dinner narrative which makes up Joseph Conrad’s novella, Heart of Darkness.

By this point in the story, the Governor and Bond have left the panelled drawing room and walked through the landscaped grounds down to the security gates. The pace of the frame narrative has been beautifully timed to accompany or bring out the detail of the main story.

It is here, at the gates, that the Governor turns and adds the conclusion of his tale. It was while working as receptionist that Rhoda made an impression on a rich guest, a millionaire from Canada. They got married and have been very happy ever since, Rhoda turning out to be the most devoted and loyal of wives.

And – in the unexpected, simple and breath-taking twist – the Governor reveals that this was the very couple who Bond had shared such a dull dinner with earlier that evening, the Canadian millionaire and his twittering wife.

Bond laughed. Suddenly the violent dramatics of his own life seemed very hollow. The affair of the Castro rebels and the burned out yachts was the stuff of an adventure-strip in a cheap newspaper. He had sat next to a dull woman at a dull dinner party and a chance remark had opened for him the book of real passion – of the Comédie Humaine where human passions are raw and real, where Fate plays a more authentic game than any Secret Service conspiracy devised by Governments. (p.128)

The Wikipedia article on this collection says one of the stories was a conscious homage to Somerset Maugham. Surely it is this one, with its leisurely, slow-paced account of human weakness, set against a civilised after-dinner frame story, reminding me of the urbane and brilliantly persuasive stories in Maugham’s own spy novel, Ashenden.

4. ‘Risico’

It’s interesting to see that herion smuggling was enough of a topical issue/concern in 1959 to base fiction on.

Bond is sent to Rome to contact an Italian heroin smuggler-turned-CIA-informant, Kristatos. Kristatos tells him the Big Man behind the smuggling into Britain is the padrone of the very restaurant where they’re eating, one Enrico Colombo. And sure enough we see Colombo a) eating his spaghetti like a pig b) conferring with his beautiful German concubine/assistant, Lisl Baum c) using gadgets hidden in a chair to record Bond and Kristatos’s conversation, during which K says he’ll break up the smuggling ring if Bond will kill Colombo. So Colombo discovers Bond is out to kill him. It’s all written so as to make us think Colombo is a Drax-Dr No style baddie.

Colombo and Baum then play act a massive row, complete with her throwing wine in his face, just as Bond is leaving the restaurant, so that Bond steps in as the English gent and offers her a lift in a taxi back to her hotel. This is a long enough journey for her to tell Bond she’s moving onto Venice tomorrow, and she’ll be sunbathing out on the beach of the Lido, if he fancies meeting.

So Bond takes the train (and is amusingly grumpy about the rudeness and discomfort of Italian trains), checks into a hotel, then goes out to the Lido. Here he traipses across the beach to find the almost naked blonde bombshell sunbathing, as promised. But barely have they started flirting before three goons in dark suits start approaching up the beach. Bond walks fast towards the village end of the strand in a bid to escape, but two of the men cut of at an angle across the spit of sand until BOOM! one of them is blown up – it is an abandoned minefield which the Italian authorities, typically, haven’t got round to clearing. Gruesome.

Meanwhile, Bond had arrived at the concrete sea-wall and was walking along it towards a group of fishermen and safety until – he realises the fisherman are all pointing their spearguns at him and the fat one in the middle is Colombo! They have just begun to have typical good guy-bad guy banter (‘So Mr Bond…’) when the third of the goons sneaks up behind Bond and knocks him unconscious with the hilt of his Luger.

Bond comes to in a ship at sea. The door is open and he goes on deck to find Colombo tremendously happy and chatty. In the TWIST or volta in the story, Colombo tells Bond that Kristatos is the one who is running the heroin smuggling operation into Britain. Sure, Colombo is a smuggler and a crook, but he absolutely refuses to touch drugs. Bond finds himself trusting the open, smiling, hearty man before him who gives him his gun back. Somehow they have become friends.

And – in what is becoming a routine revelation – it turns out the heroin which goes through the pipeline to Britain to hook and undermine the nation’s youth is supplied by Russia, from her poppy fields in the Caucasus. No matter how remote and fantastical the plot, somehow Fleming always manages to make SMERSH at the root of it.

