I will say that I think Blood Fever is probably the best of all the continuation books though.
Certainly Blood Fever is also my favorite of all the continuation novels.
Funny, I was just saying the other night to [dark] (who is in town

Posted 31 July 2007 - 06:50 PM
I will say that I think Blood Fever is probably the best of all the continuation books though.
Certainly Blood Fever is also my favorite of all the continuation novels.
Posted 31 July 2007 - 07:17 PM
Also, anyone who thinks that Fleming is the be-all and end-all of Bond literature (and I know I am going to get flamed for this) should reread The Man With The Golden Gun. Yes, yes, I know Fleming was ill when he wrote it and it's still an entertaining read, but personally speaking I would take both of the Wood's, some of Gardner's and some of Benson's over it.
Yeah, I'm gonna go ahead and disagree with you on that one, but I'm sure you're not surprised. It was a sad novel for the likes of Fleming, but still enjoyable. Of course I can understand someone who holds this opinion because while many of the continuation novels are pretty... sad, there are some real gems in there.
I like some of the attempts by other authors, but nobody has really come close to Fleming if you ask me. Each author IMO has gotten a good one in (at least) that makes their entire series worth it though. I can find tons of things to complain about from some of the authors, actually I could go on endlessly about Gardner who bores the ever living daylights out of me more so with his later books, but they all have their moments. I will say that I think Blood Fever is probably the best of all the continuation books though.
Actually I don't think we disagree. I would agree with all that you said. Though there are some Gardner books I do really enjoy (e.g. Icebreaker).![]()
Certainly Blood Fever is also my favorite of all the continuation novels.
Posted 31 July 2007 - 07:29 PM
While I do think DMC will be excellent, I'm not ready to concede that it will be better than the best work of the other authors.
Well I don't care for Icebreaker. I don't think it's his worst, but I hate how twisted and convoluted the story is with the double and triple crosses. I much prefer Nobody Lives For Ever or Scorpius of the Gardner bunch.
Posted 31 July 2007 - 07:37 PM
I said this as we discussed Devil May Care and how some fans have already proclaimed it will be the greatest of all the continuation novels...why?
Posted 31 July 2007 - 08:12 PM
Posted 31 July 2007 - 08:51 PM
Posted 31 July 2007 - 09:21 PM
Posted 31 July 2007 - 11:42 PM
Good points, Loomy.
Posted 01 August 2007 - 07:36 PM
Posted 01 August 2007 - 09:16 PM
I also don't like the way M has become a senile old duffer
Posted 01 August 2007 - 09:21 PM
Posted 01 August 2007 - 09:23 PM
I also don't like the way M has become a senile old duffer
Become?
Posted 01 August 2007 - 11:43 PM
...what do we think it is about Bond that means he *can* be written by other writers than Fleming?
I find many of the so-called 'Bond clones' written in the Sixties to be much more enjoyable, better written, Flemingish and Bondish than any of the continuation novels.
Am I alone?
Posted 02 August 2007 - 12:23 AM
Because Faulks is one of the best novelists in the world, that's why. It's like if Spielberg or Tarantino were hired to direct a Bond film you'd know that, under the very, very worst case scenario, he'd do an excellent job.
Posted 02 August 2007 - 10:14 AM
I think the key word there is "we", for I submit that the concept of non-Fleming Bond books has really only been successful within Bond fandom (and even then only up to a point, of course).
Sure, there have been dozens of continuation novels (with more official Glidrose/IFP novelists than there have been actors in the Eon series playing Bond). However, they've basically just preached (and sold) to the converted. For the man on the street and even (or perhaps especially) his culture vulture cousin, literary Bond pretty much only means Fleming.
I'm not well-versed in the '60s Bond clone books, but Adam Diment - despite the spoofy tone - does it for me more than any of the continuation novels. Or is this partly because we're looking back at things like Diment through rose coloured glasses and saying "Well, it was published smack dab in the middle of the golden age of '60s spymania, so of course it's more like Fellming than, say, HIGH TIME TO KILL"?
