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I appreciate it, friend.
I have already finished DN so it's just a matter of putting another review together. Hope to have done so soon enough.
As for the book covers, they're clean and simple. I rather like them myself but I agree that better ones have been used. Still, my first editions were those psychedelic Penguin editions with all the meaningless colours. Here at least, though in some very abstract way, the covers bear some significance.
I have one of his books. That's a first!
BOOK 6
DR NO
by Ian Fleming
One example of what Ian Fleming’s books have in common with the Bond films, amongst other things, is the fact that they can be treated as more or less standalone adventures. And yet, it bears some fruit to read them in order, particularly if small details matter to you. Well, they matter to me, and so I tend to read FROM RUSSIA WITH LOVE and DR NO back to back. With my thirst for more Bond far from slaked, I program the DR NO soundtrack and both of the BOND BACK IN ACTION (AGAIN) compilations on my music installation, switch on my supremely reliable reading lamp and forget the world exists; that is, except for the world of James Bond, which we have last left behind not quite sure if Ian Fleming had any further plans for it or had instead put it on the backburner until further notice. After all, in a letter to his friend Raymond Chandler, Fleming had written, "My muse is in a very bad way ... I am getting fed up with Bond and it has been very difficult to make him go through his tawdry tricks." Remoulding the romantic ending of his first draft of FROM RUSSIA WITH LOVE into the darker, uncertain fate of a poisoned Bond, Fleming had indeed effectively reserved the possibility of a final departure from the world of 007. Soon after that, however, new ideas for a Bond story must have germinated in his ever creative mind, eventually allowing the sixth book in the series, DR NO, to materialize.
What better way to reinvigorate Fleming’s fondness of his own creation, than to send said creation on a mission to the author’s beloved Jamaica. Every book in the series had so far been written in Fleming’s Jamaican estate ‘Goldeneye’; to bring James Bond with him for his next instalment feels like a form of poetic absolution after his initial resentment about continuing Bond’s literary career. Of course Bond had visited Jamaica before, in Fleming’s second novel, LIVE AND LET DIE. Two characters of some importance had been introduced in that book, albeit rather late in the game: Quarrel and local secret service head-of-station John Strangways. The latter unbolts the story of DR NO by being ruthlessly murdered; his secretary, Miss Trueblood, is next. Their radio silence triggers a few quiet alarms in London and MI6 decides to investigate. Still somewhat disgruntled by Bond’s embarrassing defeat in Paris, M selects a convalescing 007 for this seemingly humble mission. Asserting that Bond has gone through much tougher scrapes than this before, he merely wants our favourite spy to reaffirm his diligence and commitment--not entirely unlike Fleming himself, who may have been using this writing project as a test of his own commitment to the Bond series. The job seems simple enough; all Bond has to do is furnish a few answers concerning the disappearance of Strangways and his secretary. What could possibly go wrong? This thought, however, will soon reveal itself as a heavy miscalculation by M, and one that could have backfired badly.
The minute Bond arrives in Kingston, signs of great portent are liberally bestowed on him. A female paparazzo tries to photograph 007 on more than one occasion; Strangways’ file on a nearby island, Crab Key, has vanished in thin air; and poisoned fruit as well as a deadly centipede await Bond in his hotel room. Rarely the man to be dismayed at such lavishly announced death threats, Bond contends that the owner of Crab Key, a Chinese gentleman by the name of Julius No, is the architect of all his recent trepidations. This deduction doesn’t exactly play out as state-of-the-art spy stuff since Bond’s investigation is peculiarly brief and little happens on his own initiative. More importantly, the enemy has made his presence profusely known and all arrows point towards Doctor No. It can’t be any coincidence after all that at least two Chinese girls had already raised Bond’s suspicions. I sense some petulance in Fleming’s writing, almost as if he wanted Bond on that island as quickly as possible. Rather than have his work cut out for Bond, Fleming necessitates little more than some routine detective work. A temporary vindication of M’s thoughts about this assignment? Perhaps, but Fleming comes dangerously close to making Bond appear useless; and that could have posed a problem, were it not that his prose is rife with eminently enjoyable paragraphs of Bond’s amusing judgements, some thrilling and exciting moments including his nocturnal encounter with the six-inch long toxic centipede, and a potent sense of danger. For his clever ways with words, Fleming deserves respect if not effusive praise. At the very least he puts Bond under constant strain.
