Friday, April 04, 2008Golgo 13: Supergun
Created by Takao Saito
English version published by Viz Media 2006 Just a quick one, but because I have looked at a few Golgo 13 movies in Shrimps Chips, I thought entirely appropriate at this time. Despite my recent Shrimps, I am hardly an expert on Manga films. In total, the animé feature films I have watched could be counted on one hand. And I hate to admit, my ignorance of Manga comics is even greater. But Golgo 13 is a character whose adventures I have enjoyed, and when I saw a copy of one of the Manga comics I had to pick it up. Now Golgo 13 has been carrying out ‘hits’ for over four decades, and as the cover of this book states that it was ‘created’ by Takao Saito, rather than ‘written’ by, I’d guess these adventures were put together by some new kids on the block. I say ‘these’ because there are two stories in the book, the first major story is The Gun At Am Shara and the second lesser one is called Hit And Run.What surprised me about the book is that it doesn’t take place in a fictional universe, it happens in our world and uses real events as a backdrop. The major story, The Gun At Am Shara uses the aftermath of the Gulf War as it’s setting and Saddam Hussein as a villain. The President of the United States, although never named, looks a lot like Bill Clinton. The Supergun is not a reference to Golgo 13’s marksmanship, or even the weapon he is carrying on the front cover. It refers to a gigantic cannon built by Saddam Hussein and hidden at a secret dam facility in Iraq. Once again I was very surprised by the story. From the films, I had an impression of the type of story I would get, but this is just a bloody good espionage story. The beginning could come from a movie like The Peacemaker or Patriot Games with high tech satellite imaging, and boffins interpreting the intel. In fact the first 50 pages of the book are filled with this – and while it is fascinating and laying down a nice platform for the story, it also means that we are 50 pages into the story before Golgo 13 makes an appearance. Golgo’s mission? Well it’s not a hit – is to go into Iraq and destroy the cannon, but not the dam. In this story, Golgo is not a hitman, but employed by the American Government as a secret agent. It’s a bit of a character turn-around, and I don’t know if this is ‘updating’ the character for a modern audience - as we a living in a time of ‘terror’, or simply the ‘new kids’ who have written this tale, have not been particularly faithful to Saito’s original character. I really enjoyed this book, but not as a Golgo 13 adventure. As you’d be aware by now, that I love my spy films and books, and on that level, this book really satisfies, but as a Golgo 13 story (from my limited experience) this appears to be very different. Labels: Espionage posted by David at 7:00 PM | 4 Comments Friday, March 21, 2008Operation Snake
Tandem Books 1969
I hate to admit it, but I was a Nick Carter virgin. I had never read any of Carter's adventures, which is practically a criminal offence here at Teleport City. I figured I’d better quickly rectify the situation and ducked into the nearest second hand book shop. I only had two to chose from, and for an old paperback, at a fairly inflated price. They must be collectible around here?The two choices were Operation Snake from the late 1960’s and Tunnel For Traitors published in 1986. Just by looking at the cover image, you can tell why I went for ‘Snake’ first. This adventure starts with Nick Carter, Agent N3 for AXE travelling in an old DC3 to Khumbu in the heart of the Himalayas. During his flight he flashes back to his mission briefing with Hawk. In Nepal, a religious leader named Ghotak – the Head of the Teeoan People and Snake Society – is planning a coup which will see the Red Chinese taking over Nepal. The Nepalese people fear Ghotak because all who have opposed him have been slain by the Yeti. Yes, the Abominable Snowman. Carter’s contact in Katmandu is Leeunghi, who is an aid to the King. Carter lands in Khumbu and meets his first contact. He is a fellow agent named Harry Angsley. Angsley is in hospital on his deathbed. He tells Carter that he must go to the Tesi Pass, where he will be met by a guide who will take him the rest of the way. Adding to the mix is a meddlesome English reporter named Hilary Cobb. She tries to tag along with Carter, but he refuses. In response she arranges for Carter’s equipment to be stolen. Carter realises she is behind the theft, and pretends to have changed his mind. She can come along after all. He will co-operate. Cobb returns his equipment, but suddenly the fun and games are over. Carter strips her down, ties her to a chair, slaps her across the face and tweaks her nipple. Politically correct, Nick Carter aint! He tells her to go home, and leaves her tied up. Carter then begins his trek through the mountains to the Tesi Pass. Here he is met by a guide who leads Carter further up into the mountains. As they rest, the guide attacks Carter, and tries to send him flying over an ice ledge. Carter gives as good as he gets and kills the impostor. He then marches back down to the pass and meets his real guide. Her name is Khaleen, the daughter of his contact Leeunghi. Naturally she is a looker. She leads him to Katmandu and into the world of Ghotak. Ghotak isn’t happy to have Carter in his world, and arranges for a trio of killer monks to take care of him. But, as you’ve guessed, Nick Carter knows how to take care of him self and gives the monks a lesson in the ways of unarmed combat. Later that night there is a ritual being overseen by Ghotak. A ritual to honour the fertility of the Spirit of Karkotek, Lord Of All Serpents. It’s at this ritual that Carter and Leeunghi intend to expose Ghotak as a charlatan. Their plan doesn’t go as planned. The ritual is more of an orgy than a religious ceremony and Khaleen get’s drawn onto the stage, and starts to writhe around and disrobe. Nick goes to her rescue, while Leeunghi enters into a slanging match with Ghotak. As it is one man’s word against another the Nepalese need a sign or symbol to show who’s telling the truth. The end result being that Leeunghi has to go up into the mountains. If he speaks the truth, in three days he will return safely. If Ghotak speaks the truth, then the Yeti will slay Leeunghi. Now it’s up to Nick Carter to reveal the truth and save the day. As my first introduction to Nick Carter, I was pretty impressed with Operation Snake. It was better written than I though it would be. It has some good, tight, descriptive passages. And as expected, it was fast paced, violent and with a healthy does of sex thrown in. I realise that the Nick Carter books are written by different authors, so the story telling quality can vary from one book to the next. I notice that this one is written in first person, where Tunnel For traitors is written in third person. I am fond of first person narratives, as you feel you are making the journey with the hero, rather than just having it reported back to you. So on this level, if your a Nick Carter fan, I would highly recommend this entry in the series. Labels: Espionage, Series: Nick Carter posted by David at 9:58 PM | 1 Comments Tuesday, March 11, 2008Central Asian Adventure
Been working my way through a series of books about the struggle for empire in Central Asia, circa 1800-1918...
The Great Game by Peter Hopkirk, being an account of the struggle to conquer or at least influence Central Asia undertaken by the British and Russian empires during the 1800s. Absolutely fascinating history, and regardless of your opinion of empire building or the Russo-British opinion that their countries were entitled to rule the world, some of the agents and explorers both sides sent into the largely unmapped and incredibly violent and hostile Central Asian wilderness were incredibly ballsy. I mean, when you start every mission knowing full well there is an 85% chance you will end up dying of exposure in the desert or with your head hanging out front of some local potentate's palace entrance, that takes some nerve. Although it's largely a history of the struggle between Russia and England, the look at the geography, cultures, and wild diversity of the Central Asian countries is equally as fascinating. I'm still amazed by how it can go "desert, desert, murderous tribe, mountains, desert, mountains, murderous tribe, mountains, massive palace made of gold." I have to say, at no point in my reading career have I so desperately wanted to reach into a book or back through history and soundly throttle someone. General Elphinstone has got to be one the most colossal idiots in the history of military endeavors. But I guess that's what you get when you put in charge a man whose name was apparently taken from someone's Hobbit fanfic. Seriously? Who falls for "No, this time I won't massacre your troops. Ha ha! Got you. OK, no, seriously, this time I won't do it. Oh man! You fell for it again. OK, OK, no, OK, this time I swear..." like nine times. Is there something in the water that makes military leaders completely lose their senses when they enter Afghanistan? Like Hidden Fire: Peter Hopkirk's follow-up to The Great Game, this one detailing Germany's late but enthusiastic entry into Central Asiatic empire building, circa 1890-1914, with the focus being on Germany and Turkey's efforts to foment a Holy War against England and Russia throughout Central Asia and India. As with the last book, Hopkirk tells the story through the stories of the men on both sides who were involved in the various adventures and intrigues. What's most striking here -- as it was with the end of The Great Game is the vast alteration in the environment. When the Great Game started, it was one guy here or there struggling against impossible odds and certain death in territories that were practically impossible to reach. By the end, a mere hundred or so years later, the difference in the ability to travel and the familiarity with Europeans in these previously inaccessible regions is striking. By this second book, railroads and roads have transformed once romantic and foreboding names like Kashgar, Samarkand, and Bhokara into mere stops along the way. But what's even more striking is the vast gulf between German diplomatic language and that of Russia and England. Whenever England or Russia annexed a piece of Asia for their own use, the move was accompanied by profuse bowing and syrupy diplomatic assurances that what was done was done in the best interest of the people, who were excited for British/Russian rule, and of course, we will be leaving the very second the region has stabilized, etc etc. By sharp contrast, when Germany takes over Tsingtao in China, their diplomatic announcement afterward went something like, "We have crushed them, and all of China will shake as they feel the iron grip of German awesomeness tighten around their puny necks." As always, a fascinating subject, made even more fascinating on account of it now combines two of my favorite subjects -- 19th Century exploration, adventure, and intrigue; and World War I. posted by Keith at 5:40 PM | 0 