I mean, it's probably genuinely and unavoidably '60s-ish and golden-age-of-Bondish, given the publication date and the general writing style prevailing in those days, just as an early Duran Duran album is unquestionably "'80s". But are we too ready to confer The Real Deal status on stuff that was written shortly after Fleming carked it, while being simultaneously too harsh on later works? Ah, I don't know. Just thinking out loud.
Posted 02 August 2007 - 01:32 PM
Posted 02 August 2007 - 02:17 PM
Posted 02 August 2007 - 02:29 PM
Thank you, darling but yes, Forbes is terrible. I went through a phase of reading his recently and they are terribly repetitive, full of plot holes, poorly researched and entirely unrealistic. And yet I still found myself reading them and even quite enjoyed them. And I still can't work out why.I think that's a very astute analysis of writers vs storytellers, santajosep. Spot on re Le Carre and Forbes. I think Gardner clearly falls into the category of storyteller, and is one of a group of British adventure thriller writers in that mould: I would put Forbes, Bagley, Maclean and latterly Higgins and Forsyth in the same category. It's a wide field, and Gardner was arguably one of the less interesting of that bunch. That said, thank God they didn't give the job to Forbes, who I think is a dreadful writer and actually not even that good a storyteller - his books are all very samey, and involve hopping from one location to another in what passes for exoticism and suspense.
Posted 02 August 2007 - 02:48 PM
Posted 02 August 2007 - 02:49 PM
I've just finished my own spy novel...
Posted 02 August 2007 - 03:06 PM
Posted 02 August 2007 - 04:29 PM
Is JUST ANOTHER KILL finished, then, Jim?
Hmmm... or have you written another spy novel?
Posted 02 August 2007 - 04:48 PM
Posted 02 August 2007 - 05:17 PM
I think that is just why I enjoyed it. At the time I suppose I needed pure escapism, nothing that would make me have to think or that would be a challenge, plus I just have this habit of following any one author through to the end. When that happens you also feel you get to know that world and the characters in it. I also fully believe in the quality of 'suspension of disbelief'. I got told off on here for that once as being a flippant attitude but I don't think it is. There are very few perfect stories and even his masterfulness, Fleming, made mistakes as you've pointed out. Those kind of errors pull me out of the story if I stop to think about them or try to justify why they might be there so I prefer to ignore them, certainly at the time of reading and apply that suspension of disbelief so that I can continue enjoying the reading experience. Afterwards I can analyse and disdain the work but at the time, if I note the errors, the reading experience ends up being wasted for me and I won't enjoy it. Again, I hope that makes sense, but it's what allows me to enjoy a book like a Forbes or, for example, Jilly Cooper, or whatever, despite seeing the faults clearly. I'd get very bored if I were only satisfied with realism and total accuracy as there wouldn't be much reading material left out there.I think Forbes' first few books under that name were quite good, to be fair. Then I think he repeated them. Why did you enjoy them? I think art works on percentages. Even if we can see the flaws in something, if it works *in the main* we are happy to go along with it. Fleming's plots are sometimes a bit thin - but we love the character, the writing, the verve, etc, so we happily accept that. It's about how much your inner critic is willing to accept. Forbes' brand of suspense is, I think, very cliched - it's really just A to B to C elaborated. But the good chaps win, and it clips along at a fair pace. There's lots of them - one a year. They're easy to read. Bingo.
Posted 02 August 2007 - 05:22 PM
And you are quite right to. While I admit I've been slagging off John Gardner left, right and centre on this thread, that's only in relation to how I like my Bond. I've already said I spend a lot of time enjoying books that can in many cases be said to be poorly written, but surely reading is meant to be fun as much as informative or educational, so of course there's nothing wrong with enjoying any of the different kind of books.I see what you are all saying and all but I still hold onto the fact that I love Gardner's work in the series.