Neither idle nor remiss, Bond forges ahead with local partner Quarrel to closely inspect Crab Key. The both of them inconspicuously arrive on the island by boat, and almost immediately thereafter Bond makes his acquaintance with an enchanting Venus called Honeychille Ryder, friskily occupying herself with collecting priceless sea shells. Naked but for a belt with a knife above her waist, Honey is perhaps the pinnacle of Fleming’s highly eroticized Bond girls. If not for her broken nose, she would be absolutely perfect. It takes little time for her to completely trust Bond, which means that she has no qualm about flaunting her bare curves in front of this stranger either. In fact, throughout this book, twenty-year old Honey will strip naked for Bond quite often and no opportunity will be missed by Fleming to describe her faultless breasts. One cannot help but imagine that the author had himself fallen in love with this “Venusian” fantasy, so much so in fact that typing out her acts of undressing fulfilled his own private needs. It’s furthermore very easy to think about the immortal image of Ursula Andress as Honey in the film version of DR NO, combined with Nikki van der Zyl’s mellifluous voice, when reading these passages. I must concede that some of Fleming’s “wet dream” aspirations have no trouble leaking over to at least certain members of his male readership… Unfortunately, Fleming also makes her awkwardly childlike in certain regards. Her sexual submission to Bond becomes somewhat uncomfortable in those rare instances when his attitude towards her is forced by circumstances to be borderline paternal. As a middle-aged man, Fleming may have found himself struggling a bit with how and by whom Bond’s sexual prowess should be acknowledged. This issue will be resolved in some of his later novels, in which he shall first establish fertile ground for romance before surrendering to some of the more instinctive, horizontal pleasures.
Very soon after meeting Honey, Bond and Quarrel face a small goon squad of “Chingroes”, nasty brutes that were bread out of Chinese and Negro bloodlines. Often cited as offensive in today’s “politically correct” society, this allegedly racist concept fails to draw too much attention to itself, as Fleming reduces these nameless goons to abstract obstacles Bond must overcome on Crab Key. I am therefore disinclined to make a big deal out of the “Chingroes”, and I wish others would be too. What matters is that they have our protagonists trapped on the island as their boats are now in tatters after a little firepower demonstration. Death strikes down upon both camps, as Bond knives a thug in a river, only to face harsh retaliation by Doctor No’s swamp “dragon”. A fire spewing tank, this “dragon” scorches Quarrel in one of the most calamitous defeats Bond will ever have to endure in the book series. So unceremoniously a demise seems in poor taste for a character as likeable as Quarrel. Critics often reflect on this moment with invidious remarks. What it really does, however, is push Doctor No higher up Bond’s blacklist, which is necessary at this point, as we still haven’t quite figured out what No is up to. Bond and Honey are then taken to No’s hideout.
My favourite part of the story involves Bond finally meeting his adversary, the titular Dr No. His previous impertinences notwithstanding, No is well-mannered and very cultivated. He has his underground lair upholstered with some of the finest decorative elements imaginable and prides himself in perpetuating certain quaint customs and enjoying a slice of the good life. The phlegmatic Chinese explains how incensed he has been to discover that Bond has defied all his death traps--meeting Bond in person was consequently the logical thing to do. Originally working for Chinese gangsters, No has now diversified his criminal endeavours into more sophisticated areas. First, there’s guano. No’s island is populated by birds whose fertilizing droppings sell very well in Antwerp. Inquisitive ornithologists had recently become a pestilence to the private Julius No, and so he had them killed. Strangways had put together a file on their disappearances, securing his own ticket to spy heaven. Had Bond been able to peruse said file, he might have solved the case early on; but alas, no such luck. Another one of No’s recent activities involves transmitting hard-to-trace signals which send American missiles off course. This fact is dropped almost right away, which is rather humorous given how the film adaptation singled that specific item out for No’s “evil plan” and flushed the bird droppings down the gutter instead. But there’s a third layer to No’s criminal enterprise, and when he elaborates on that, I always develop cold sweat. Julius No likes to sample people’s physical reactions to his utterly sadistic and lethal obstacle course, while also observing the build-up to their mental breakdown. Almost bubbling with sick enthusiasm, No imparts the general idea behind the suffering to which Bond and Honey shall each be exposed. Certain death lies in their immediate future, with options for survival entirely crushed.
Another target for critics, Doctor No’s bounteous sadism is pulled in last-minute, almost as an idea Fleming hadn’t ruminated on while structuring his story during the earlier phases of his writing. Some critics have downright scolded Fleming for making his villain so unsavoury and revoltingly cruel, but then again, Bond was never meant for boy scouts with a weak stomach. I remember Fleming once stating something to that effect himself in an interview. Doctor No borrows from Doctor Mengele, but it’s not like Fleming ever reverently extols the virtues of their inhumane practices. I am personally much more troubled by how full No’s felonious bag is suddenly stuffed towards the end of the book. His criminal sheet had, so far, been mostly hidden under a big question mark and suddenly No says yes to almost every atrocity one can commit. I wish there had been some hints of that introduced in the story earlier on. With the exception of the fruit and the centipede, nothing had ever cried “evil” of such magnitude before, but now, with the clawed cat out of the bag, Dr No personifies almost every biblical sin imaginable. It’s a miracle that he doesn’t cheat at the cards either. But the tension is never scuppered by these eleventh-hour reveals, as without further deferment, No has Bond and Honey taken to their private dungeons of pain. Our focus then entirely shifts to Bond.