Colombo explains that their ship is about to enter the harbour of Santa Maria, where they will find Kristatos’s gang of hired Albanian thugs loading massive rolls of newsprint (remember the massive rolls of newsprint towards the end of Moonraker?) onto a ship moored at the quay.

Colombo’s boat comes alongside and throws grappling hooks into the Albanian ship and the shooting starts immediately. Bond saves the day by shooting out the man in the warehouse who was using a machine gun on our boys, then dodges behind the warehouse to see Kristatos a) set off a boobytrap, which blows up the warehouse b) jump into his car and speed off. Third shot lucky, Bond shoots him in the back and the car careers out of control.

Bond is taken back onto Colombo’s ship with much back-patting and Italian gratitude for shooting the machine gunner in the warehouse. Now, the Italian assures him, this massive drug peddling pipeline has been closed down. To round things off, Colombo tosses Bond a hotel key: the key to the room of Lisl Baum – she’s waiting for him.

So he saves the day for England, makes a new foreign friend, and gets to sleep with the pretty blonde. Job done!

(P.S. The title ‘Risico’ is how Kristatos pronounces ‘risk’: so there’s an irony in Kristatos’s word being taken as the title, since the whole adventure turns out to be not just risky, but fatal for him.)

5. The Hildebrand Rarity

The story opens with Bond scuba diving in the Seychelles, and shooting a massive sting ray. Apparently, Fleming himself had scuba diving lessons in Jamaica from the legendary Jacques Cousteau, so knew what he was talking about – but the ability to convey the wonder and beauty of the underwater world is entirely his own.

Bond is in the Seychelles at the order of M to investigate alleged sabotage and infiltration by communist forces. He finds nothing to report on and is left with a week in hand, hence the diving. His local contact, Fidele Barbey, member of an influential local family, picks him up on the beach and says he knows Bond is bored and so has got him a few days helping out with the diving on the luxury yacht of an American millionaire who’s visiting the islands.

Bond takes an instant dislike to the millionaire, a rude and boorish man (of German descent) named Milton Krest, who insists on calling the galley the kitchen, the luxury yacht – the Wavekrest – ‘it’ (instead of ‘she’) and generally outraging all good naval traditions and Bond’s sense of the proprieties. Krest is rude about Britain, then about Europeans generally, before going on to insult the Seychellois.

Turns out Krest commissioned his yacht as a tax fiddle: he tells the US taxman it is engaged on ‘scientific research’ expeditions. To justify this he has to find and send back specimens to the Smithsonian Institute in Washington. He has already, crudely and corruptly, bought most of the specimens on the list he was given from local zoos and aquariums: all he needs now is the extremely rare Hildebrand Rarity.

Bond and Barbey are introduced to Krest’s (stunningly beautiful) English wife, Elizabeth, and the crew of hard-faced Germans, and then they set sail to remote coral islands where the Rarity was once sighted before the war.

Over dinner, Krest gets drunk, insults everyone and lets it be known that he not only verbally abuses his wife, but whips her with a dried-out stingray tail, which he calls ‘the Corrector’. Bond is fascinated by her craven ‘slave’ mentality, and the word slave recurs numerous times throughout the story, for although Krest routinely reduces her to tears, Elizabeth defends her husband to the others.

What must this woman have to put up with, this beautiful girl he had got hold of to be his slave – his English slave?… There was something painfully slavish in her attitude towards him. (pp.194-195)

The Wavekrest anchors off an isolated atoll and Bond and Barbey go snorkelling although, ironically, it is the shouting, can-do Yank, Krest, who actually spots the Rarity. He kills it – and everything else around it – by pouring a five-gallon drum of poison into the water. (Bond shows an unexpected but actually quite characteristic sensitivity about killing – murdering – all these beautiful innocent sea creatures, and describes their death throes in pitiful fashion.)

That night Krest gets more drunk than usual, abuses Bond and Barbey, tells his wife he’s going to beat her tonight, despite her tearful pleading to be ‘forgiven’ and, when he finds Bond out on the after-deck with her, for just a moment, threatens to kill Bond – or have him killed by his thuggish crew. As he walks drunkenly back into the main cabin, Krest’s silhouette looks like a baboon. Yes, he is a very bad man.

