Grantchester Grind by Tom Sharpe (1995)

The Praelector waited in the drawing-room, staring out into the pulsating night and thinking about the May Balls he had known in his youth. They had been sedate affairs and he had enjoyed them enormously, swinging round the Hall doing the quickstep or a foxtrot and, most daringly of all, the tango with a polished liveliness and delight that was a world away from the mechanical Bacchanalia the young now seemed to crave. Not that he blamed them. They were drowning out a world that seemed to have no structure to it and no meaning for them, a monstrous bazaar in which the only recognised criteria were money and sex and drugs and the pursuit of moments of partial oblivion. (p.475)

The front cover and title page describe this as ‘A Porterhouse Chronicle’ as if it’s one of a whole series of novels about the fictional Cambridge college which made its first appearance in Sharpe’s 1974 novel, Porterhouse Blue. But it took 21 years for this sequel to appear and, in the event, there are only two Porterhouse books, this being the second and last one.

It’s a bit long for a comic novel, at 490 pages in this Pan paperback edition, and it is not as funny as its predecessor. Sharpe is still capable of rising to moments of savage farce, but they’re fewer and further between. And – crucially – the kind of swearing and sexual explicitness which felt taboo-breaking and transgressive in the 1970s, were no longer nearly as shocking in the mid-90s, and now – in 2016 – feels run-of-the-mill. Characters saying ‘fuck’ or dressing up in PVC sex outfits is no longer at the far edge of respectability.

The Plot

The fictional Cambridge college of Porterhouse has a reputation as being the most reactionary college in the university, but its finances are in a dire state. Much of the infrastructure is peeling and dropping off. The college is run by a council of Senior Fellows and the plot consists of following their bumbling and farcical attempts to drum up new financing for their alma mater. They are:

  • the Dean (a small round man with a red face, p.224)
  • the Senior Tutor
  • the Bursar
  • the Praelector (tall and thin, p.224)
  • the Chaplain – amiable, bumbling and deaf – giving rise to numerous comic misunderstandings
  • and the Master

The Master is in fact the former Head Porter, Skullion, who we saw, at the end of Porterhouse Blue, have a major stroke. In fact ‘Porterhouse Blue’ is college slang for just such a stroke. Now Skullion is permanently ensconced in a wheelchair and only intermittently capable of speech.

So off they go to find money. The Dean goes to visit Old Porterthusians around the country who, predictably, turn out to be various shades of nasty, drunk, impoverished and violent, notably the Honourable Jeremy Pimpole of Pimpole Hall, Yorkshire, who was once a gay blade but has turned into a violent alcoholic with a vicious cur.

The Senior Tutor is contacted by Lady Mary Evans, the widow of the former Master, Sir Godber Evans, who we saw dying at the end of the previous novel. Although the coroner ruled it accidental death caused by excess of alcohol and then Sir Godber tripping and cracking his skull, Lady Mary is convinced his death was murder. To confirm her suspicion she gives her dubious lawyer six million pounds to endow a new position at the college, the Sir Godber Evans Fellowship and, after some comic business with various unsuitable candidates, appoints the earnest and upright Dr Purefoy Osbert to the post. Osbert is an expert in capital punishment – author of a classic account of the subject, The Long Drop – and he’s given a remit to write the history of Porterhouse, with special attention to the fate of her late husband. She hopes Osbert will expose the murder and turn up enough evidence to convict the whole pack of Senior Fellows who she loathes.

Meanwhile, in what becomes the major storyline, the Bursar attends a conference on ‘funding ancient institutions’ where he is introduced to the slick American representative of a big TV company – Transworld Television Productions – one Karl Kudzuvine. At TTP’s shiny big London headquarters the Bursar is surprised to realise everyone is wearing an identical outfit of moccasins, white socks, polo neck sweater and shades. And when he meets the sinister head of the operation, Edgar Hartang, he learns they are all copying him.

The TV people say they love the idea of making a documentary series about Porterhouse, and will pay handsomely for using the facilities and persuade the Bursar to let them make a ‘recce’ or preliminary visit, where they swarm all over the ancient buildings, outraging the staff, and onto the roof of the chapel which begins to collapse under their weight, during an actual service, prompting a stampede for the exit in which Kudzuvine is trampled underfoot.