It is during the next couple of chapters that I’m always reminded of Sartre’s aphorism, “Life begins on the other side of despair.” Bond finds himself tormented by the elements, by muscle fatigue and by a giant squid. It’s suddenly easy to forget everything that has come before; this part of the story warrants its own nightmare. This is also where Fleming is firing on all cylinders. One cannot read these chapters without feeling the throbbing pains, while losing any sense of time and space. The finale with the squid is up there with the sheer nerve-wracking climax of MOONRAKER, even if it is a lot shorter. Every word counts, every detail matters. Bond’s thoughts rush like mad, trapped in a delirious vortex, looking for one crevice, no matter how small, one rudimentary crack in Doctor No’s system, one way out, whether an easy or a hard one. Anything is better than this hideous set-up. That this part never made it into the film adaptation is most likely due to logistical concerns and limited financial means, but I still hope that someday we will see this moment acted out in a live action Bond film. A little Jules Verne can go a long way, even in a 007 adventure. Escaping the black hell, Bond has a final score to settle before rescuing Honey. Bruised, broken and barely alive, Bond returns to the world of people, only to drop bird dong over our villain. Granted, it’s a fairly original way of smouldering Doctor No’s flames, even if it doesn’t come with the same dramatic impact of a carefully aimed bullet. Then again, most villains so far were slain by alternative means. Dealing with No in a rather impersonal way essentially mirrors the distance our villain has kept from Bond during most of the book.
It may surprise fans of the film adaptation that there’s no Professor Dent in this story. One of the most memorable scenes in the film is Bond’s cold elimination of the treacherous geologist. Often referred to as one of the best examples of glorifying Fleming in the films, this particular moment, including the date with Miss Taro, is entirely non-existent in the book. I wish Fleming had come up with that idea; it could have been wonderful. Then again, accusations that Fleming had chosen sex, snobbery and sadism over good writing, were already becoming more abundant; another hard death may have gotten Fleming completely blacklisted by the moral orthodoxy of those days. And yet, I still disagree with Fleming’s critics, some of whom had become unfairly biased in my opinion. First of all, Fleming never lied about making sex, snobbery and sadism a pivotal trademark of his books. CASINO ROYALE had already dabbled in those, and in LIVE AND LET DIE the ball was dropped entirely. It’s one thing for a critic to then conclude that he is personally offended by these elements, it’s another thing entirely to constantly attack Fleming over it. Besides, whether an author is courting controversy or not is a fleeting statement anyway. By any modern standards, DR NO is almost Sunday school material, although the sexualisation of Honey may be poorly received in today’s hopefully short-lived misandrous times. Furthermore, DR NO is not a badly written book. Fleming’s prose is rich in detail but never verbose. His ideas range from serious to utterly fantastical, but they are never dull or implausible within the internal logic of Bond’s universe. The way he charges No’s calm words with deadly menace, proves that Fleming hadn’t lost his touch yet.
My only criticism of DR NO pertains to the one-dimensional first half of the book, when random events give the impression of being chosen to facilitate matters before getting to the crux of the story. The one truly well-developed concept in this book is the brilliant villain, whose introduction is postponed until much later. But once Doctor No has entered the stage, the book turns electric and becomes impossible to put down. Almost everything that transpired before this has become incidental, except Quarrel’s brutal execution, which warrants No’s death perhaps even more than Bond’s torturous obstacle course. Compared to the accurately engineered FROM RUSSIA WITH LOVE, this book feels much less dense in terms of plot momentum and tension building. That it never turns tedious despite all of that, is ample proof of Fleming’s skills as a writer. I have been accused of heaping too much praise on the author, but I proudly stand by my feelings about the book. It keeps me engaged, and it never feels like an after-thought or some forgetful failed attempt at recreating the sensational CASINO ROYALE. Instead, DR NO brings its own magic. The low-key nature of the book may in fact have been the principal reason why Albert Broccoli and Harry Saltzman chose it for their first Bond film. The first half leaves plenty of room to properly introduce Bond, and the second half isn’t too big a leap of faith given the budget this film had—except, well, the squid. Meanwhile, elements from other books, including the character of Felix Leiter, Bond’s Bentley and crime syndicate SPECTRE, could be tightly woven in. Fleming may not have known it at the time, but by writing this book, a sitting duck for unfriendly critics, he may have effectively allowed those one million United Artists dollars to suffice for a first great James Bond film. His sixth novel, met with lukewarm or even negative reviews, may have actually paved the way to one of the most successful and enduring film franchises to date.