Comments Wednesday, February 27, 2008You Only Live Twice After the critical and popular misfire of The Spy Who Loved Me -- A literary experiment that was noble in intention but fell apart in execution -- the pressure was on Ian Fleming to deliver a top notch Bond adventure to make up for things. At the same time, it's obvious that Fleming was beyond the point of wanting to crank out another by the numbers book. He was going to have to find a way to work within the expectations people had of what a James Bond book would deliver to them, but find ways to tweak and alter the formula where he could. The result was On Her Majesty's Secret Service, regarded by many -- if not, indeed, most -- people as the finest Bond adventure Fleming ever wrote. For most of its pages, it is an exceptionally well executed but formulaic Bond adventure. The twist comes near the end, which leaves Bond an emotionally shattered man, cradling the body of his dead wife.No one was expecting such a visceral punch to the story, and all ill will generated by The Spy Who Loved Me was largely forgotten. People were shocked and enthralled, and needless to say, they were hungry to know what happens next. Fleming answered that question with You Only Live Twice. You Only Live Twice was described to me as featuring a James Bond who has completely broken down and become more or less unable to function in society, let alone in the high-risk, high-pressure world of being an international jet setter and assassin. The prospect of reading about Bond attempting to complete a mission in that state of mind seemed fascinated, and even more ambitious than Fleming's last book. Whether or not Fleming would have been up to the task will remain unknown though, for while You Only Live Twice does indeed begin with Bond as a shattered man, it isn't long before that fragile state is dropped in favor of Bond more or less as we've always known him, rambling around Japan with his new buddy Tiger Tanaka. While this may not be as challenging as the way the book is often pitched to people, it's not necessarily a bad think, as I personally have my doubts as to whether or not Ian Fleming would have written a good novel under the yoke of keeping Bond destroyed. As it is presented to us, You Only Live Twice turns out to be a fabulous adventure lent more depth thanks to the previous book. M is torn as to what do with Bond, and seems to waver radically between nursing the agent back to health, firing him, or just having him killed. Indeed, sympathy for Bond seems to be wearing thin within the ranks, as many other agents and employees had undoubtedly lost loved ones as well, and Bond's period of incompetence due to mourning seems to be dragging on far longer than it should. Though it's never expressly explored, Bond's reaction to Tracey's death and his prolonged depression after it despite being so familiar with the Grim Reaper himself, lends itself to interesting chances to theorize about Bond's mental state as a whole and the psychology of the way he often latches somewhat desperately onto women and falls in love instantly. But if these examinations were intended by Fleming, they are never really expounded upon in the book, and it would have been irritating if they were. Eventually it is decided that the best way to snap Bond out of his deep blue funk is to saddle him with an impossible, but not entirely dangerous, assignment. This turns out to be negotiating a secret services treaty with the Japanese, headed by a gruff and stubborn character named Tiger Tanaka. Bond bellyaches a little bit about the nature of his assignment, but once he arrives in Japan, he does indeed shake off much of his depression as he throws himself headlong into the difficult task of dealing with the Japanese -- and Japanese secret agents, at that. Luckily, Tanaka is exactly the kind of man Bond always develops man crushes on, a boisterous, good-natured bear of a man with a warm, dry handshake (essential if you want Bond to like you) and an appetite for the finer things in life. Bond discovers that Tanaka is willing to agree to England's proposed cooperation treaty if Bond does Japan a favor -- and it is here that the nature of Bond's mission in Japan is altered drastically. It seems that a Westerner has taken up residence in a giant castle in the south of Japan and there cultivated a garden comprised entirely of deadly poisonous plants and animals. This garden has, in turn, become a popular spot for Japanese looking to kill themselves, suicide being one of Japan's national pastimes. Tanaka himself can't move against the man, who has technically committed no crime even if the secret service suspects him of far more nefarious schemes, but perhaps an outsider could have a look around and see what might be done about this mysterious and eccentric doctor of death. Bond agrees and soon finds himself in "how to be Japanese classes," including ninjitsu training, so that he might work undercover from his new base in a small fishing community, where his assistant in matters will be one female agent, Kissy Suzuki. As hardly needs mentioning, Bond will eventually discover the true identity of this mysterious doctor to be of keen personal interest. Once again, it's another fairly massive coincidence, unless of course, you operate under the assumption I do that M knows far more when he sends Bond on these adventures than he admits to knowing. Although the events of the previous book cast a palpable gloom over You Only Live Twice, this story itself is largely another one of Bond's breezy sightseeing tours along with another cool guy. They cruise around, get massages, drink sake, and spend the entire middle section of the book sort of wandering around Japan so that Fleming can deliver various travelogue passages. Fine by me, really, as these aspects of the books have always been among my favorites. Once Blofeld reemerges on the scene, things obviously get more serious, resulting in You Only Live Twice being a curious but very effective blend of lighthearted adventures like Diamonds are Forever with the dark, emotional seriousness of On Her Majesty's Secret Service. With You Only Live Twice, Fleming delivers a complex story, well rendered and expertly paced, if not a bit far-fetched in certain aspects. It has the speed and adventure of the best action-oriented Bond stories -- Doctor No and Thunderball, for example -- but is a decidedly denser, more complicated work, showing that Fleming really had improved tremendously at his chosen vocation. If there is any weak spot in the book, it comes int he final pages, which while ending on another spectacular cliffhanger, also resort to one of the hoariest cliches imaginable. Still, that's small complaint when surrounded by such a fantastic novel as this, and as with On Her Majesty's Secret Service, the final page of You Only Live Twice leaves me ravenous for more. That more would come in the form of The Man With the Golden Gun, the final James Bond novel written by Ian Fleming.... Labels: Espionage, Series: James Bond posted by Keith at 5:31 PM | 2 Comments Thursday, February 21, 2008Avakoum Zahov Versus 07
Written by Andrei Gulyaski
Published by Scripts Publishing 1967 I generally lounge around in a dinner suit, seated in a candy coloured bean bag, nursing a vodka martini while watching spy films from the sixties. But today, with your indulgence, I am going to slip into a burgundy crushed velvet smoking jacket, light my pipe, pour myself a balloon of brandy and make my way to the library. I have a strange little story to tell. It’s the story of a book called Avakoum Zarhov vs 07Now after scouring the internet (and there isn’t that much information out there – most use Wikipedia), I have worked this much out. How much of this is true, is open to debate...and I am sure there are people out there who have a far greater knowledge of this project than I (if you are one of them – I’d love to hear from you). Firstly, we are talking mid sixties. Ian Fleming is dead and Kinglsey Amis hasn’t yet written his Bond continuation novel Colonel Sun. So there is a gap to fill. Apparently Bulgarian author Andrei Gulyashki approached Glidrose (the Bond book publishers) and told them that he had written a NEW James Bond novel. Glidrose weren’t interested. Gulyashki decided to publish his book anyway. Gulyashki was quite vocal in his quest to publish his Bond novel. So much so, that the press dubbed him ‘The Vulgar Bulgar’. In the Titan comic strip edition of Goldfinger, there is an article by Vladislav Pavlov entitled Behind Enemy Lines: The Russian Perspective. This is what he briefly has to say about Avakoum Zarhov vs 07. '...Bulgarian writer Andrei Gulyashki (known for his series about the Bulgarian secret agent Avakoum Zakhov) announced his intention to write a novel in which his hero would be fighting the notorious 007. (Behind the Iron Curtain, the notion of copyright was always been a bit vague, to put it mildly). When it became known to the proprietors of the literary Bond franchise (Glidrose) they naturally banned Gulyaski from using either the number 007 or the name James Bond. As a result, the name of the villain disappeared and the number 007 was shortened to 07, the British agent acting in Bulgaria under the control of the NATO intelligence division. In his book Gulyashki did all he could to defame the character, picturing him as mean and stupid, substituting, in a way, the role of 07 for the Russian SMERSH leaders described by Fleming in From Russia With Love. There was, however, one notable exception: whilst Fleming, describing the villains in such a grotesque way, was only pulling the reader's leg, Gulyashki's villain, created for the benefit of Soviet propaganda, looks infinitely dull and serious. The book has been rumoured to have been published in English, and is even considered a kind of Holy Grail amongst some Bond collectors for it's extreme rarity. However, few people realise that the carpenter's cup can't be made of gold.' The rumours that Pavlov mentioned are true. Avakoum Zarhov vs 07 was published in English, but only in Australia by a company called Scripts. Firstly as you would have gathered from the information above, this is not an official James Bond novel, but still it's a Bond story and one that not many people will have a chance to read about, so I will be fairly detailed in my description. Without further ado, here is a review of the Holy Grail of Bond books - the one, the only, the infamous Avakoum Zarhov vs 07. ![]() FROM THE INSIDE COVER: 07 had been given his assignment. He must kidnap a Soviet scientist who had just perfected the deadliest laser yet devised... A thrilling adventure of intrigue and fast paced action unfolds as Avakoum Zahov pursues the wily western spy through Bulgaria to Paris, then Tangiers and finally confronts him in the ice-locked vastness of the Antarctic... “Zahov was slipping over the edge of the bottomless crevasse. 07 towered above him. Zahov tried to hold on but he couldn’t. His feet dangled into emptiness. 07 aimed a kick at his face.” The novel opens in London. 