There now begins a lengthy sequence in which the foul-mouthed gangster Kudzuvine is put to bed by the cabal of doddering senior officials – the Bursar, Senior Tutor – while the college doctor casually injects him with a range of new drugs he’s been dying to experiment with. They set the speechless, wheelchair-bound gargoyle, Skullion, to watch over him, so that every time Kudzuvine wakes, befuddled and disorientated, he thinks he’s hallucinating and shrinks further into paranoid terror.

In this deranged state, he eventually reveals what we sort of suspected, which is that Transworld is a front for massive involvement in drug smuggling, but not actually making the shipments – TTP uses its offices worldwide and its international documentary operation to launder and clean drug money for various clients: the South Americans, the Mafia, the Russians. This line of business brings with it a serious risk of kidnapping or assassination from rivals, and it’s this which explains why the paranoid boss makes everyone dress like him – so that potential assassins getting past security in TTP’s Canary Wharf offices, will be confused long enough for him to get away.

All Kudzuvine’s confessions are taped by the wily officers. And the college solicitors send a lengthy claim for damages to college infrastructure and to the finer feelings of staff and students to Hartang personally, seeking £20 million! Obviously, his first reaction is to consider hiring contract killers to wipe out these limey motherfuckers, but he is restrained by his own lawyers, who advise actually paying up. It’s a fraction of his illegal takings. In fact Sharpe shows us the lawyers themselves taking steps to distance themselves from their criminal client.

Complications

Having established all these plotlines by half way through the book, Sharpe spends the next 200 pages detailing their increasingly out-of-control complications. This is one of the things that makes Sharpe’s novels farces – the sense of the plot developments spiralling beyond the sane, beyond the feasible, into a fantasy world of comic hysteria.

Thus the now thoroughly cowed Kudzuvine discovers that everything he’s said about his boss has been recorded, transcribed and witnessed: he can’t go back. Terrified, he is whisked away to the country house of Old Porterthusian, General Sir Cathcart D’Eath, there given work in the abattoir where – in a minor revelation – we learn the General slaughters horses and turns them into cat food. Knives and blood. Hmm. Wouldn’t be surprised if there aren’t some comic consequences…

At his Induction Dinner, the fellows get Osbert drunk and are worried to discover what his real mission is and how much Sir Mary already knows, or suspects. They need to curtail the fellow’s activities – but how?

For his part, once he’s settled into his new quarters at Porterhouse, Osbert discovers that the wheelchair-bound Skullion likes to lurk in a corner of the quad where he’s brought food and bottles of ale by the college chef and they have a good natter. Intrigued, Osbert conceals himself nearby and overhears their conversation. Apparently Skullion has heard rumours that the Senior staff may be trying to replace him as Master and is infuriated. No sooner has ‘Cheffy’, as they call him, gone away than the Dean strolls past and is surprised to discover Skullion hidden in this corner. Their conversation takes a nasty turn, though, when Skullion – unusually drunk even for him – reveals that it was he who murdered Sir Godber at the end of the previous book, and threatens to tell all and ruin the college if the Dean and the other Senior Fellows try to get rid of him, Skullion.

The Dean blusters that no such thought has crossed their minds and walks on to his rooms, appalled – but not as appalled as Osbert. He has discovered the the truth Sir Mary wanted revealed after only a few weeks. But what proof could he bring in court? Everyone would deny it. What should he do with this knowledge?

Now the Dean has accidentally discovered that Sir Godber was murdered, and that Skullion is the cuplrit, the Senior Fellows realise they must do something to nobble Osbert’s enquiries before he finds out. They rifle through his desk and correspondence and come across the fact that Osbert has an unrequited romance with a Mrs Ndhlovo. One night, long before and much earlier in the novel, Osbert had attended an evening class given by Mrs Ndhlovo which he thought was going to be about penal reform in Sierra Leone but turned out to be about Male Masturbation Technique. Taken aback by the explicitness of the material, the naive Osbert fell comically in love. Since then he has romanced Mrs Ndhlovo assiduously but she, in fact already married once and from Uganda, has steadfastly refused his advances until he is ‘a proper man’ with ‘real money’. This was Osbert’s motivation for taking the job at Porterhouse, despite his many reservations.

All this is revealed to the Fellows from Osbert’s correspondence and so they concoct a comic scheme – thinking Osbert has a weakness for black women generally, they commission General D’Eath to find a black woman they can lure Osbert into bed with and photograph, and then blackmail to ensure his silence. The General fails – his old soldier friends turning out disappointingly thin on black prozzies – but he is recommended the services of an ageing white barmaid, Myrtle Ransby, the married mother of nine kids who’ll do anything for cash. So, in increasingly preposterous scenes, the General finds himself dressing – or rather laboriously squeezing – her into a PVC cat suit and then blacking up the exposed parts of her body.