Overall, I have had a great time with DR NO. I love the girl, I admire Doctor No’s unbreakable spirit and I can’t get over how exciting the climactic obstacle course is. And thus concludes the two-parter of FROM RUSSIA WITH LOVE and DR NO. Both books have been a bit experimental as far as their narrative structure is concerned; but separated by a creative vacuum in Fleming’s mind, they each move at a different pace. DR NO meanders a bit before turning into a cold thriller. Like the old romantic treasure island books, it moves further away from civilization until we reach the edge of the world in No’s funhouse, and meanwhile it doesn’t pick up momentum so much as it picks up gloom. One thing is for sure though: Bond is still firmly in the saddle, and Fleming hasn’t retired yet. Up next is GOLDFINGER, one of Fleming’s longest books and another source of some controversy. It breaks the chain of books in the sense that after this one (and a short novel collection), we enter the SPECTRE phase which, for all intents and purposes, has its own share of issues, mainly legal, to cope with. But before I can do that, I need some sleep. It’s been a long evening, branching out well into the night, and reading DR NO in one take has exhausted me. Closing my eyes will not be difficult though; dreams of Honey’s belt and knife and nothing else will provide all the nectar I need.
8.5/10
DD's 2018 book ranking
1) Casino Royale - 10/10
2) Moonraker - 9.5/10
3) From Russia With Love - 9/10
4) Dr No - 8.5/10
5) Live And Let Die - 8/10
6) Diamonds Are Forever - 7.5/10
If you're interested, friend, my review of DN is up two posts ago. :)
True, we do both like esoteric books though.
Even if we take Fleming at the more escapist side of spy thriller he does sometimes disregards the genre almost entirely. DAF and TSWLM because they go into crime fiction territory. QOS because it's a domestic drama where Bond is a very indirect witness. DN and YOLT because they are... well, very different.
I've loved death discs since I first heard the Shangri-Las' Leader of the Pack, and I've been looking for this book for about 20 years.
The author isn't as funny as he thinks he is but it's given me a lot of new tracks to check out.
How did you find the rest of his horror fiction? I have only read his Carmilla, but I found a lot to like in it.
Really good. Green Tea particularly.
Cool, I'll seek that one out.
Hopefully it's not weak and anaemic like the drink!
According to the short story it's like Victorian LSD.
That’s good to hear actually. I’m all for the gore and the outlandish, but what interested me most in Carmilla was the atmosphere and the lesbian undertones between Laura and Carmilla.
I've never been a fan of green tea but maybe I should give it another try. It sounds visionary! ;)
The story or the tea?
The tea. The story is great.
No, I mean green tea. Read Green Tea and you'll see (or I hope you don't).
I've been a bit harsh with the Dragon Volant. It is actually a neat twist on a cliche trope and the climax is genuinely terrifying. But it's so long to get there!
And I just bought a 1956 copy of Live and let die that is wonderful non-PC (or censored as i like to say, chapter 5 has a terrible title but is Flemings choice)
BOOK 7
GOLDFINGER
by Ian Fleming
The year is 1958, the same year Ian Fleming would enter a portentous partnership with Ivar Bryce, Ernest Cuneo and the ultimate nail in Fleming’s coffin, Kevin McClory. A Bond film was supposed to result from this partnership called “Xanadu Productions” but alas it bore little fruit other than the cruelest demons both Fleming and EON Productions would ever have to exorcise. And yet, Fleming had kicked the year off writing GOLDFINGER, the film adaptation of which would launch the Bond spy craze worldwide half a decade after the book’s publication. Arguably still one of the most iconic of Fleming’s book titles, GOLDFINGER is also by far his thickest novel. I knew I simply had to secure enough leisure time if I wanted to avoid the unsavoury practice of reading at most one or two chapters per day. One is bound to lose focus and tension if one cannot keep going for at least a few uninterrupted hours. Fortunately, the weekend offers ample opportunity to satiate my strict demands and so a week after reading DR NO, I have John Barry’s GOLDFINGER and David Arnold’s TOMORROW NEVER DIES spiraling from my speakers, while I extract all the necessary light from my reading lamp. Visions of golden girls flashing before my eyes, I sentence the world around me to a juddering halt, and enter the arousing imaginations of Ian Fleming, structured in three sections: “Happenstance”, “Coincidence” and “Enemy Action”.