Posted 02 August 2007 - 07:55 PM
A single lamp burned in the hall of the Luci di Muntagna. Behind the desk the young receptionist had pulled his tie away from his collar and was sitting by the switchboard, reading a comic. He hurriedly put it away as Bond pushed through the glass swing-doors and got to his feet.
'Good evening, Mr Bond. How are you tonight?'
'Fine,' Bond replied. 'Miss Murray?' He scanned the rack behind the desk and saw that her key was hanging above its pigeon hole. He felt in his pocket.
'Miss Murray? She go out just as I come to work.'
'Any idea where?'
'She ask for a taxi at half past eight to bring her to Olbia.' Bond placed a five thousand-lire note on the counter between them. 'I'll wait for her in her room.'
The receptionist smiled and handed Bond the key to 137. 'Thank you very much,' he said as Bond walked away down the corridor.
The room smelt of Jolie Madame and still retained the heat of the afternoon sun. Bond pushed open a window and sat on the bed and wondered where to begin. There were several torn scraps of the hotel writing-paper lying in the waste-paper basket. Bond pieced them together. It was an unfinished letter addressed to him.
'James', he read, 'I don't know how to say this but I must, otherwise I feel I'm going to explode. Please try to understand and believe me when I tell you that I didn't have any choice and that the last thing I wanted was to involve you. Today has been such hell (underlined three times) that I don't know how I've managed to survive. First of all Mark being killed. Then Sarah and now today.'
The next two lines were crossed out, and there the letter ended.
It was in a drawer, beneath the red and white bikini she had worn on the first day that they had made love, that he found the key with the Marinasarda tag. He nodded slowly, the key clasped tight in his clenched fist. He lit a cigarette and began to walk up and down the room.
Anger, disgust, fear, relief, uncertainty - all elbowed their way into his mind, one pushing the other aside until he did not know what he was thinking or feeling. She was just a whore who had screwed him and used him. And he'd been taken in by her. Had he been so -crazy that he hadn't seen what was going on? Damn right, he had. She was as guilty as whoever's finger was on the trigger of the gun that had killed Mark. But then Mark was equally guilty. He'd let himself be blackmailed into making the whole thing, including his own death, possibly. Perhaps she'd been blackmailed, too. 'No choice,' the letter said. Why hadn't she said anything of any help in the letter, instead of a load of sentimental cliches? At least it was now out in the open. No more doubts or suspicions. But then there'd never been any doubt that Sarah had been kidnapped. So where did that get one? Back to square one. And where the hell was Liz? Why Olbia? Why hadn't she come back? Was she with the two men who'd killed Mark? The two men she'd landed on the beach at La Sirena? And if they'd killed Mark because he knew too much, what about her?
He picked up the telephone and spoke to the receptionist, telling him to call every hotel in Olbia and ask if Miss Murray was staying there. 'Yes,' he said in Italian in case the boy misunderstood, 'I know it's late. But that's what I want you to do - and right away. Call me back when you're through.'
'Sarah. . . rely on you.' Like the wheels of a train, the words repeated themselves over and over again. Don't worry Mark, Bond made a silent promise, she'll be all right. In forty-eight hours seventy per cent... What were Harrington's odds? A hundred to thirty against. So Liz had been a fool, like Mark. Poor bitch, she probably hadn't known what she was letting herself into. Again like Mark, the safe was one thing, but Sarah... He continued his pacing, lighting a fresh cigarette from the stub of the old one, until at last the telephone rang.
Passage 2:
It was quiet in the hut. Far off they could hear a dog barking from some village, then another started up, then a third. Presently they lit cigarettes and lay smoking, watching the complex and slowly shifting pattern of light and the stars through the decaying roof.
She said, 'Nobody's ever made love to me like that before. Now I know I've never really. . . oh, half, but nothing like that, God.'