07 has just returned from a mission in the Philippines and is now meeting The Chief (‘M’ is referred to as ‘The Chief’ of Department A) in an exclusive club on St. James Street. 07 isn’t given another mission, but told he has seven months to learn how to speak Russian like a native Muscovite. Seven months later, 07 speaks fluent Russian and is called into another meeting with The Chief. Again he is not given a mission. Well, not officially anyway. In fact he is sent on leave. Paid leave. But all is not as it seems, because an officer from NATO is to call on 07 tomorrow. He will make a proposition which 07 can either choose to accept or reject. The next day a NATO officer named Richard visits 07’s apartment. It seems the Soviets are in the process of inventing a new weapon. “Some kind of H-bomb?” “I wish it were as simple as that. No, in comparison to this new weapon, the H-bomb will be about as effective as one of those slings in the Bible they used to put bumps on the heads of the chosen of Israel! No, this is a highly developed laser beam which can disable electro-magnetic waves. Have you any idea what this means?” I must confess that I don’t know what it means, but it sounds nasty. 07 thinks so too, and chooses to go ahead with the ‘unofficial’ mission. 07 moves onto Istanbul for the next section of the story. He meets a contact who provides a new passport and makes preparations to send 07 on his way to Bulgaria. The Soviets in this part of the world are not fools though and have a whole surveillance system dedicated to tracking 07’s whereabouts. Avakoum Zahov enters the picture. His passion is archaeology and he is described as a ‘hunter of spies; and ancient monuments buried in the earth.’ But his mission is not to watch Agent 07. He is assigned to protect Professor Konstantin Troffimov. Troffimov is to attend a symposium on Quantum Electronics in Varna. He made world headlines when ‘he discovered a laser ray which could not be refracted by any mirror surface and which could penetrate all matter and totally paralyse all kinds of eletro magnetic waves...’ The arrangement is that Professor Stanilov, one of Bulgaria’s top scientist, will play host to Troffimov at a small villa set beside the sea. Zahov arranges security at the villa, hand selecting a team of men to keep watch twenty four hours a day. Meanwhile, another Department B officer, Colonel Vassilev is assigned to watch 07’s movement. The Soviets know he is in the area, and that he is posing as a Swiss reporter, named Rene Lefevre. Making preparation for Troffimov’s arrival at the villa, Zahov does his rounds, then heads to the beach side to check that out too. As he stares out to sea, he sees 07 swimming past. Elsewhare in Varna Professor Troffimov flies in from Moscow on a special military aircraft, and then is transported to the small villa. Zahov has agents everywhere to protect the Professor. There are two gardeners, and a valet who have been specifically chosen to protect Troffimov, as well as the usual detail of security staff. Over the next few days, Troffimov attends the symposium. Everybody is expecting 07 to make a move to kidnap the Professor, but he has other things on his mind. It appears that Gulyashki thinks that Fleming's Bond is a lecherous swine. So he paints 07 in such a light. "...when the chambermaid came in to pour some fresh water into the vase, he put his arm round the girl's waist and drew her to him. The girl did not seem particularly surprised, she only went on holding the pitcher. Then his hand slipped down the curve of her knee, lingering a second or two on the cool skin before travelling upwards. Who said that marble was the smoothest thing under the sun? This piece of living marble had muscles and his hand felt them go rigid, then wake with life. So this white-aproned girl had the hips of a sportswoman! Lying on the chaise-lounge, he could not see her face, but that didn't matter. He drew her closer to him. The cluster of amber grapes hanging so near him made him giddy. Then the empty ice-cold pitcher struck him on the chest. He was aware of the sensation because his chest was bare and his skin hot with the sun. Ice! The girl pulled herself away and burst out of the room." For those who didn't 'get it', the 'cluster of amber grapes' that Gulyashki describes are in fact the girls breasts. He really makes 07 seem like a smutty schoolboy. Anyway back to the plot. Colonel Vassilev's men are watching 07 closely. For the last few days during the symposium, 07 and a female companion spend time on a boat out to sea. Each day they row out, and frolic about. Sometimes 07 fishes, sometimes the couple just hold each other. Or so it seems. In fact it isn't always 07. He has an inflatable version of himself made up. He inflates it on the boat, dresses it in his clothes, and has his female accomplice hold the effigy in a loving embrace. Meanwhile he slips over the side of the boat in a wetsuit and sets in motion his kidnap operation. After the last day of the symposium, 07 succeeds in kidnapping Professor Troffimov and his secretary, Natalia Nikolaevna. His infiltration of the small villa seems to be quite brutal. He kills one of the gardeners and a garage attendant, and severely injures the valet. Once again, Gulyashki's interpretation of the Bond character is quite different to what we are used to. Sure we know that Bond has a License To Kill and we have read about (or seen on the cinema screen) Bond killing people. But generally, everybody that Bond kills is trying to kill him. But in Gulyashki's novel 07's incursion isn't described (well not initially anyway - see below). Instead we see it through the eyes of Avakoum Zahov who arrives late on the scene. We see the brutal legacy that 07 has brought to bare on the staff of the villa. It's an interesting observation by Gulyaski. and one that has been lampooned in films like Austin Powers or even in a episode of The Simpsons (You Only Move Twice). 07's victims are not faceless or nameless henchmen, whose lives have no value. They are people who are just doing their job, and at the end of the day, go home to their family. 07 is portrayed as a real villain. To escape the villa with his prisoners, 07 has Professor Stanilov drive out the front gate, with 07, Troffimov, and Nikolaevna hidden under a blanket in the back. How the sentries missed that one, I'll never know. At gunpoint Stanilov drive's them out of the city. Then three hours later, Stanilov's body is found lying beside a road (another example of Bond's brutality). Avakoum Zahov sets up a command centre at his apartment. All roads, the airport and sea ports are closed off. Later Zahov's superiors gather to hear a report on the kidnapping. Zahov, with almost Holmseian powers of deduction has pieced together 07's movements. He recounts how 07 abducted the Professor: "He stealthily climbed up the staircase. On the topmost landing he shot the other guard. The guard groaned as he rolled down the steps, his arms flung out, his face down. Dazed with sleep, the 'valet' had jumped up to open the door, but 07 was already on the threshold, striking the man's jaw with gun, and the 'valet' sunk to the floor. The 'valet' was put out of the way and now the second round began. The Englishman stole out through the living room onto the veranda. The windows of both bedrooms were open. He drew the curtain aside, slipping into the first bedroom. 07 could tell by the breathing that it was occupied by the professor. He brought the cottonwool padding close to the sleeping man's nose. One second, two, three. 07 was patient. The breathing became irregular and lower, it was hardly audible. Then he took the syringe out of his pocket, and gripping the professor's arm at the elbow, plunged the needle into the muscles. "It was an expert job because he had had a lot of practice at this. Now the professor would be fast asleep for many hours, perhaps for many days and nights. "He did the same in the other bedroom. Natalia Nikolaevna also went into a death-like sleep. "07 was thorough. After the job was finished, he left nothing behind, putting everything back in his pockets, even the vials. "Then, one after the other, he took both Konstantin Troffimov and Natalia Nikolaevna into Stanilov's car. His muscles were well trained and carrying them, 60 to 65 kilograms each, was a mere detail. He went back for their luggage, leaving nothing behind. He placed the two drugged persons on the back seat, covering them with a sheet he had snatched off Natalia Nikolaevna's bed. "That done, he tiptoed into Stanilov's room and roughly kicked him out of bed. Two slaps across the face brought him back to consciousness. They fought like two tigers. Why, we don't know. But the thieves had fallen out. Perhap's Stanilov was beginning to crack and 07 was ensuring that his tracks were completely covered. Anyway, in his jacket and trousers, with no shoes on his feet, Stanilov sat behind the wheel of the Citroen – that was the final act. maybe he felt the barrel of a gun at his back?" After the kidnapping and killing Stanilov, 07 leaves Varna in a boat and sails to a pre-designated spot, where he is met by a freighter. 07, the Professor and his secretary are taken on board, and move on towards their next destination. Of course it can't be left like that. Avakoum Zarhov must rescue Professor, and regain the ray. After a bit of investigation; scouring radio signals and breaking codes etc. the Soviets believe they have 07 located on a freighter in the Mediterranean. Unfortunately they do not know where he intends to make port. But the case must progress, so Zahov flies briefly to Paris. From intercepted radio signals, next he learns that one of the likely locations where 07 will put to port is Tangier. And furthermore, he is to be met by a man codenamed 'Hans'. Zahov flies to Morrocco, and pretending to be a French Interpol Agent, makes his way to the German Embassy. There he enquires about German citizens who have arrived in Tangier over the last week. There had been five men, but four had moved on to other parts of the world. Only one had stayed. His name is Professor Paul Schellenberg. Zahov guesses that this is 'Hans'. Schellenberg is a very paranoid man. He believes that people are trying to kill him. Maybe they are? He was a scientist during the War and now he is a wanted War Criminal, for work he carried out at Auschwitz. Zahov has an interesting method for meeting Schellenberg. He arranges for a local taxi driver to attempt to side-swipe Schellenberg as he crosses the street. Zahov's plan is, at the last moment, to snatch him back from the 'jaws of death'. Zahov's plan goes like clockwork. He save's Schellenberg's life and in return is invited for a drink. At a bar in a back alley, Schellenberg tells Zahov that he knows who he is. Schellenberg believes that Zahov is a body guard who has been sent to protect him (It is never really mentioned who Schellenberg believes would send a body guard, but it is heavily intimated that it is NATO). Zahov assumes the role, that Schellenberg has assigned to him. As a 'protective measure', Zahov suggests that Schellenberg sleeps at his hotel that evening, and he will sleep at Schellenberg's. This gives Zahov time to go through Schellenberg's belongings, then find and doctor his passport to suit himself. The next day, after drugging Schellenberg, Zahov learns the details of Schellenberg's rendezvous and impersonates him at the meeting. Zahov is taken to be Schellenberg, and is brought on board a ship docked at the harbour. I must admit that I found this middle section of the book to be the best. As 07 is virtually absent, and the story concentrates on Avakoum Zahov's investigation and manipulation of Schellenberg, rather than maligning the James Bond character, the story becomes a simple but entertaining spy adventure. This is the way it should be – but alas, there's still a third on the novel to come, and 07 is back in Gulyashki's sights. Indeed Zahov's hunch is right, and he ends up on the ship as it sets sail for whereabouts unknown with 07, Troffimov and Natalia Nikolaevna. But strangely, Troffimov and Nikolaevna do not truly realise that they have been kidnapped. You see, the ship has a high-tech radio device on board. When somebody sends out a message, it can come back to a smaller hidden radio device, also on the boat. This 'secret' radio can then return a message, pretending to be another radio contact. I know that's hard to make sense of, but here's how it worked. When Troffimov and Nikolaevna first awoke on the ship, they believed they had been kidnapped. 