By mere happenstance, James Bond, when changing flights in Miami, runs into Junius Du Pont, one of the card players he had met at Casino Royale several novels ago. Somewhat angry with himself at the moment over his faulty mission to debar a Mexican smuggler from heroin paradise, Bond welcomes the breezy distraction the very affluent Mr. Du Pont is all too glad to offer him. Promising a reasonable imbursement for his troubles, Du Pont requests Bond’s assistance in uncovering how a certain Auric Goldfinger has been able to shake him for some pocket money in the five digit regions. Once again, Fleming pits Bond against a card cheater, and once again, we quickly understand that the offender doesn’t really need the money at all. Fleming seems strangely obsessed with villains who cheat for fun or as a solemn declaration of their dominance over others. But unlike Le Chiffre, whose life was at stake, or Drax, who ardently sought to humiliate the British, Goldfinger simply wants to win. Bond quickly discovers that Goldfinger’s “secretary” Jill Masterton keeps herself occupied with spying on his opponent’s cards while sun tanning. Trapped in the middle of transmitting the details of the game to her powerful boss’ hearing aid, Jill has no compunction about obediently surrendering herself to Bond with a smile. His sexual magnetism numbs any resistance she might have pugnaciously put up had this been another man. Bond meanwhile threatens to publicly expose the presumptuous Goldfinger should he refuse to nobly allow Du Pont a few productive victories. Jill subsequently follows Bond into some luscious intimacies. She surrenders to him with an almost unnatural ease, leaving no doubt about Fleming’s infrangible confidence in Bond’s (or his own?) masculine supremacy. Even in the late fifties, this may have garnered widespread disapproval. Bond has but to pluck Jill like a lemon from a lemon tree, and she will comply as only lovesick schoolgirls do. However, thanks in part to the Bond films, it won’t strike too many modern readers as odd that Bond gets the girl so effortlessly. Besides, when it comes to alacritous girls, Fleming may yet surprise us in this very book.
Goldfinger is beaten, for the moment at least, but Bond may have underestimated the vindictive nature of this card cheater. Fleming’s readers would by now have learned to suspect that much. Either way, upon returning to London, we discover this novel’s primary focal point: gold. After pirates’ coins, diamonds and guano, gold is the latest addition to Fleming’s encyclopaedic specialities. After being briefly lectured on the subject, Bond’s next mission is revealed; and lo and behold, none other than the boorish Auric Goldfinger plays the leading role in it. With this uncanny case of coincidence begins the second section of the book. Suspected of smuggling gold out of the country, leaking Britain’s capital dry mote by smuggled mote, Goldfinger must be caught in the act by Bond. M furthermore has reasons to believe that Goldfinger helps to finance operations for SMERSH, Bond’s old enemy. It is therefore imperative that Goldfinger’s enterprises be vitiated, and who better for the job than our own vulpine 007. Once again Bond must secure Britain’s wealth and concurrently render the Soviet menace moribund. Surprisingly enough, the next of Bond’s dangerous games with Goldfinger will be one of gulf. Famously recreated almost verbatim in the 1964 film adaptation, the gulf sequence consumes two full chapters during which Fleming will provide a comprehensive account of all the moves both players make. Though he has, as usual, little trouble in convincingly establishing tension and personal enmities, Fleming’s penchant for dropping a surfeit of borderline redundant details threatens to supersede any form of excitement with stern tedium. The author clearly finds joy in demonstrating his knowledge of a wide variety of things, but sometimes he tends to write with a monolithic complacency that could easily be mistaken for arrogance and idle boasting. I often wonder, when reading these chapters, how other readers feel about them. While there’s nothing wrong with a writer working towards his own artistic contentment, and while Fleming can keep his story thrilling despite the plethora of minutiae, with today’s propensity for pushing a story forward at five beats per sentence when it used to be just one, modern readers can be very pernickety about these things. Fleming’s desire to be educational can be understood as a necessity since many readers may simply be unaccustomed with certain elements that are crucial to his plots; however, it could also be seen as coming from a man who likes to teach and instruct, and who offers himself the proper platform through his books. I must admit that even I, despite being a teacher myself, have at times trouble keeping up with Fleming. In CASINO ROYALE and MOONRAKER he had at least balanced his “lessons” out. I’m not saying that GOLDFINGER is a tough book to sit through, but the gulf sequence does tend to strain my patience a little bit.