A den of denouements

Of course, things dramatically worsen before anything can get better.

Osbert reconciled with Ndhlovo Unaware of the scheme to entrap him, Dr Osbert meets again with his lady love Mrs Ndhlovo, who reveals that that isn’t her name and tells a long complicated story about how she and her sister were abandoned at birth in Argentina, adopted by nuns, ran away to Europe and smuggled themselves around the Mediterranean using various stolen identities until they fetched up in England, where she mugged up on sexual peculiarities and made a living lecturing about male masturbation and female genital mutilation. Now she’s bored. She wants to be married to a Fellow at Cambridge. So the odd couple come to an understanding. In fact they become an item and the reader almost comes to think of them as real characters who are a little bit in love.

The humiliation of Sir Cathcart With his honeypot scam in place, the General posts a card inviting Osbert to a rendezvous with Myrtle, who gets all dressed up in her PVC suit in readiness – but, in a comic misunderstanding, the Senior Tutor, who is not in on the plot, is handed the invitation by the porter to pass on and, in a fit of irritation against Osbert, tears it up. Therefore Osbert never gets it, never keeps the appointment, and so Myrtle spends a humiliating night on her own in the little ‘love nest’ the General has arranged – drinking a little, then a bit more, then lots – to solace herself, waking up the next day with an appalling hangover. In this raddled state, half falling out of her PVC sex suit, she phones her cousin to come and pick her up and, when the latter has stopped laughing at her grotesque appearance, the pair drive on to Sir Cathcart’s country house. Now, to ensure maximum comic impact, the General just happens to be welcoming a selection of the county’s poshest gentry as dinner guests. In full view of the county’s finest, Myrtle storms up, fat and angry and hungover with various boobs and bulges extruding out of her PVC suit and proceeds to yell abuse at the General in front of all the guests – ‘Yes, he acts all la-di-da, but he likes fat birds in PVC painted black to look like Africans – but he stood her up and now she’s here for her money’. The General’s humiliation could not be more complete. Until the police turn up and ask him to accompany them to his little ‘love nest’ in a suburban street in Cambridge where they have discovered a wealth of sex aids and a one-way mirror with a video-camera behind it. Ooops.

This is an example of the way sexual satire no longer has the same bite. In Sharpe’s novels from the 1970s, a large part of the comedy comes from the way the curtain-twitching neighbours and the police and society at large reel in shock and horror at the protagonist’s sexual misadventures. The fact that Wilt is in ownership (by accident) of a blow up sex doll has the potential to end his career. 20 years later, when this novel was published, post-AIDS, in an era when everyone was encouraged to talk more openly about sexual practices, none of this has the same sense of shock, and therefore the risk of social stigma etc to the protagonists is hugely reduced. This explains why the scene where the police show the General all the sex equipment seems oddly muted and is very brief. This kind of thing no longer had the same charge in 1996. Now, 20 years later, post 50 Shades of Grey, it has almost no comic impact at all.

Skullion’s revenge Surprisingly, given his earlier opposition, Sir Cathcart successfully persuades Skullion to quit as Master. He is promised he can go and stay at Sir Cathcart’s country house. However, it is a trap. The ambulance which comes to collect him instead takes him off to the feared Porterhouse Park, a grim boarding house overlooking the bleak north Norfolk coast, where other super-annuated college staff have been sent to eke out their last days.

Osbert, surprised that Skullion has disappeared, discovers his fate and goes to visit him with Mrs Ndhlovo. Skullion begs to be helped to escape, so Osbert and girlfriend return with a transit van and some rope, liberate Skullion and spirit him away to a safe house in the suburbs of Cambridge. Here, in exchange for his freedom, Skullion begins dictating to the historian Osbert, an ‘alternative’ history of Porterhouse College, its history seen from the servants’ point of view, a very warts and all account. For days on end Skullion talks non-stop into a tape recorder. He dates the start of the decline in standards to after the war, when all the men who came up were returning from National Service, older, less malleable, more likely to be stroppy and ‘bolshy’.

This storyline has stopped being at all funny, but Skullion’s comments are quite interesting as social history.