Resisting the temptation to beat the daylights out of him, Bond instead sleeps out on deck and hears Krest clamber drunkenly into his hammock several decks away. In the middle of the night he’s woken by the sound of choking and struggling. He gets to Krest’s deck to find the millionaire has been choked to death, with the Hildebrand Rarity rammed down his throat.

Bond coolly assesses this, the umpteenth scene of a violent death which he’s encountered in his career, and decides to fake the cause of death. He removes the fish and replaces it in its specimen jar in the main cabin, then carefully frays one of the ropes supporting Krest’s hammock, snaps it, and throws Krest’s body overboard. The best he can do to make it look like an accident.

Job done. Now Bond is intrigued to discover which of the other two did it: the wife has an obvious motive but Barbey is hot-blooded and was getting angry at Krest’s racist taunts over dinner. Next morning both turn out to have a lazy breakfast and sunbathe as if nothing had happened. Eventually Bond gets impatient and asks after their host, sparking a search, during which the crew discover the broken hammock, signs that the disoriented, drunk man may have fallen over the guard rail etc.

The crew are horrified and radio the authorities, but neither Mrs Krest nor Barbey are at all upset. Mrs Krest – lithe, beautiful bikini-wearing Mrs Krest – asks Bond if he will accompany her for the four-day cruise on to Mombasa. Suppressing  his suspicions that she is the murderer, Bond agrees. A man’s got to do what a man’s got to do…

The story features a very exotic location and the (then) luxury pastimes of snorkelling and diving; Fleming’s dislike of the vulgar rich, and of vulgar rich Americans in particular; along with an extended, if rather shallow, treatment of the sado-masochistic master-slave relationship, some superficial pondering why women stay with men who beat and abuse them. But all reconciled in the promise of four days of sexual pleasure with the said abused wife. And so a trite, sailing into the sunset wind-up.

You can see how the four treatments for TV episodes have the quick, violent action necessary for TV, the lack of depth and the cheap resolutions. As stories they are entertaining enough, but Quantum of Solace is in a class of its own.


Credit

For Your Eyes Only by Ian Fleming was published in 1960 by Jonathan Cape. All quotes and references are to the 2006 Penguin paperback edition.