'Well, it's luck. Works with some, not with others. And it's the occasion too.'
She was stroking his belly. 'God, I really lost my head. I suppose plenty of women go through their lives not feeling anything like they should.'
'Well, with some men it seems it's a one-sided affair - only their side - and that's what makes it go wrong. You know... there's a subtle and special importance in the way a man makes the girl feel that his domination and tigerish possession of her is carrying her up, is for her, with her - not just a bit of goatery by him. As soon as he lets her feel he's not with her, then it's no good for her.'
She kissed him.
Bond said, 'I believe in a girl audibly expressing her enjoyment too - naturally, not like a fire-engine; but you get a girl who lies there going through it silently, almost politely, and maybe gives a little squeak or a whimper when she goes off bang - takes away half the pleasure.'
'Do they?'
'Oh God, some girls come and you can hardly damn well tell - not a hiccup.'
'Maybe you haven't been trying?' She grinned. 'Maybe I haven't now?' She nibbled his ear and said, very softly into it, 'Do you know when I come?'
Bond reached and took her cigarette, stubbed it in the sand and stubbed his own out. He kissed her and they made love again and she strained him to her, pulling her into him and moving with his movements. Afterwards she got up and put her clothes on. He watched her, then dressed too. She said, 'It's late. I must go back.'
'To Morell?'
'James, don't. I-'
Abruptly the mood had changed and she turned urgently to him. 'You've got to get out of this place. No - no, don't and don't ask me any more. Go away, I'll meet you somewhere as soon as I can but don't stay here, darling. Not now.'
'Haven't I a small claim to know why?'
'Because Morell will see, for one thing. That's enough.You don't know what he's like, he's cold and deadly, he'll kill you. What happened this morning? You were in a fight or something?'
'With Novak. Have you seen him use that whip?'
She nodded. 'He used to be a circus act. And he had animals.'
An animal trainer. It was the bizarre note again - and then as he stood looking at her in the dimness of the hut there was a sound outside. She caught his arm and they stood very still.
'Beach patrol,' she whispered. 'James, stay here.'
He caught her and pulled her close, lifted her head and kissed her fiercely. She disengaged herself.
'Don't come with me. Stay here till I start the car - they can't do anything to me. As soon as you hear the car, go into the trees behind here and to the left. Keep off the beach.'
She stepped into the patch of moonlight at the door and disappeared.
Now here's the thing. These passages aren't by Sebastian Faulks. They're not by anyone famous. The first is from ZOOM by Peter Townend, who I already mentioned - published in 1972. His series is so obscure that practically the only hit you'll get on Google is me mentioning him here. The second extract was from THE MAN ABOVE SUSPICION by James Mayo, published in 1969. A little less obscure, this is one of the Charles Hood series. Mayo was the pseudonym of Stephen Coulter, a friend of Fleming's, a former journalist employed by Fleming and a former intelligence officer. Now I'm not saying these extracts are masterpieces, the best thrillers ever written. But they have something Bondian and Flemingian about them to me - the whole books do. Whole other books do. They are seeped in atmosphere and are, if not written to a Booker Prize level, surprisingly nuanced. They have something of the flair for the locales, the villains, the women, the attitudes, the cigarettes and the style that I enjoy in Fleming, and even one page of these books seems to me richer than ten of John Gardner's. Show me a Gardner passage as good as either of these! So this is my response to the title of this thread. I could recommend at least a dozen novels that better the continuations in this way - I'm not sure it is misplaced nostalgia. I think the misplacement is that Gardner gets a pass because he got the gig, so nobody else is ever discussed. The feeling is that he wasn't that close to Fleming, but he was quite good - but look at what we could have had from writers that nobody's ever even heard of!
Posted 02 August 2007 - 08:19 PM
Posted 02 August 2007 - 08:21 PM
Posted 02 August 2007 - 10:05 PM
Posted 02 August 2007 - 10:42 PM