A drug lord as Master There’s a world of confusion and misunderstanding among the senior staff about who knows, and doesn’t know, about Skullion being the murderer, and his stealthy removal to Porterhouse Park. To everyone’s surprise the weedy Praelector emerges as the strong man in this unclear situation and travels down to London to meet with Hartang’s lawyers and then with the foul-mouthed crime boss himself. And offers him the Mastership of the college!

The Praelector shocks the College Council with his plan at their next meeting, but by bullying and blackmail manages to swing the vote to get Hartang accepted as new Master. Hartang will get cachet and safety from the various forces pursuing him. The College will get a vast amount of money. Hartang comes down from London to check out his new domain and begins to be coached by the senior fellows on the manners and etiquette that will be required. Stop saying ‘fucksake’ all the time, for example.

British Intelligence Behind all this, Hartang wonders if there are deeper forces at work, and so does the reader. Because, coincidentally, four British intelligence officers visit him at this Canary Wharf headquarters. He agrees to co-operate with them in exposing all he knows about various drug-smuggling cartels, so long as they agree to him becoming Porterhouse Master. A week later his most dangerous enemy, one Dos Passos, is found dead in a mysterious car crash in South America. Then a load of computer disks found at Dos Passos’s house turn out to be bursting with incriminating information, their exposure all blamed on the dead man – rather than on Hartang, who was the one who in fact handed them over to the authorities. The security forces have done their job well.

None of this is particularly farcical or even comic. In fact it could come from a Frederick Forsyth novel.

Comic climax

I thought the climax of the novel would be the annual May Ball. It’s a traditional big event, we learn that security men are swarming all over it – I wouldn’t have been surprised if the South American mafia had turned up and run riot through the gayly attired undergraduates, seeking to machine gun their enemy, Hartang.

But nothing like that happens. In fact, throughout the novel the undergraduates are conspicuous by their absence. They are actually there – it is term time – but not a single one is referenced by name. the plot takes place entirely among the doddery ageing dons and senior fellows.

In fact the climax comes a week or so later when there is the grand feast to inaugurate Hartang as Master. His British security minders are protecting him in exchange for the masses of information he’s imparted about international drugs operations and the college is already benefiting from his munificence, with the chapel having extensive repairs. Osbert and Mrs Ndhlovo have finished listening to Skullion’s dizzyingly disillusioning version of the real history of Porterhouse and are busily editing the manuscript into shape.

Against this background, there is this huge feast with all the fellows and students in their gowns and regalia when, at the climax of the meal, the waiters sweep through the magnificent doors of the Grand Hall bearing vast platters carrying numerous roasted boar. Now, the Senior Staff had learned from their taping of Kudzuvine’s confessions hundreds of pages earlier, that Hartang has a loathing amounting to a phobia, a real panic-fear of pigs. Even mention of the name makes him go pale and fumble for his medication. Now, as the waiters spread out and approach the High Table bearing huge pigs at him from all sides, Hartang staggers to his feet, has a heart attack, and dies. That’s the climax of the novel.

Epilogue

Then there’s an epilogue which ties up the various storylines.

Both Skullion and the Praelector are now seen resignedly residing at the retirement home looking over the sea.

As his last act Skullion named his successor to be the Honourable Jeremy Pimpole, the appalling alcoholic who the Dean encountered early in the book. The surviving fellows put up with his boorish manners confident in the expectation that he will soon drink himself to death with the help of the college’s bottomless wine cellar.

Osbert delivers a first draft of Skullion’s history to Lady Mary’s lawyers, who both consider it so scandalous they quietly decide to suppress it. Neither Lady Mary, nor the world at large, will ever read it.

And Mrs Ndhlovo confides in a lady friend that Osbert is just too scholarly, too kind and considerate. So she is going to quietly leave him.

That’s it.


Anti-modern and anti-American

Broadly speaking, satirists tend to be conservative and right-wing in their thinking, preferring the old ways and satirising trendy new-fangled notions. This is very much how Sharpe’s earlier novels struck me. Thinking the modern world has gone to pot is part and parcel of the performance – and so the crusty old dons lament Harold Wilson’s honours list and Mrs Thatcher’s ennoblement of businessmen, the need for hospitals to treat high-spending foreigners in order to subsidise operations for long-suffering Brits, and other iniquities of the kind to be found in the pages of the Daily Mail.