During a polite visit to Goldfinger’s house, Bond has the pleasure of making his acquaintance with the true talents of his opponent’s bodyguard, the hulking Korean Odd-Job. A brawny oaf, ludicrous but for his ardent eyes and uncouth disposition, Odd-Job can extirpate anyone and anything using nothing but his bare hands. Then of course there’s his infamous steel rimmed hat which can behead any person. Bond is quick to understand that Odd-Job is not to be fooled with. Goldfinger, by contrast, is portrayed as anything but physically menacing, as somewhat zaftig even. Despite his mammoth capital, he furthermore displays an almost comically demure taste in life. At one point he lectures Bond about the health hazards of smoking and consuming certain alcoholic beverages, with meticulous chemical explanations even. One possibility is that Fleming had become more consciously aware of his own growing health issues and was now using Goldfinger to either voice his doctors’ concerns or reduce them to flimsy excuses for senseless abstinence by making the villain, rather than Bond, utter them. Whatever the case, it wouldn’t be long before Fleming made a spotless liver and clean lungs a big issue in another book, so some alarms must have already been triggered very close to the author’s heart. Another possibility is that by making Goldfinger a non-smoker and a finicky eater and drinker, Fleming tried to establish the character as more enigmatically interesting. Because for all of his health-related quiddities, Goldfinger would soon be shown to be a ruthless mass-murderer, not entirely unlike Hitler, whose vegetarian lifestyle feels antithetical to his inexorable acts of violence against humanity. Given the extremes of his villainous ways, there is something paradoxical about Goldfinger’s very peculiar righteous tendencies. Whatever the case, I am always rather amused and even beguiled when reading Goldfinger’s preaching about what constitutes a healthy life. In fact, you will find a permanent smile on my face when Bond and Goldfinger engage in witty repartee. One of the aspects of Fleming’s prose I continue to find tremendously enticing, is the articulateness and rhetorical skills he bestows on most of his villains. They are not moustache twirling evil men who seek world domination and spit out the kind of empty phrases a child could write. Rather, they appear very rational, well-educated, respectable. I always tend to conduct a little thought experiment: would I follow this madman around? Fleming often brings me close to saying yes. And then there’s usually that one little characteristic that I find repulsive, and Bond puts me back on the right track.
With Goldfinger’s suspicions about Bond now effectively aroused, 007 must tread carefully. Taking his newly equipped Aston Martin DB3--with a homer--into Switzerland, Bond follows Goldfinger around from a safe distance, and manages to procure evidence that the megalomaniac is indeed working for the Russians. An unknown girl also seems to be trailing Goldfinger. It won’t take Bond long to discover that she’s Tilly Masterton, Jill’s sister. Armed with a rifle, obstinate and clearly unmoved by Bond’s charms, this girl’s presence confounds him until he learns that Goldfinger had her sister killed after Jill’s betrayal with Bond. By covering Jill’s entire body in gold paint, Goldfinger had obviated the natural respiratory functions of her skin, and the girl had died. But before that tragic event, she had sent a note to Tilly, expounding Bond’s eleemosynary nature. He had, after all, given her all the money which Du Pont had paid him. Her death had forced Tilly to conjure up a ridiculously impulsive plan to shoot Goldfinger from a distance, a plan Bond has now thwarted. But her reluctance to turn amorous with him instantly, as her sister had, may have less to do with his unexpected interference than with her sexual orientation, something Fleming will return to later in the book. For now, Bond will remain very protective of this girl, even if for the first time since long, he’s dealing with an ineffable beauty who chooses complete autonomy over Bond’s strong arms.
The intransigent Tilly and her reluctant guardian are captured and soon find themselves in Goldfinger’s odious clutches. It is now clear to the man that Bond has far more sinister intentions than he’s led Goldfinger to believe before. The third section of the book turns dark very soon and Goldfinger will eventually drop the famous lines: “Mr Bond, they have a saying in Chicago: ‘”Once is happenstance. Twice is coincidence. The third time it's enemy action.”’ Miami, Sandwich and now Geneva. I propose to wring the truth out of you.” Goldfinger has satisfied himself that Bond’s presence in Geneva is no trifling matter, and yet he decides, last minute, to spare the spy’s life after subjecting him to intractable agony. The reason he gives is somewhat disappointing in my opinion. Apparently, Goldfinger is about to meet with a lot of ratty hotshots from the higher echelons of organized crime, and he needs a secretary, pure and simple. I wish Fleming had found a cleverer, more impressive and expedient way for Bond to actively break away from his death sentence, rather than narrow his fate down to a frivolous matter of convenience. Fortunately, he adds a small detail to Bond’s job description, which at the very least warrants the presence of a man of Bond’s talents. Not entirely sure if Goldfinger’s slick partners will all adhere to his rules, Bond must spot potential troublemakers by carefully examining their facial expressions. This way, Goldfinger can screen his business associates without throwing them in turmoil. It’s important that he can trust them, as he wants to invite them to nothing less than the biggest bank job ever attempted: a raid on Fort Knox. Every gangster, including the heirs to DIAMONDS ARE FOREVER’s Spangled Mob and some people from the Union Corse, which will be heard from again most notably in ON HER MAJESTY’S SECRET SERVICE, will perform a very specific duty during Operation Grand Slam. Goldfinger ensures them that they are poised for success, even if the bank is guarded by a military unit. What fascinates me about this entire meeting is that the gangsters seem willing to cooperate, for the most part, but are disconcerted by the thought of having to murder 2000 people. Goldfinger will then set their minds at ease by elaborating on the non-lethal effects of the biochemical agent he’s planning to use as an anaesthetic. He will, however, admit to Bond later on that the poison with which he intends to contaminate the waters of Fort Knox, will indeed kill everyone there. He’ll conclude by pointing out that more people die in traffic every year and that Bond should therefore not dwell on this collateral damage. Suddenly, Fleming has re-entered the realm of mass-murder, something he has touched on only once so far, in MOONRAKER to be more precise. I will concede that even though it’s a spy fantasy and the outcome of the book is very well known to me, this particular moment never fails to induce serious fear. Goldfinger, cheater at cards and gulf, plans to steal gold and leave a mass grave behind. This notion finally spurs Bond into action.