07 convinces them otherwise by allowing them to contact Moscow on the radio. They send their message but it doesn't really go to Moscow. It circles around to the small radio, where it is decoded. Now, pretending to be Moscow, the small radio then sends back a message saying that all is well and 07 can be trusted. During the ocean voyage, there is a strange passage where Zahov writes the events of the day (in invisible ink, no less) into his diary. And instead of reading the story, we are now reading Zahov's diary. This results in the story switching from being told in third person to first person. Later Zahov uses the hidden radio to trick 07. 07 is supposed to order the ship to sail to Capetown, but Zahov sneaks into the hidden radio room, and pretends to be passing on new orders from NATO. He has 07 order the ship to the Antarctic. Gulyashki continues to present 07 as stupid and cruel. Obviously he is stupid for falling for the radio ruse, a ploy that he in fact instigated. 07 is also presented as a cruel brute when he has his valet tortured (cigarettes stubbed out on his neck), and then hung from the mast for eveybody to see. As the ship moves further south, it gets caught in the ice and eventually the hull is pierced. The ship sinks, but not before 07 has dragged Troffimov and Nikolaevna onto the ice pack. Naturally Zahov also escapes from the ship, just before it disappears beneath the sea. On the ice, the weather is deadly. Somehow, Zahov manages to find 07 and the others, and he uses his skills to save them (even 07). He builds an igloo, and kills a seal for food and heat. But before the ship sank, 07 had radioed for an Icebreaker to meet them. Equally Zahov had radioed for an aeroplane to meet them. With rescue from both sides, 07 and Zahov face off to take control. This results in a wrestling match on the ice. Some other reviews suggest that Zahov doesn't kill 07 in the end. I beg to differ. Zahov forces 07 over the edge of a hundred foot crevasse. I guess Gulyashki doesn't describe 07's death, and there is a miniscule chance that he survives, but really, the intention is to KILL 07. The Soviet plane reaches Zahov, Troffimov and Nikolaevna first. They climb on board and fly to safety. World peace is restored. FROM THE BACK COVER Avakoum Zahov His name was whispered with dread in the spy centres of the West. Zahov? Who was he? The daring exploits of Agent 07 are well known to readers in the Western countries. BUT WHO KNOWS THE OTHER SIDE OF THE STORY? How do the Communists view the renowned British agent and his anti-espionage adventures? We find out in this exciting story by Bulgaria's bestselling author, Andrei Gulyashki, the creator of Avakoum Zahov, top agent for Department B, a gentle, perceptive, educated man of good taste and great charm who has a passion for archaeology and Mozart and who sees 07 as a sinister threat to world security. In the final struggle between the world's greatest Secret Agents-one must lose. And the loser must pay the penalty for defeat! AVAKOUM ZAHOV – BULGARIA'S TOP AGENT MATCHES WITS WITH HIS WESTERN COUNTERPART – THE INFAMOUS 07. ANDREI GULYASHKI was born in Bulgarska Rakovitsa village, district of Koula, in 1914. He participated actively in the resistance movement. Took up writing in 1931. He worked as editor for the newspapers "Rabotnichesko Delo" and "Otechestven Front," the magazines "Septemvri" and "Plamuk" and is Director of the National Theatre in Sofia at present. Twice awarded Dimitrov Prize, the highest honor for works of literature and science in his country. The writing in Avakoum Zarhov Versus 07 is very clunky and sometimes I had to read a paragraph again to work out it’s meaning. I am sure that this is due primarily to the translation from the original Slavic language. Some translations appear to be quite literal. Mr. Gulyashki could not possibly be such a poor writer. In some sentences it even appears that words have been omitted. Hardly the worst transgression, but to give you an idea, here’s a passage from the book. “The man in the white overalls ordered from the dais and now his voice was unusually excited...” Now I am hardly an expert on language, but surely replacing ‘ordered’ with ‘shouted his orders’ or even ‘commanded’ would read much more smoothly. Avakoum Zarhov Versus 07 also features a lot of purple prose. A few highlights from the first few pages include: ‘The black asphalt flowed furiously against him, ...” ‘...the rye moved like a swishing sea of gold.’ ‘...along the yellow flagstones glittering like a golden river...’ ‘Fresh and alive with green leaves, the morning sun streamed into his room...’ I have nothing against good descriptive writing. But in this novel almost every page is littered with clumsy coloured descriptions. Maybe they’d be okay if they flowed with the story, but they are really incongruous. This criticism may be due to the translation, and then again it may be a case of trying too hard to be swinging ‘sixties’. The kaleidoscope of colours is off the chart. So there it is. Avakoum Zarhov Versus 07 may be one of the rarest books in the Bond canon, but it certainly isn't one of the best. Apart from the clumsiness of the writing, the book is as Vladislav Pavlov stated above, a Soviet propaganda piece. The Bond character is not presented in a positive light. He is a brutish, sleazy thug, without an ounce of style or class. The book is a curio at best. For Bond fans I can understand the curiosity and the fascination with it; hey, I am right there with you. But hopefully this review will have dispelled some of the myths surrounding the book. It isn't that good. ![]() Labels: Espionage, Series: James Bond posted by David at 3:10 AM | 6 Comments Sunday, February 17, 2008James Bond: Sewell Versus Ogilvy
For You Eyes Only
Penguin Books 2002 Live And Let Die Listen For Pleasure / Music For Pleasure 1984 Here’s a quick observation, rather than a full blown review. As I spend most of my working day in front of a computer, quite often at the end of the day, my eyes are pretty shot. Sometimes I cannot even watch television or read a book. My eyes simply need time to rest. Usually I just turned down the lights and put on a CD. But recently I have discovered audio books. At first, I was pretty reticent about purchasing an audio book. To me it seemed like a product aimed at old people that could no longer focus. But I relented and picked up the Penguin edition of For Your Eyes Only, read by Rufus Sewell.I wont go into a review of the story, Keith has already tackled that. For those that want a refresher Click here. Needless to say, I quite enjoyed revisiting the Bond stories, albeit in a different way. I enjoyed it enough to think about obtaining a few more Bond titles. But rather than buying them from a bookshop, I though I’d check what was on ebay. A local vendor was selling three audio books from the early 1980’s, read by Ian Ogilvy. Now this may be a stupid thing to say, because it had never occurred to me. I never thought that audiobooks would get updated like a paperback. Just as there are reprints of your favourite books, there are re-recordings of your favourite books in audio format. Naturally I put in my bid on ebay and won. A week later my new acquisitions arrived. The first book I tackled was Live And Let Die (which happens to be my favourite Bond Story). Once again, for those who want a refresher, click here for Keith’s review. No offence to Mr. Sewell, after all, I had quite enjoyed his rendition of For Your Eyes Only, but compared to Ian Ogilvy, he’s a crap story teller. I was stunned at the difference. Ogilvy has a rich powerful baritone voice. His reading has a power that was missing in Sewell’s reading. Ogilvy excels at the men’s voices, and American accents. Whereas Sewell, is quite good at European accents and the female characters.Taking that a step further, your enjoyment of an audiobook can be improved or diminished by the reader. If you were to go to Amazon and enter a search for James Bond Audiobooks, quite a list comes back. An equally large selection of readers is available to choose from to. Therein lies the dilemma. Who do you pick? Do you find one reader and stick with that guy (or gal as in the case with The Spy Who Loved Me)? Or do you spread yourself around and sample as many readers and voices as possible? I must admit, I don't have the answers...but it is food for thought, next time you are in your favourite bookstore and you spy an old classic as an Audiobook. Labels: Espionage, Series: James Bond posted by David at 11:57 PM | 2 Comments Sunday, February 10, 2008Ratcatcher
James McGee, Harper Collins (2006)