Related links

Other thrillers from 1960

The Bond novels

1953 Casino Royale Bond takes on Russian spy Le Chiffre at baccarat then is gutted to find the beautiful assistant sent by London to help him and who he falls in love with – Vesper Lynd – is herself a Russian double agent.
1954 Live and Let Die Bond is dispatched to find and defeat Mr Big, legendary king of America’s black underworld, who uses Voodoo beliefs to terrify his subordinates, and who is smuggling 17th century pirate treasure from an island off Jamaica to Florida and then on to New York, in fact to finance Soviet spying, for Mr Big is a SMERSH agent. Along the way Bond meets, falls in love with, and saves, the beautiful clairvoyant, Solitaire.
1955 Moonraker An innocent invitation to join M at his club and see whether the famous Sir Hugo Drax really is cheating at cards leads Bond to discover that Drax is in fact a fanatical Nazi determined on taking revenge for the Fatherland by targeting an atom-bomb-tipped missile – the Moonraker – at London.
1956 Diamonds Are Forever Bond’s mission is to trace the route of a diamond smuggling ‘pipeline’, which starts in Africa, comes to London and then to follow it on to New York, and further to the mob-controlled gambling town of Las Vegas, where he wipes out the gang, all the while falling in love with the delectable Tiffany Case.
1957 From Russia, with Love Bond is lured to Istanbul by the promise of a beautiful Russian agent who says she’ll defect and bring along one of the Soviets’ precious Spektor coding machines, but only for Bond in person. The whole thing is an improbable trap concocted by head of SMERSH’S execution department, Rosa Klebb, to not only kill Bond but humiliate him and the Service in a sex-and-murder scandal.
1958 Dr. No Bond is dispatched to Jamaica (again) to investigate the mysterious disappearance of the station head, which leads him to meet up with the fisherman Quarrel (again), do a week’s rigorous training (again) and set off for a mysterious island (Crab Key this time) where he meets the ravishing Honeychile Rider and the villainous Chinaman, Dr No, who sends him through a gruelling tunnel of pain which Bond barely survives, before killing No and triumphantly rescuing the girl.
1959 Goldfinger M tasks Bond with finding out more about Auric Goldfinger, the richest man in England. Bond confirms the Goldfinger is smuggling large amounts of gold out of the UK in his vintage Rolls Royce, to his factory in Switzerland, but then stumbles on a much larger conspiracy to steal the gold from the US Reserve at Fort Knox. Which, of course, Bond foils.
1960 For Your Eyes Only (short stories) Four stories which started life as treatments for a projected US TV series of Bond adventures and so feature exotic settings (Paris, Vermont, the Seychelles, Venice), ogre-ish villains, shootouts and assassinations and scantily-clad women – but the standout story is Quantum of Solace, a conscious homage to the older storytelling style of Somerset Maugham, in which there are none of the above, and which shows what Fleming could do if he gave himself the chance.
1961 Thunderball Introducing Ernst Blofeld and his SPECTRE organisation who have dreamed up a scheme to hijack an RAF plane carrying two atomic bombs, scuttle it in the Caribbean, then blackmail Western governments into coughing up $100,000,000 or get blown up. The full force of every Western security service is thrown into the hunt, but M has a hunch the missing plane headed south towards the Bahamas, so it’s there that he sends his best man, Bond, to hook up with his old pal Felix Leiter, and they are soon on the trail of SPECTRE operative Emilio Largo and his beautiful mistress, Domino.
1962 The Spy Who Loved Me An extraordinary experiment: an account of a Bond adventure told from the point of view of the Bond girl in it, Vivienne ‘Viv’ Michel, which opens with a long sequence devoted entirely to her childhood in Canada and young womanhood in London, before armed hoodlums burst into the motel where she’s working on her own, and then she is rescued by her knight in shining armour, Mr B himself.
1963 On Her Majesty’s Secret Service Back to third-person narrative, and Bond poses as a heraldry expert to penetrate Blofeld’s headquarters on a remote Alpine mountain top, where the swine is carrying out a fiendish plan to use germ warfare to decimate Britain’s agriculture sector. Bond smashes Blofeld’s set-up with the help of the head of the Corsican mafia, Marc-Ange Draco, whose wayward daughter, Tracy, he has fallen in love with, and in fact goes on to marry – making her the one great love of his life – before she is cruelly shot dead by Blofeld, who along with the vile Irma Bunt had managed to escape the destruction of his base.
1964 You Only Live Twice Shattered by the murder of his one-day wife, Bond goes to pieces with heavy drinking and erratic behaviour. After 8 months or so M sends him on a diplomatic mission to persuade the head of the Japanese Secret Service, ‘Tiger’ Tanaka to share top Jap secret info with us Brits. Tiger agrees on condition that Bond undertakes a freelance job for him, and eliminates a troublesome ‘Dr Shatterhand’ who has created a gruesome ‘Garden of Death’ at a remote spot on the Japanese coast. When Bond realises that ‘Shatterhand’ is none other than Blofeld, murderer of his wife, he accepts the mission with gusto.
1965 The Man With The Golden Gun Brainwashed by the KGB, Bond returns from Japan to make an attempt on M’s life. When it fails he is subjected to intense shock therapy at ‘The Park’ before returning fit for duty and being dispatched to the Caribbean to ‘eliminate’ a professional assassin, Scaramanga, who has killed half a dozen of our agents as well as being at the centre of a network of criminal and political subversion. The novel is set in Bond and Fleming’s old stomping ground, Jamaica, where he is helped by his old buddy, Felix Leiter, and his old secretary, Mary Goodnight, and the story hurtles to the old conclusion – Bond is bettered and bruised within inches of his life – but defeats the baddie and ends the book with a merry quip on his lips.
1966 Octopussy Three short stories in which Bond uses the auction of a valuable Fabergé egg to reveal the identity of the Russians’ spy master in London; shoots a Russian sniper before she can kill one of our agents escaping from East Berlin; and confronts a former Security Service officer who has been eaten up with guilt for a wartime murder of what turns out to be Bond’s pre-war ski instructor. This last short story, Octopussy, may be his best.

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