Sadly, he cannot recite to Tilly this tale of death, as she’s completely smitten by the presence of one notable gangster, Pussy Galore. Indeed, with only a few dozen pages left in the book, Fleming finally introduces one of the most iconic Bond girls from the film series. While the reticent Tilly makes silky dance moves around the sartorially elegant Pussy, Bond starts to figure a few things out. The latest in the episodic tradition of “difficult” Bond women, Pussy is at the very opposite end of Bond’s sexual spectrum. She's a lesbian; and Tilly, now reduced by Fleming to a klutzy, dim-witted lass, appears to be so too. She confides in Pussy and only in Pussy to provide easy egress from this madness. Bond finds Pussy fairly provocative himself; and yet, for all the crumpit in this book, he seems precluded from being able to keep the British end up this time. Pussy’s oleaginous flattery towards Tilly sticks like a thorn in Bond’s flesh. Usually, the villains are sexually inept, while Bond is assured to “get some” when the storm has settled; but now it seems he too will be left without any Pussy--or without any Tilly for that matter. And with Jill dead, the female stockpile of this book has been emptied--unless of course he manages to “correct” either Tilly or Pussy. Bond’s remedial impact on troubled women has been explored before; one notable case being, well, Miss Case from DIAMONDS ARE FOREVER. That Fleming will eventually allow Bond’s attractiveness to “cure” Pussy, a woman he’s just met, who will immediately and most submissively give herself to the first “real” man she has ever encountered, has been the source of much controversy over the years. People tend to read into this a hidden message that lesbianism is a disease, something that can bug women who haven’t met the right “fellar” yet. And while some subtext to that effect is certainly there, I tend to be more forgiving towards Fleming. He wastes less time on the subject than I already have in this review, and an even more modern take on Pussy is that she may very well be bisexual, seeking the good tastes wherever she can find them, in males and females alike. Though I can easily contextualize Fleming’s dismissal of lesbianism--he did come from other times--I struggle with the popular notion that he really wanted to make some kind of statement here. Pussy’s sexual persuasion is, in my reading at least, a minor inconvenience at best for Bond, but never a big issue. Besides, around the time of her introduction, we’re ridiculously close to the book’s conclusion anyway. Not a lot of time left to get to know and conquer Pussy.
And perhaps that is my biggest complaint about GOLDFINGER. With literally only a couple more chapters to go, suddenly all loose knots have to be tied up fast. The gulf sequence took up almost as much time as the grand finale will. Before reaching Fort Knox, Bond has written a message and hid it behind the lavatory of the plane. It would be a close call but if someone found the message in time and took it to Felix Leiter, as per Bond’s instructions, then who knows. I like the fact that this particular trick actually works in the book, whereas in the film, Bond’s message gets crushed along with a beautiful car. The “dead” in Fort Knox are neither dead nor sleeping; thanks to Bond’s warning, they are fully prepared for a dishevelled appointment with a few gold thieves. So while Operation Grand Slam is still in its initial phase, mayhem quickly breaks loose and reaches its conclusion within the span of a mere few pages. Bond and Tilly get involved in the ruckus but while Bond manages to escape, Tilly vacillates for so long that Odd-Job has a chance to slay her. She had frantically sought the comfort of Pussy, rather than follow Bond through the tumult of ambulant soldiers and gangsters. With Goldfinger’s plan now in shambles, Bond’s victory is more or less a fact, albeit harvested on a good dose of luck. It’s a shame that Fleming did not give him a bit more proactive work to do overall, but then, going back as far as CASINO ROYALE, Bond’s survival has always been half skill half luck, except in books like MOONRAKER and DR NO, in which he really got to shine as one of the world’s most creative and resilient men.