You don’t send a gentleman to catch vermin. You send Hawkwood.Ratcatcher while being quite enjoyable is a ‘Goldfinger’ book. Have you ever watched Goldfinger? Have you noticed that James Bond doesn’t really do anything. He falls into nearly every trap, and in the end, one of the other characters (Pussy Galore) saves the day. Okay, Bond was the catalyst for Pussy’s change of allegiances, but really Bond didn’t do to much. That brings us to Ratcatcher by James McGee. Ratcatcher is a historical adventure novel set in London, during the early 1800’s. The hero of the story is a Bow Street Runner (an early policeman) called Matthew Hawkwood. Hawkwood appears to be almost an extension of Bernard Cromwell’s Sharpe character (I am sure many of you have read some of the Sharpe novels, or at least seen some of the tele-movies starring Sean Bean as Sharpe). Hawkwood’s history appears to be almost identical to the Sharpe stories – previously he was a military man – a good ‘thinking’ officer, but he is ordered to do something stupid by a superior officer who is a buffoon that comes from a life of wealth and privilege. This causes conflict and Hawkwood is dishonourably discharged. If you can imagine if Sharpe became a Bow Street Runner, then you’ve got Hawkwood. The story starts with the highway robbery and murder of a naval courier. Hawkwood is assigned to find out why, and retrieve the missing papers. As this is a historical novel, this leads him to all the extremes of this era. He gets to attend a Grand Ball, meet a gorgeous lady named Catherine de Varesne, and shag her. Unfortunately his encounter with de Varesne also gets him into a pistol duel with the son of a wealthy Lord. The story also sends him into seedy dens packed with cut-throats. One of these cut-throats happens to be Nathaniel Jago, who previously was a soldier under Hawkwood’s command. Even though, now they are on opposite sides of the law they team up to sort out the puzzle. Towards the end the story moves into ‘Tin Tin’ or ‘Biggles’ territory. Not that that is a bad thing. This is where the story picks up pace and becomes solid entertainment. Following the clues, Hawkwood and Jago discover a plot by the dastardly French to kill the Prince Of Wales. This involves a new invention (or secret weapon, if you prefer) called a submarine. Earlier I mentioned that Ratcatcher was a ‘Goldfinger’ book. That’s because Hawkwood falls into more traps than he sets. Sure, it’s his intervention that stops the evil plan succeeding, but really he doesn’t do as much as I had hoped at the outset. I wanted a bit more swashbuckling. The pistol duel was a good sequence, but it needed more. But despite my little digs or grievances with the story, and the character, Ratcatcher was never meant to be a piece of high art. It is meant to be fun, and on that level it really succeeds. It is very enjoyable, and I for one, am looking forwards to Matthew Hawkwoods next adventure. Ratcatcher is the first in a series of books featuring Matthew Hawkwood. The second, The Resurrectionists is available now, and Rapscallion should be available in June 2008. ![]() Labels: Espionage, Series: Matthew Hawkwood posted by David at 7:39 PM | 0 Comments Peepshow
Leigh Redhead, Unwin & Allen (2004)
For this review, I am going to look at a bit of local fiction. When I was younger (so much younger than today), I used to live in Richmond, which is a inner-city suburb of Melbourne. Richmond is also the home of the M.C.G. or Melbourne Cricket Ground, if you prefer. The M.C.G. is a massive sporting arena, which holds approximately ninety thousand people, and plays host to the cricket, AFL (our national game), Soccer, Rugby and the odd Rock Concert. Across the road from the M.C.G. is The Royal Hotel. ‘The Royal’ is a grubby little hotel that regularly has topless bar-maids and strippers. After all, is there anything more appealing to a drunken male sports fan after a game, than naked women dancing and serving drinks? Me thinks not. As I lived so close to The Royal, I may have accidentally dropped by there on a few occasions. On these very, very rare occasions I may have accidentally watched the odd strip show. Don’t hold it against me. I am only human.That brings me to Peepshow by Leigh Rehead. Before becoming a novelist, Redhead worked on a prawn trawler, worked as a masseuse, a waitress and as a stripper. Drawing on her past, Redhead has invented a character called Simone Kirsch, who is a full time stripper and a part time Private Eye. Kirsch’s stomping ground happens to be Melbourne, and naturally she puts in a performance at The Royal. I must admit, I find it somewhat strange reading about places and environments I know, but as fiction. Particularly in such a seedy milieu, such as detective fiction. It makes me feel naïve about what was going on around me, because I didn’t see it. I know I am blurring the line between fact and fiction, but when your home town is displayed it is easier to get suckered in to the author’s universe. I wonder if in years gone by, if Hollywood based readers of Raymond Chandler’s Philip Marlowe novels felt the same way? Also Redhead’s use of surroundings that are familiar to me, like the Duke Of Windsor Hotel in Prahran (another old haunt) make it hard for me to be truly objective when reviewing this book. Many of my reactions to certain scenes are based on my own personal experiences, rather than what’s on the printed page. Having mentioned Chandler, it is worth continuing the comparison. The book is written in the Chandler style, but far from that high standard. Describing the plot in a labyrinthine story like this, is all but pointless, but all the usual suspects are here, from crooked cops, sleazy club owners and an assortment of underworld figures. But the book is pretty clunky at times, and does drag out the resolution a bit too much. At the end of the day, I really enjoyed this book, but I guess, I am it’s audience. Those unfamiliar may not enjoy the chuckle (if I remember a venue fondly), or cringe (for not so pleasant memories) factor that I do. Outsiders may look at the story on it’s merits. And on that level, it may disappoint. Peepshow was successful enough that a couple of follow up novels featuring Simone Kirsch was written. The first was called Rubdown. I haven’t gotten around to reading it yet, but as you’d expect, I have thumbed through it. At a quick glance, it would appear that the venues mentioned are no longer real venues, but fictitious pubs and clubs. If that’s the case it is a shame, but not surprising that the ‘owners’ of certain establishments should or would feel a bit edgy that their venue is being displayed in a unflattering light. The new book is called Cherry Pie. I haven’t seen it in the shops yet, but there is some information on her website: Cherry Pie. ![]() Labels: Series: Simone Kirsch posted by David at 3:53 AM | 0 Comments Friday, February 08, 2008You'll Never Take Me Alive
The Life And Death Of Bushranger Ben Hall (2005)
Author: Nick Bleszynski 'I might as well have the game as the blame'. As a bright eyed youngster, all of nine years old, I remember at school, every Thursday afternoon we'd listen to the ABC radio's musical school program. Every week they'd teach kids from all over the country a new song. Most of the song's were sugary confections. One that sticks in my head to this day is The Streets Of Forbes. Maybe it was the violence in the song, or purely the mystique of a Bushranger, but since then I have had a fascination with Ben Hall (and all Bushrangers really). So I was pretty happy when I came across 'You'll Never Take Me Alive' by Nick Bleszynski. And I have to say it is one of the best books I have read recently. It is fact based fictionalised account (I think they call that 'faction' these days) of the life of legendary Bushranger Ben Hall. Who was Ben Hall? He was a notorious bushranger, who operated in North West - New South Wales from 1862 to 1865. He was responsible for one of the biggest robberies of the time, the Eurowra gold escort, collected him (and his gang) a tidy $14,000 in gold. As with all Bushrangers, his reign of terror was brought to an end with a shootout with police. He was found riddled with 36 bullets in his body. These days, Hall is overshadowed by the legend of Ned Kelly, but his story is well worth telling and equally compelling. The book is a rollicking read from it's poetic opening till the historical notes at the back. One of my favourite passages from the book takes place after Hall has become an outlaw, and the troopers are trying to track him down and bring him to justice. One after another, the troopers continually arrest innocent men, believing that they are Hall. Then it occurs to Hall, that the troopers don't really know what he looks like. So he gets on his horse and rides into the township of Forbes. He goes to the local gentlemen's outfitter, and at gunpoint acquires the best suit that they have. Now dressed to the nines, he makes his way to the local photographer. Once again at gunpoint, he has the photographer take a portrait shot. Hall then arranges for prints to be sent to all the police stations and posts in the area. Hall was pretty brash and arrogant, but was he an outlaw? Well, yes. But with all stories like this, there are circumstances that drove him to a life of crime. I couldn't put this book down. Highly recommended. ![]() Labels: Espionage posted by David at 3:53 PM | 0 Comments Portrait Of A Killer: Jack The Ripper – Case Closed
By Patricia Cornwell, Little Brown Books (2002)
Here's a quick one. Those of you who have read quite a few of my film reviews will know that I am pretty squeamish. I am not a big fan of serial killer or ‘stalk and slash’ films. I know a lot of people love this kind of stuff because they enjoyed being scared. I, on the other hand tend to watch films as an escape. There are enough examples of the nastier side of human nature in the world without having it served up to me as entertainment. Therefore, it would seem strange that I should pick up a copy of Patricia Cornwell’s Portrait Of A Killer. This book is not fiction like her series of Kay Scarpetta novels (not that I have read any). This is an investigation into the crimes of Jack The Ripper.Cornwell uses modern forensic techniques, such as examining the DNA from letters sent by 'Jack' to Sctotland Yard, to ascertain the identity of ‘The Ripper’. Her belief is that artist Walter Sickert was The Ripper, and I must admit that she presents a very convincing argument. I found the book completely engrossing, from the first page to the last. At the same time, I also found the graphic descriptions of The Ripper’s crimes quite unsettling, particularly when Cornwell alludes to a theory that the Ripper’s reign of terror didn’t end with the seven women in Whitechapel. The book insinuates that he went on to murdering children. But in a book of this kind, it is silly for me to complain. Of course it’s shocking and unsettling – he wasn’t called ‘Jack The Ripper’ for nothing. If you’re interested in the Jack The Ripper case, then this book is essential reading. But whether Patricia Cornwell has closed the book on the 120 year old question, ‘who was jack The Ripper?’, well that’s open for debate? ![]() Labels: True Crime posted by David at 3:30 PM | 1 Comments Thursday, January 24, 2008River of Doubt
After failing to get the Republican nomination, then losing worse than he thought he would as a third party candidate, Teddy Roosevelt sought to drown his self-doubt and depression by undertaking a rigorous adventure tour of South America. Originally planned as sort of a roughing it eco-tour, Roosevelt soon altered his plans and set off to explore an uncharted river in the heart of the Amazon, surrounded by some of the roughest and most dangerous territory in the world. The book tells the story of his doomed expedition and works as a fine manual for how not to mount a successful jungle adventure. From the get-go, Roosevelt exercises uncharacteristic poor judgment, allowing men who talked the talk but had never walked the walk to be in charge of crucial elements of the planning and provisioning. Hilarity ensues, provided you consider malaria, Indian attacks, death, starvation, and typhoid to be hilarious.