More striking is the strong vein of anti-Americanism which runs through the book. Hartang and his various trusties express themselves in a harsh barely literate mafia-speak, and evince a brutal amorality, ready at a second’s notice to ring up hitmen and assassins to eliminate anyone who stands in their way. This crude criminality is combined with, especially in Kudzuvine’s case, a repellently gung-ho American chauvinism – ‘USA! USA!’. The combination provides endless opportunities for the fuddy-duddy English college officials to tut about American ‘culture’, American violence, and then wander off to discuss recent American foreign policy foul-ups, which, it is implied, arise out of its domestic violence and criminality.

Since the book was written in the early to mid-1990s, these now seem very dated, but include:

  • the Gulf War, during which US ‘friendly fire’ shot up some of our tanks and killed some of our troops
  • the US air strikes on Libya – codenamed Operation El Dorado Canyon – on 15 April 1986, which resulted in 40 Libyan civilians killed (p.208)

Sharpe punishes this crudity in the person of Kudzuvine, who starts off brashly yelling at everyone that he’s a ‘free-born citizen of the Greatest Nation on Earth’ etc etc – but is systematically reduced to a quivering wreck, at his nadir kneeling before the gibbering wheelchair bound figure of Skullion, and ending up hacking dead horses to pieces in a cat food factory. It is a deliberate humiliation of him and all he stands for – amoral billionaire American criminality.

This dislike of insufferable American chauvinism combined with its increasingly aggressive foreign policy reminds me of John le Carré’s post-Cold War novels with their growing hatred of America. Although it’s interesting, none of this is really very funny.

Sharpe died only recently, in 2013. I wonder what he made of this century’s turn of events – 9/11, the American invasion of Afghanistan, the American invasion of Iraq and other foreign policy triumphs. I wonder what his cast of comedy dons and duffers from Porterhouse would have made of it. I wonder whether these topics crop up in his final novels…


Credit

Grantchester Grind by Tom Sharpe was published by André Deutsch by 1995. All quotes and references are to the 1996 Pan paperback edition.