Rather than celebrate his victory, Bond is drugged and put aboard a plane that was hijacked by Goldfinger. Pussy Galore is there too, the only chance Bond has left in this book for some horizontal pleasures. She’s “with him” now, or so she signals to Bond while he’s getting ready to deal with Odd-Job and Goldfinger once and for all. All of a sudden, the barely known Pussy has become a changed woman. She prefers to be with the good guys now, or at least with one of them, for her survival no doubt; and, as we will soon witness, her interest in the opposite sex has suddenly and unexpectedly emerged from a life of wooing girls. This is curious, given how nothing particularly appalling or regretful has happened to her, even during the failure of Operation Grand Slam, that might have traumatized her and shocked her out of her old life. Goldfinger’s plan didn’t work, but her personal sacrifices were negligible and she’s even gotten away. Why would she suddenly have a change of heart? Or could it be that she’s just an opportunist, jumping from the losing team to the winning one, even if the latter has nothing to offer but a prison sentence? Either way, Bond makes sure that Odd-Job and Goldfinger get their comeuppances, and with only a bit of text left, Fleming puts Bond and Pussy together for what appears to be a bit of fleshy romance. Could it be that Fleming had thought up this final moment as a joke, a bit or irony even? The last girl to be introduced, rather late in the book, a lesbian no less, pulls a one-eighty just like that and sinks into a dreamy state of I-don’t-care-anymore-what-happens-to-me? Is any of this real or has Bond gotten delusional? I haven’t read TRIGGOR MORTIS yet but maybe I can find some answers there. Whatever the case, I’m not so much coerced into railing against Fleming for “curing” lesbianism, as I am simply disappointed at this bit of lazy writing. I’d rather have left Bond without a girl than with this bedazzling version of Pussy Galore, especially since it’s more or less Bond’s fault that two beautiful sisters have died. In my opinion, he could have done without a female triumph, much like in MOONRAKER.
GOLDFINGER is a good book overall but loses credibility towards the end. The climax feels unearned and is over too fast. Consequently, Pussy’s status as the final Bond girl of the book feels unearned too. Despite it being Fleming’s thickest book already, GOLDFINGER should have gotten a few more chapters to make Operation Grand Slam a monumental climax, like the one from MOONRAKER. For the first time ever, I experience the cold sensation that a Bond book leaves me unsatisfied. And yet, I have nothing bad to say about the first two sections; typical Fleming gold. The third section will have to settle for silver though. Also worth pointing out is that the film adaptation, in my opinion at least, corrected some of the book’s errors, by for example introducing Pussy a lot sooner, by making her much more vital in the process of beating Goldfinger at his “grand theft gold” game, and by building a much more gigantic climax, including a far more exciting confrontation with Odd-Job. The difference between the book and the film in other sections can be boiled down to pure action. The book has Bond riding through Switzerland while cataloguing panoramas and nice places to visit; the film has Bond chased by car on Goldfinger’s industrial grounds. The book has Mr. Solo “falling from the stairs”; the film takes him for a ride to a car compactor. If action is what you seek, GOLDFINGER will be a better film than book for you. I myself like both, though I must admit that GOLDFINGER is perhaps the one book whose film adaptation I rate slightly higher.
And yet, I have needed only two nights to finish reading GOLDFINGER, a testament of the pure entertainment value Fleming still manages to throw in. Despite my occasional complaint, it remains a solid book indeed, and I applaud Fleming for having come up with, yet again, a cool and unforgettable adventure. This is the seventh book in the series already and in my opinion the series is still going strong. No unexplainable lulls, no clear signs of fatigue. Despite Fleming’s earlier grumbles about how hard it is to keep coming up with new and fresh stories, he ultimately manages quite well and the results speak for themselves. I put the book down with the realization that I’ve suddenly gone halfway through the book series already, and that in terms of sheer page count, I’m even well over half of it by now. But that’s not the point and in fact part of me regrets coming ever closer to the fourteenth and final novel. That, if nothing else, is a sign of my sloppy cravings for more of the Fleming Bond adventures. I will keep on reading, but not today. Having turned the final page at 0:07 AM is happenstance; having read the novel 60 years after it was written is coincidence, but denying myself the comfort of a warm bed at this hour would be enemy action.
7/10
DD's 2018 book ranking
1) Casino Royale - 10/10
2) Moonraker - 9.5/10
3) From Russia With Love - 9/10
4) Dr No - 8.5/10
5) Live And Let Die - 8/10
6) Diamonds Are Forever - 7.5/10
7) Goldfinger - 7/10
Found it at the local library, so figured why not? Just one chapter in, so have no opinion about it yet.