About half way through the book now, and it's pretty compelling stuff. Teddy has always been my favorite president, and even if the river expedition is a parade of horrors and poor planning, it makes one long for the days when a US president would do such a thing. The media freaks out at the physical fitness of GW because he rides a bike down a gravel road. Labels: Adventure and Travel posted by Keith at 1:02 PM | 0 Comments Under a Lucky Star: A Lifetime of Adventure
Read Under a Lucky Star: A Lifetime of Adventure by Roy Chapman Andrews while on vacation. This is the expedition leader/director of the Museum of Natural History and Science that Spielberg and Lucas based Indiana Jones on. The book, to keep things short, is unbelievably inspiring, thrilling, and poignant, tracing Andrews' life as he rises throw the ranks at the museum to become one of the great explorers and natural historians of the early 20th century, eventually becoming director of the Museum, then witnessing the death of the golden age of museums and explorations as the Depression and dwindling public interest slowly forces the museum to transform into something considerably less elegant and romantic.
The book is written in a very chatty, friendly style, and one feels that one is sitting up in a wood-paneled study lined with old books and maps, sipping cognac while an old friend tells the most amazing stories of exploring Mongolia, living in Japan at the turn of the 20th century, exploring China, collecting specimens from Borneo to the Arctic. One of course has to adjust to the 1901 version of conservation work, which was to sail out and blow the unholy crap out of things so you could bring them back to the museum, but once one does, it's all pretty exciting. And the poignancy comes very subtlely, as Andrews bears witness to the transformation of the world -- sometimes for better, sometimes for worse, but always in a way that dispels the air of the romantic. In particular, his emotional bond with Japan is harrowing, falling in love with the country, returning during the earthquake to find many of his old friends dead or missing, then watching the country devolve into the power-mad, cruel empire that would invade China and commit unspeakable atrocities. Similarly, Andrews' first love is China, where he lives immediately after the deposing of the Manchu emperor, and he finds himself in the middle of the country's tumultuous years as a struggling republic dominated by warlords and paranoia. I am, of course, a romantic at heart, in the grand sense of the tradition, and while I treasure many of the advances we've made, both scientifically and socially, a feller like me can't help but pine somewhat for the days when the world was still vast and mysterious, and guys interested in collecting dinosaur eggs would shoot it out with Chinese bandits on the steppes of Mongolia. I read the entire book in two days, then reread it on the plane ride home. And then I vowed that my life should be something more than it has become. On top of all that, my next trip tot he Museum of Natural History (I'm a member, after all) is going to be insufferable for those who go with me. "Oh, that skeleton? Yes, they got that during blah blah blah..." Labels: Adventure and Travel posted by Keith at 1:00 PM | 0 Comments Monday, May 07, 2007On Her Majesty's Secret Service
By Ian Fleming. Copyright 2002 (Reprint), Penguin Publishing.
With Bond, and especially after a critical and fan misfire like The Spy Who Loved Me, Fleming had to find a way to return to the formula, fulfill all the basic expectations of the Bond checklist, but still make it different enough that people wouldn't criticize him of rehashing the same old ingredients and calling it something new. The result of Fleming's artistic struggle with his character is On Her Majesty's Secret Service, pegged by many as the apex of the series and one of the greatest adventure thrillers of all time. I'm not one to argue. On Her Majesty's Secret Service is a fabulous story, fully realizing the potential of Bond and the Bond universe in a way that Fleming had never quite achieved before, even in the best of the Bond stories before. Fleming manages to turn over-familiarity with the Bond formula into a way to hone it to perfection, and he throws just enough of a twist in to shock and enthrall readers without alienating them the way he had with the previous novel, which was placed too far outside the scope of the established Bond universe to ever feel like anything more than a poorly written lark. On Her Majesty's Secret Service operates well within the confines of the Bond universe, but it does so in a way that mines that universe for every ounce of unrealized potential, and Fleming populates the book with a strong cast of supporting characters while still managing to keep Bond at the center of attention (as opposed to books like From Russia With Love, where Bond is little more than a sightseer along for the ride while interesting supporting characters become the focus of the book). On Her Majesty's Secret Service begins on a melancholy note, as we find Bond once again at the Casino Royale, somewhat haunted by memories of Vesper Lynd and the events that transformed him into the man we know as James Bond. When he stumbles upon a suicidal woman on the beach, it would seem that Bond's luck with women at this particular location has run out. He manages to prevent her death, but in so doing suddenly finds himself set upon by a gang of goons who shanghai Bond and the girl and take them to meet a big time Corsican gangster by the name of Draco -- who turns out to be the girl's father. Bond instantly takes to the man despite the criminal nature of Draco's business, most likely because Bond has never disliked a man with a warm, dry handshake. Draco has a proposition for Bond -- become the guardian of Tracy, Draco's troubled, out-of-control daughter. Bond suggests that maybe what she really needs is a therapist. Bond decides he could have worse times than hanging around with the gorgeous but crazy countess girlfriend of France's most powerful crime boss, but romantic development is short-circuited when Bond is called in to work a new case. Or rather, to work an old case. Blofeld, the shadowy mastermind of the nefarious plot to hold the world ransom in Thunderball, has resurfaced. Or so the Secret Service thinks. A man that might be the same Blofeld has applied to a royal genealogical society to have his family tree, and thus his counthood, verified. Bond thinks it unlikely that a villain as crafty as Blofeld would make such a move, but it turns out the allure of prestige and respect can undo even the most careful of criminal masterminds. Disguised as a representative of the genealogical society, Bond travels to Blofeld's remote Swiss chalet, where he quickly discovers that Blofeld is up to yet another horrible plot, this one somehow involving a clinic full of hot young women and the agriculture of England. Fleming strikes the perfect balance between action and romance this time around, and readers finally see the return of an admirable female lead that makes a good match for Bond. Although Fleming's series has boasted a few memorable, strongly realized female characters -- Gala Brandt and Tiffany Case, primarily -- there were certainly far more paper-thin female characters. Fleming seemed to be on the right path again with Domino in Thunderball, then derailed things completely with the horrible character of Vivienne Michel in The Spy Who Loved Me. Tracey is a return to fine female form, possessed of all the strength and fire of Tiffany and Gala, but with an added emotional depth that sets her above the rest. With much of the story hanging on Bond finally finding "The One," it was imperative that Fleming create a woman that would believable as such. He gets about 90% there, which is, I think, the best we can expect from a crusty old British guy. Romantic interludes come in between a number of action passages, written with a breathless sense of wonder and excitement that we haven't seen from Fleming in a while. Maybe it's the crisp Alpine air that seems to make everything that much more exhilarating. Bond gets to have a ski chase (they would become a staple of the Bond movie franchise after the adaptation of this novel), car chases, bobsled chases, and gets to go ice skating, among other things, before joint leading a commando raid on Blofeld's compound with Draco. The action really crackles this time around, probably because it's buoyed by a strong emotional story simmering in the background and coming to a shocking boil on the final page of the novel. Fleming has never captured this degree of emotion in any of his stories, not even in the melancholy final moments of Casino Royale. In some ways, this is Casino Royale redux, with the benefit of years of writing experience now under Fleming's belt. The Bond series maintained continuity fairly well throughout its run, but here we see something really come full circle in a way no one would have expected. Casino Royale is a young, brash, and emotional Bond who is emotionally gutted by the betrayal of a woman he was prepared to marry. In the next couple of books, we see what's left of that romantic idealist vanish. Bond muses on the idea of marrying Gala Brandt, but that doesn't work out. Ditto Tiffany Case. And by the middle of the series, Fleming doesn't even make an effort to explain the disappearance of the woman from the last book. Bond has become the hard-lovin' playboy. It's fitting that his "romantic rehabilitation' begins where it ended, at the Casino Royale. And once again, Bond has the emotional rug pulled out from under his feet, albeit in a very different fashion and with drastically different results. A well-written Bond and Tracey are key components of the success of this novel, but it wouldn't have gone anywhere without an equally strong villain. Fleming had been floundering for a decent villain for a while, relying largely on a cast of increasingly outrageous comic book villains until he struck gold with Emilio Largo, a villain with a believable yet still larger-than-life personality that made him every bit the match for Bond. It's probably no accident that the book that introduces us to Largo also introduces us to Blofeld, the controller of a terrorist network known as SPECTRE. Blofeld was little more than a shady presence in Thunderball; it's in On Her Majesty's Secret Service that he comes into his own and becomes the defining villain of the entire Bond series. He's cunning, intelligent, cautious, just a bit mad, and has one fatal flaw (his vanity and the subsequent thirst for a royal title) that Bond is able to exploit -- buy only briefly, as Blofeld is never fully convinced that bond isn't an enemy agent. Blofeld's scheme this time around -- basically a version of biological warfare -- is fairly believable and well thought-out as far as these schemes go. Although Largo will remain my favorite villain, Blofeld emerges as a strong antagonist that pushes Bond first to the limit, then sends him free-falling right over the edge. Well, Fleming had a lot to make up for, and On Her Majesty's Secret Service absolutely does the job and then some. After the dismal The Spy Who Loved Me, it would have been fair to write Fleming and Bond off as having dried up. No one could have expected that Fleming would bounce back with the best book in the series. On Her Majesty's Secret Service is a nearly perfect thriller. It is packed with intrigue, action, romance, and emotion, and does indeed manage to work within the Bond formula without being confined by it. Where as The Spy Who Loved Me might have you rolling your eyes and grunting, "Jesus, what next," On Her Majesty's Secret Service will have you gripping your seat and excitedly screaming, "Jesus! What next???" You get what I'm saying? Labels: Author: Ian Fleming, Espionage, Series: James Bond posted by Keith at 4:38 PM | 7 Comments Tuesday, January 16, 2007The Spy Who Loved Me
