Hmmm... I wonder why people might be reading this one all of a sudden?
This most recent re-reading was, of course, in preparation for the upcoming movie, but I think I've re-read this book right before
every Bond film came out as a way of grounding myself in a time period before James Bond was a household name and before Fleming had even established him as a continuing character.
Casino Royale was not the first Bond novel I read. I started off with
Goldfinger,
Doctor No,
Live and Let Die, and
The Man with the Golden Gun before I located a copy of Fleming's premiere novel in a bookstore. The year was 1986, and Fleming's books were thankfully then in print in the U.S., right before the start of a mysterious dark age. Although I was already a Bond fan based on reading those four books (I even liked
The Man with the Golden Gun at that time, which I now consider Fleming's least), my experience with Bond's first literary outing sold me forever on Ian Fleming as one of the greatest popular writers in the English language.
Of all the Fleming Bond novels,
Casino Royale is the one I've re-read the most often. This isn't because it's my personal favorite. That honor belongs to
On Her Majesty's Secret Service. It's because 1) it's short and easy to leap into and polish off in two days or less, and 2) it is Genesis and a reminder of where it all started, and what it was like "in the beginning" when there were no expectations and no points for comparison.
And what a strange beginning it is! There isn't any novel in the Fleming canon like it. Only
You Only Live Twice seems close in moody and style. Compare, say, the style of the very next book,
Live and Let Die: fast-paced adventure and action moving quickly from location to location. Now look at the static and somber nature of
Casino Royale. Although short and brisk, it is a heavy book where the atmosphere speaks much more than the story. From the famous first paragraph until the famous end line, the prose of
Casino Royale is one of heavy sensation: taste, smell, sight. You can almost choke on it.
But this is also a stark novel. Fleming embellishes his writing with sophisticated and intoxicating prose, but the book nonetheless feels as if it is stripped bare. Emotions are subdued, almost nullified. Business is carried out with lethal seriousness. The meals are sumptuous, the decor glistens, but the game played here is not for shilly-shallying about or plot padding. The story cuts right to the bond and exposes the nerves. The characterization is minimalist in design, especially that of Bond. This is primarily where Fleming's first novel stands so far away from the others, where Bond turns into a more vivid and fascinating character. The supporting cast is also stonier than in later novels, with the exception of Felix Leiter, who add a nice touch of levity to an otherwise stone-faced serious story.
And who is this man, James Bond, Agent 007, licensed to kill? Looking at
Casino Royale isolated from everything else that followed it, and trying to imagine reading the book in 1953, I find that a tricky question to answer. He's cold and brutally efficient. He has inner feelings, warming up eventually to Vesper, but believes that survival depends on shutting them out... turning back into a ruthless machine. He is Her Majesty's hired killer. And his sexism is a touch shocking, although it leads to the most memorable closing line of the books as Bond once again becomes the cold, professional device in the service of the government. There are some intriguing back story details revealed about Bond, such as the two assignments which got him is Double-O designation. I especially found the killing of the Japanese cipher clerk in the RCA building fascinating; Fleming could have crafted a short story all on its own about this incident. In fact, the short story "The Living Daylights" seems to have aspects of it. Bond comes most to life not in his scenes with Vesper, but in his talk with Rene Mathis in the hospital. Here is where I can most clearly see the characterizations to come in Fleming's later work as Bond ruminates on his job... only to have Mathis sum up Bond's philosophy for him: the punishment of the wicked. Fleming had the unusual ability as an espionage writer to include both the moral confusions of the spy's world with the good vs. evil excitement of the heroic thriller.
Considering the importance placed on the villains in the subsequent books and films, the featured villain of
Casino Royale is a non-entity. Le Chiffre is, like his name, nothing more than a number, a cipher. He exists as a silent opponent across the green felt of a baccarat table, a pair of stubby pink hands that deal cards, and a mind that deals death if anything gets in its way. Even with the now-obligatory speech scene, the only scene Le Chiffre gets to dominate, the character appears essentially secondary to the story, a villain plot device along with the shadowy assassins of SMERSH. The real adversary of the story is luck itself, as personified in the baccarat game, one of Fleming's signature sequences. Although he would pen more Bond vs. Villain confrontations using a game (bridge, golf, canasta), this is the quintessential one and the best handled. I am amazed every time I read it of Fleming's deft handling of the building of tension as the stakes raise higher and higher, and the way he can encapsulate so much power into the speaking of simple words like "banco" and "suivi." Even to somewhere unaware of the baccarat rule (good thing Bond gives a brief primer to Vesper beforehand), it's easy to follow what is going on and what is at stake.
The torture scene is another Fleming trope that he would never quite duplicate with the same savagery--perhaps something for which we should be thankful! The masochism of this scene is nearly unbearable, and Fleming achieves it without using explict words for what is happening. Quite a feat.
Structurally,
Casino Royale is a bizarre book. The finale takes places two-thirds of the way in. The villain is dead, his scheme stopped. What is there left to do? the reader might wonder. I certainly asked that when I first read it. And this lengthy coda with Bond and Vesper's romance and it tragic close does seem to go on a bit longer than it should. But the shock of the finale and Bond's sudden cruelty to Vesper's memory (does he believe it, or is he protecting himself?) tends to erase gripes about the sudden shift in pacing. It does leave the book on an unforgettable note. It isn't "the spy story to end all spy stories" as Fleming thought (hell, it was just the beginning!), but it is one of the most moody and strange one ever written. Wherever one might stand on its quality regarding the other books in the series, this is a novel that leaves a startling impression.
Edited by Double-O Eleven, 18 September 2006 - 08:50 PM.