Related links

Tom Sharpe’s novels

1971 – Riotous Assembly – Absurdly violent and frenzied black comedy set in apartheid South Africa as three incompetent police officers try to get to the bottom of the murder of her black cook by a venerable old lady who turns out to be a sex-mad rubber fetishist, a simple operation which leads to the deaths of 21 policemen, numerous dogs, a vulture and the completely wrongful arrest and torture of the old lady’s brother, the bishop of Basutoland.
1973 – Indecent Exposure – Sequel to the above, in which the same Kommandant van Herden is seduced into joining a group of (fake) posh colonial English at their country retreat, leaving Piemburg in charge of his deputy, Luitenant Verkramp, who sets about a) ending all inter-racial sex among the force by applying drastic aversion therapy to his men b) tasks with flushing out communist subversives a group of secret agents who themselves end up destroying most of the town’s infrastructure.
1974 – Porterhouse Blue – Hilarious satire on the stuffiness and conservatism of Oxbridge colleges epitomised by Porterhouse, as a newcomer tries in vain to modernise this ramshackle hidebound institution, with a particularly cunning enemy in the ancient college porter, Skullion.
1975 – Blott on the Landscape – MP and schemer Sir Giles Lynchwood so loathes his battleship wife, Lady Maud, that he connives to have a new motorway routed slap bang through the middle of her ancestral home, Handyman Hall, intending to abscond with the compensation money. But he reckons without his wife’s fearsome retaliation or the incompetence of the man from the Ministry.
1976 – Wilt – Hen-pecked lecturer Henry Wilt is humiliated with a sex doll at a party thrown by the infuriatingly trendy American couple, the Pringsheims. Appalled by his grossness, his dim wife, Eva, disappears on a boating weekend with this ‘fascinating’ and ‘liberated’ couple, so that when Wilt is seen throwing the wretched blow-up doll into the foundations of the extension to his technical college, the police are called which leads to 100 pages of agonisingly funny misunderstandings.
1977 – The Great Pursuit – Literary agent Frederick Frensic receives the anonymous manuscript of an outrageously pornographic novel about the love affair between a 17-year-old boy and an 80-year-old woman, via a firm of solicitors who instruct him to do his best with it. Thus begins a very tangled web in which he palms it off as the work of a pitiful failure of an author, one Peter Piper, and on this basis sells it to both a highbrow but struggling British publisher and a rapaciously commercial American publisher, who only accept it on condition this Piper guy goes on a US tour to promote it. Which is where the elaborate deception starts to go horribly wrong…
1978 – The Throwback – Illegitimate Lockhart Flawse, born and bred in the wastes of Northumberland, marries virginal Jessica whose family own a cul-de-sac of houses in suburban Surrey, and, needing the money to track down his mystery father, Lockhart sets about an elaborate and prolonged campaign to terrorise the tenants out of the homes. Meanwhile, his decrepit grandfather has married Jessica’s mother, she hoping to get money from the nearly-dead old geezer, he determined to screw as much perverse sexual pleasure out of her pretty plump body before he drops dead…
1979 – The Wilt Alternative – After a slow, comic, meandering first 90 pages, this novel changes tone drastically when international terrorists take Wilt and his children hostage in his nice suburban house leading to a stand-off with the cops and Special Branch.
1980 – Ancestral Vices – priggish left-wing academic Walden Yapp is invited by cunning old Lord Petrefact to write an unexpurgated history of the latter’s family of capitalists and exploiters because the old bustard wants to humiliate and ridicule his extended family, but the plot is completely derailed when a dwarf living in the mill town of Buscott where Yapp goes to begin his researches, is killed in an accident and Yapp finds himself the chief suspect for his murder, is arrested, tried and sent to prison, in scenes strongly reminiscent of Henry Wilt’s wrongful arrest in the first Wilt novel.
1982 – Vintage Stuff – A stupid teacher at a minor public school persuades a gullible colleague that one of the parents, a French Comtesse, is being held captive in her chateau. Accompanied by the stupidest boy in school, and armed with guns from the OTC, master and pupil end up shooting some of the attendees at a conference on international peace taking part at said chateau, kidnapping the Comtesse – who turns out to be no Comtesse at all – and blowing up a van full of French cops, bringing down on themselves the full wrath of the French state.
1984 – Wilt On High – Third outing for lecturer in Liberal Studies, Henry Wilt who, through a series of typically ridiculous misunderstandings, finds himself, first of all suspected of being a drug smuggler and so bugged by the police; then captured and interrogated on a US air base where he is delivering an innocuous lecture, on suspicion of being a Russian spy; before, in a frenzied climax, the camp is besieged by a monstrous regiment of anti-nuke mothers and news crews.
1995 – Grantchester Grind – The sequel to Porterhouse Blue, following the adventures of the senior college fellows as they adopt various desperate strategies to sort out Porterhouse College’s ailing finances, climaxing with the appointment of a international drug mafiosi as the new Master.
1996 – The Midden – Miss Marjorie Midden discovers a naked ex-City banker trussed in bedsheets hidden in her rural farmhouse, The Midden, and then the ancestral hall she owns under attack from the demented forces of nearby Scarsgate police force led by their corrupt chief constable Sir Arnold Gonders, in a blistering satire on the corruption and greed of post-Thatcher Britain.
2004 – Wilt in Nowhere – Fourth novel about the misadventures of Henry Wilt in which his wife Eva and the 14-year-old quads ruin the life of Uncle Wally and Auntie Joanie over in the States, while Wilt goes on an innocent walking holiday only to be accidentally knocked out and find himself implicated in a complicated murder-arson-child pornography scandal.
2009 – The Gropes – Driven out of his mind by his wife, Vera’s, sentimental fantasies, timid bank manager Horace Wiley pretends he wants to murder their teenage son Esmond, who is therefore hustled off to safety by Vera’s brother, Essex used-car dealer, Albert Ponson. Albert gets the teenage boy so drunk that his wife, Belinda, leaves him in disgust – locking their bungalow’s internal and external doors so securely that Albert has to call the police to get released with disastrous results, while Belinda drives the unconscious Esmond with her back to her ancestral home, the gloomy Grope Hall in remote Northumberland where – to the reader’s great surprise – they fall in love and live happily ever after.
2010 – The Wilt Inheritance – Sharpe’s last novel, the fifth and final instalment of the adventures of Polytechnic lecturer Henry Wilt, his naggy wife, Eva, and their appalling teenage daughters, all of whom end up at the grotesque Sandystones Hall in North Norfolk, where Wilt is engaged to tutor the lady of the manor’s psychotic teenage son, and Eva gets caught up in complications around burying dead Uncle Henry, whose body the quads steal from the coffin and hide in the woods with dire consequences that even they don’t anticipate.

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.

Related links

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.

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