By Ian Fleming. Copyright 2002 (Reprint), Penguin Publishing.
But I don't hold that position, and so I fall in line with everyone else who writes this off as, "the absolute worst in the Bond series," a title it holds without any competition. Not even "The Hildbrant Rarity" can touch The Spy Who Loved Me in terms of sheer awfulness. Cataloging the sundry things wrong with this book is a bit of a chore, if for no other reason than it means one must go back and revisit so many unpleasant literary memories. I'll do my best, but you can probably rest assured that for every negative comment I make about Fleming's infamous misfire, there's several more I have neglected to make. The most obvious, of course is that Fleming chooses to write the book from the first-person viewpoint of a twenty-three year old woman. The Spy Who Loved Me was published in 1962. Fleming was, what? Fifty-five? Fifty-six? Give or take a year, but try to imagine a fifty-five year old British man -- who also happens to be Ian Fleming, with his own peculiar ideas regarding women -- trying to write in the voice of a twenty-three year old girl. It is pulled off about as successfully as you might imagine. Having her refer to recognizing the smell of cordite is just the tip of the iceberg -- how many proper British schoolgirls know what cordite is, let alone recognize the smell? I understand, as an artist and fellow writer, that Fleming must have been crawling the walls wanting to try something different. As a reader, I don't mind and even prefer another well-executed example of the tried and true Bond formula, but as a writer, Fleming must have been terribly bored with James Bond. So he wanted to take a different approach to the same material. Unfortunately, he chose one that was ridiculously outside the scope of his abilities. The result is a train wreck of a book told from the viewpoint of Vivienne Michel, on the run from her past and seemingly stranded in upstate New York at a motel besieged by a couple rough looking thugs in the middle of a dark and stormy night. The character and even the situation is not without potential, but that's assuming much of the book deals with this scenario. Instead, we're treated to exceptionally lengthy and mind-numbingly boring flashbacks that explain how Viv ended up at the motel. And these flashbacks don't include a run-in with spies or anything. The closest she comes to a fugitive lifestyle is getting busted with her boyfriend fooling around in a movie theater. Her back story is a series of seemingly endless, poorly written, totally generic teen romance encounters, and the dark past that leads her to America and upstate New York ends up being nothing more than, "I got pregnant and had to take off." Words fail me. I really don't know how to convey just how profoundly painful it is to read some eighty or so pages of Ian Fleming trying to write turgid teen romance from the viewpoint of a young woman. At some point, though, it stops being painful, and you just sort of feel sorry for Ian Fleming. He would have gotten better results if he'd just stolen the diary of an actual teenage girl and copied it verbatim. When the two goons show up to threaten Viv, it's as much a relief for us as it is a terror for her -- at least until Fleming gets going again, and you realize that he writes American toughs with all the aplomb he shows for writing twenty-something girls. Both the thugs -- Horror and Sluggsy -- were meant to be plucked straight from the pages of old American pulp stories, and while he gets it right to a degree, Fleming still can't help but end up with a couple American street hoods who sound British and come across about as tough as two members of Eric Von Zipper's motorcycle gang from those Frankie and Annette beach party movies. Viv's torment at the hands of Horror and Sluggsy goes on for another twenty pages or so, and it's most the three of them sitting around in the motel lobby swapping dull barbs. From time to time, she'll throw something at them, but as this nonsense drags on, and as you notice that you are fast running out of pages in the book, you might start to wonder where the hell James Bond is. When he does show up, we can share a sigh of relief with Viv in hopes that the story will pick up somewhat now that our man Bond is in the picture. It does to some degree, but it's a case of drastically too little way too late, culminating in a gun battle as Sluggsy and Horror try to burn down the motel. The question most people ask as they read this horrible misfire of a novel is, "What the hell was Ian Fleming thinking?" Well, apparently he was thinking that he would write a book that answered much of the criticism aimed at his previous books pertaining to the level of salaciousness and moral degeneracy they promoted on every page. So Fleming hatched the bright idea to write a book not about James Bond, but about a regular person who's life happens to intersect with James Bond's, so that the encounter may serve as a cautionary tale to romanticizing the type of man James Bond is (a point which is actually spelled in excruciating detail by one of the cops who shows up to survey the aftermath of James' night at the motel). The problems with Fleming's goal are plentiful. First, who cares about the moral watchdogs? Fleming had come this far with books full of gratuitous sex and violence? Why, all of a sudden, did he feel like he needed to demure to the critics who had been calling for his head since the first book? Second, Fleming's cautionary tales reeks with disingenuousness. At no point do you ever get the feeling that he believes in the least any of the warnings he purports to be issuing to the younger generation. He's like a pornographer who ends ninety minutes of debauchery and indulgence with a postscript saying, "But in the end they were all very unhappy and died of diseases, so don't be like them." There's not an honest sentiment in the whole book, and any way, the last person I need lessons in morality from is Ian Fleming. Fleming's personal prose style struggles with the confines into which he tries to force it, and the end result is neither fish nor fowl, and instead ends up a half-assed version of Fleming's prose mixed with a half-assed attempt to write within the limitations of a shallow twenty-three year old female character. There are moments, such as the description of menacing trees during the storm, when Fleming becomes recognizable, but those are few and far between and hardly recompense enough for the rest of the drivel we must endure. I believe The Spy Who Loved Me also contains Fleming's most infamous idiotic claim -- that all women like to be semi-raped at some point in their life -- which sounds all the more idiotic coming from the lips of a young woman. That's Fleming, guardian of the public morality. What's most frustrating about this book isn't just that it's bad, or even that it's boring (it is both of these things in great quantity, though); it's that, as with the short stories in For Your Eyes Only, there is a good idea lost amid the awful writing. The idea of examining the life of a normal person, someone to whom the readers could easily relate and whom they would easily recognize as being like them, and how that life is altered by a chance encounter with James Bond, is an intriguing one. But Fleming never delivers on that promise. Instead, we get 2/3 of a book that is tedious teen romance, and a final third that is James Bond dashing about in his jim-jams trying to shoot some guy. The professed goal of highlighting how Bond can alter a normal person's life remains almost totally unexplored -- we have no idea what becomes of Viv after that night, and she hardly seems convinced by the "lesson" she has learned. More than, "Dangerous men destroy lives," Fleming seems to be saying, "it's pretty cool." I don't like being totally negative, though, and I really don't like saying you should give something a pass. Thing is, you could skip reading The Spy Who Loved Me and suffer nary a setback to further exploration of the Bond series. In fact, considering what a huge setback The Spy Who Loved Me itself is to the series, perhaps you would be best skipping it (Fleming recovers spectacularly in time for the next book). But if, like me, you are a completist, then you are going to read it, perhaps even try to finish it, no matter how awful it is. And while I know defenders of this book are few and far between, they do exist, so perhaps you should turn to them, wherever they may be, for a second opinion. In an attempt to leave you with at least some sort of positive comment about this thoroughly unenjoyable book, I will point out the two good things in The Spy Who Loved Me, one from me, the other from my friend Ami. For me, it made me appreciate the short-stories in For Your Eyes Only a lot more. For Ami? "Well, at least James Bond saves the Vespa." Labels: Author: Ian Fleming, Espionage, Series: James Bond posted by Keith at 3:15 PM | 9 Comments Friday, December 22, 2006Thunderball
By Ian Fleming. Copyright 2002 (Reprint), Penguin Publishing.
In between the end of Goldfinger and the beginning of this book, Fleming was faced with a substantial dilemma. SMERSH, the Soviet organization of spies, counterspies, and assassins that had served Fleming so well as villains since the very first book, was dissolved by the Soviet Union. The tasks for which SMERSH had once been responsible would eventually reappear in the KGB, but at the time, that organization wasn't established enough to serve as a proper foil for James Bond. There may have been a story somewhere in fledgling KGB agents trying to prove the power of their organization by killing James Bond, but SMERSH already had the same idea, and it was called From Russia with Love. Not that Fleming was averse to recycling some plot particulars, but in this case, he decided to take a slightly different route. And so we meet SPECTRE -- The Special Executive for Counter-Intelligence, Terrorism, Revenge and Extortion --- a wholly mercenary and independent organization that is more than willing to work with any country in the world and pit anyone against anyone else so long as it reaps a handsome financial return. As Fleming lays out the intricate machine, we learn that, far from how things were presented in the movies (where SPECTRE is employed from the get-go), even England and the United States have been more than happy to deal with agents of SPECTRE (though they did not know the name of the organization at the time) if it meant gaining valuable information (or the deaths of enemy agents) against the Soviets and China, among others. It's only when the U.S. and England find themselves in the crosshairs of SPECTRE that they decide the organization is, perhaps, a bit unsavory. There's always a good chance that whatever holiday Fleming took immediately before sitting down to write his next novel will find its way into James Bond's adventures, and sure enough, the trip to a holistic health spa and retreat that Fleming went on serves as the basis for the beginning of Thunderball, which finds Bond being chastised by M for all the excessive drinking, smoking, and womanizing that makes up the bulk of our favorite civil servant's life. The sentence: a visit to a health spa, where Bond will be sequestered away from his favorite food, drinks, and smokes. Bond's less than thrilled, naturally, but lucky for him and us, he's not the only spook on the premises. Bond encounters a rich playboy he soon recognizes as a member of a Chinese tong, and from there the tangled web begins. This guy is an agent of SPECTRE, and SPECTRE happens to be involved in attempting to steal a couple of atomic bombs. The success of their plan sends the secret services of the West into a panic, and soon every agent is sent to every corner of the globe in a desperate attempt to track down the missing bombs before the deadline, at which time they will either pay SPECTRE a massive ransom or watch a major city get nuked. Bond gets saddled with what looks to be the most tenuous of assignments: a blip on air traffic control along the U.S. eastern seaboard veered slightly off-course. Piecing together bits of what everyone considers to be an extremely tenuous and questionable case, M sends Bond to the Bahamas on what appears to be a wild goose chase -- though as with the case in Doctor No, I suspect that once again M considers his hunch a lot less of a waste of time than he claims. Obviously, M's wild hunch is correct, otherwise we'd have a pretty boring Bond book, and we already had a couple of those in For Your Eyes Only. The bombs are in the Bahamas. It's up to Bond to track them down, and it's up to his old friend Felix Leiter -- called out of retirement by the CIA for such an emergency -- to stand around next to Bond and say things like, "My God, you're right, James!" and, "Why didn't I see that?" Honestly, other than descriptions of his blond hair and hook hand (acquired during Live and Let Die), does Felix ever contribute anything to a case? I love having him along for the ride, but he really is Watson to Bond's Sherlock Holmes. His contribution to Operation Thunderball is a speech on how resort bars cut their gin with water to maximize their profits, which is interesting but doesn't go a long way to recovering the two missing atomic weapons. Bond is pitted against my favorite of all Bond villains, Emilio Largo, SPECTRE's second in command, and easily the coolest and most engaging villain Fleming has ever set Bond against. The reason I like Largo is that he is basically written like one of Bond's chums -- he reminds me a lot of Kerim Bey (From Russia with Love, Draco (On Her Majesty's Secret Service), or Tiger Tanaka (You Only Live Twice). Largo is giant, outgoing, and seems like he'd be a hell of a lot of fun to be friends with. He does vicious things in the course of the novel, but compare them to the equally vicious things guys like Bey and Tanaka (and Bond himself) do. Or heck. When we get to him in a couple books, compare Largo to Draco. Draco is probably involved in even more insidious and horrible schemes as head of the Corsican mafia, but Bond's cool with that. One gets the impression that if SPECTRE had been engaged in some sort of plot against Russia or China, Bond would have admired Largo, and they could have gone out drinking and slapping women's bottoms. The only thing that really makes Largo a villain is that, for this case, he happens to be on the opposite side of Bond. Plus, he has the "red rage" that shows up in his eyes that tags all Bond villains. I can't remember if he is also described as having irises surrounded entirely by the whites of his eyes, like Mussolini, but he probably was. No two traits will tip you off more as to whether or not someone is a villain in a Fleming story. Like Doctor No, Thunderball is not Fleming's most accomplished or complex book. In terms of literary artistry, he would reach the top of his game with the one-two punch of On Her Majesty's Secret Service and You Only Live Twice. Thunderball is, instead, a simple thriller executed with great style and skill. Plus, it contains pretty much every adventure fetish that appeals to me: tropical nights, lovemaking on the beach, scuba diving, hot chicks in wetsuits, bikinis, drinks at a bamboo bar, spear guns, yachts -- it's been said that everything about Fleming's writing is fetishistic, and in the case of Thunderball, it's apparent that Fleming was writing a fantasy adventure designed to cater specifically to my own personal fetishes. As such, Thunderball ended up being a phenomenally fun read for me. Bond is once again in the thick of the action, and it's all pretty fast-paced after the leisurely stroll that was Goldfinger, in which Bond really had very little to do other than embarrass Goldfinger at golf and cards. At the same time, this is the Caribbean, which means Fleming is going to go to welcome excess in describing the locations, food, and customs. For me, it's the best of both of Ian Fleming's worlds. Although Thunderball continues the trend toward more cinematic, over-the-top plots for Bond to foil, this one is considerably more believable than Goldfinger's half-baked attack on Fort Knox. The story is aided by the fact that Largo himself is larger-than-life, but at the same time, larger-than-life in a way that is very believable. It's not hard to imagine this warm, smiling, back-slapping guy as an actual person despite the outlandish situation in which we find him -- and this has always been the key to Fleming pulling off his more over-the-top plots. We are more likely to roll with the fantastic elements of the story if many of the details are grounded in reality and by realistic people. Goldfinger never had that air about him. He was aloof and never clicked as an actual person. His single obsession in life was gold, and how often do we come into contact with gold bars? Largo, however, is much more engaging. We can relate to him. His passions in life and good food, good drinks, pretty women, and friends. How can you not like the guy at least up until he starts torturing said pretty woman with a lit cigar and ice cubes? The sheer charisma of Largo makes it easy to swallow the rest of the plot. Blofeld, though he would become the linchpin of the later Bond stories, is far less engaging in this book, as he remains very much a sinister form hiding in the shadows just off-stage. But SPECTRE is a compelling organization, just believable enough to work -- similar to Bond's own organization in that respect. Bond himself is in top form, once again playing the two-fisted action hero after having an easy time of it in Goldfinger (as far as Bond's times go, that is). There's no real psychological development or character advancement to be found in Thunderball -- Fleming was saving that for the later novels -- but this is still the tough, cunning, Bond people recognized. This was the last book written (in 1961) before the influence of the movies, but as with some of the previous books, if you are familiar with Connery's Bond more than with Fleming's, you'll have no problem recognizing them as pretty much one and the same in this story. The movie that would eventually be made follows the book extremely closely, with the only real tweaks being that a visit to Largo's estate by Felix Leiter is performed by Bond in the movie, and the movie ends with a big explosion (in the "other" film adaptation of this book, Never Say Never Again, the ending of the story is the same as that of the movie). In some ways, this is the last hurrah for this action-adventure version of Bond. Savor it if it's your thing, because from here on out, the series gets pretty weird. I say that keeping in mind that two of Bond's best adventures and Fleming's best books are contained in that portion of the series, but Thunderball remains, never the less, the final time we will see the more carefree, action-oriented James Bond. As a farewell to that type of story in the Bond canon, it is a superb send-off and remains one of my absolute favorite of Fleming's books. Labels: Author: Ian Fleming, Espionage, Series: James Bond posted by Keith at 3:49 PM | 2 Comments |
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