It looks like you're new here. If you want to get involved, click one of these buttons!
^ Back to Top
The MI6 Community is unofficial and in no way associated or linked with EON Productions, MGM, Sony Pictures, Activision or Ian Fleming Publications. Any views expressed on this website are of the individual members and do not necessarily reflect those of the Community owners. Any video or images displayed in topics on MI6 Community are embedded by users from third party sites and as such MI6 Community and its owners take no responsibility for this material.
James Bond News • James Bond Articles • James Bond Magazine
Comments
Would love to, as you lot make good company, but as an unemployed fresh-out-of-college 23 year old who is relatively poor I can't make that trip.
So when I was a kid, maybe 9 or 10, I took a summer chess class with three other random boys. Three of us were about on the same level, the other was one of those kids who was really serious about his chess. And we capped the class off with a mini-tournament. I won my first game squarely, playing your typical straightforward game of chess—captured his king and all that—and moved on to the "championship" game against that one really good kid. Now, I knew he had me well and fully outmatched. He was the best of us by far. There was no way I was beating him unless he totally screwed up his own game. Even then...
But I wanted to win this tournament. Partly because I don't care for losing, but also because this other kid was a bit full of himself as you can imagine and I didn't mind taking him down a couple pegs (you know the situation, I'm sure you've been there before). So before we began, I made up my mind that the only way I was going to take him down was by running out his clock: 15 minutes for each of us. I would move my pieces as fast as I could, as smartly as I could, taking no more than 2-3 seconds per turn. I would force this kid to do all his thinking on his own clock and give him none of mine. I would also use his turns, which turned out to be fairly lengthy, to do all of my thinking. That put the ball well in his court as far as strategy and intelligent gameplay went, but I'd had to abandon that game, more or less—at least "long-play" strategy—for my plan to work.
After a few moves, he caught on to what I was doing and grew outwardly frustrated, complaining to the instructor that I was just moving my pieces as fast as I could to run down his clock. Which is exactly what I was doing. Our instructor shrugged and told him, "That's within his right; you have to work around that."
I wasn't playing an idiot's game though, just blindly moving pieces as fast as I could. A lot of thought—very, very fast thought—went into each of my moves. There was no way I could survive 15+ minutes on the board against this superior player just by moving pieces around. I made my primary goal in the game twofold: a) to take out his lesser pieces, his forward-most weapons, eating up as many pawns as I could along with his bishops and knights, and b) to put up as solid a defense as possible. I wasn't after his king you see; I was after his clock. And I had only to keep my king alive for the life of that clock. In the first of these goals I was moderately successful; in the second, somewhat less so. He was playing a well thought out game and steadily broke down my defenses, piling up my pieces off his side of the board. He had me outnumbered and out-positioned, no question. It was his game to win. He just had to do it before his time ran out—and ensure he didn't lock my king into a draw, which was another possible out in the back of my mind if things got really thick.
And so we played, him sitting there thinking through his turns and irritatedly depressing his lever each time he finished, and me zipping my pieces to their squares and slamming that lever down with great satisfaction. With his irritation so too grew his nervousness that his time was running out. Rightfully so, because it was.
In the end I had probably only my king and a pair of pawns—maybe one rook or a knight—remaining. It was bare bones on my side. But I had all the time in the world—and he had seconds. It was coming down to it. He had the win. He knew it and I knew it. He just had to be careful about that draw. It was the crushing move: all he had to do was move his queen into checkmate, and we're talking literally about five seconds left on his clock here. He reaches across the board for his queen, sweating bullets, visibly a pile of nerves from his ticking clock, and as his fingers reach across, he accidentally knocks over my king on the way to his queen. He freezes, stupefied, then looks at our instructor and asks, "I knocked over his king, what do I do??" The instructor replies, "Pick it up. You have to right his king before you can move your piece." Tick, tick, tick. In a panic, he corrects my fallen king, and...the timer sounds. Checkmate. His time is up. In defeat, he tips his own king. Sitting there cool as a cucumber with probably about 12-13 minutes still on my timer, I'd won the game and the tournament. Me, who really wasn't particularly good at chess more than a few moves out.
So the moral is, when the odds aren't in your favor, when your opponent has you fully outmatched, you have to play the game to your advantage. Always within the rules (so long as your opponent is playing by the rules), but you play your game, not your opponent's. And that's what I did. And I made him play my game too. I made him play the clock instead of me. I forced him to close out his game in 15 minutes or lose. It was damned close. Perhaps some luck came into it too (though it was his shaken nerves that led to his fatal error). But Bond rolls with some amount of luck too. Anyway, that was me forcing the ball into my court in a losing situation and by the skin of my teeth coming out on top. I can probably think of more glamorous situations for that moral than a summer chess class, but that's my example. It's not a bad moral to live out, really. When the odds are against you, set them back for you.
I used to play a lot of chess earlier, and here is my curious story:
No one ever beat me when I was stoned.
I don't have a favorite book yet, and just know that Diamonds is last. The issue you state for Moonraker is sadly in every novel to this point, and I don't think it'll be slowing down. The issue comes when Bond looks like an idiot in reflection of these lapses of his, and that's something I don't like because Fleming makes him out to be so much more, even in the first chapter of the first novel.
The biggest offender, or one of, is how he just doesn't bother following up on Le Chiffre after the game in Casino as if he thinks that a man facing death via SMERSH wouldn't try to get the money from him anyway. At times it's hard to feel bad for Bond as he's being tortured because in many ways he brought it all on himself. The movie fixed this glaring error immensely, with Bond making sure the Americans would be in a position to try and get Le Chiffre neutralized. In that case Bond's focus on Vesper over his enemy is more backed up with logic.
I guess the error of the same kind in Live & Let Die is when Bond and Felix leave Solitaire alone in the hotel instead of taking her for what was just a simple stakeout mission. Really, Bond? Again, I don't feel sympathy when things cock up, as he was asking for it.
And of course in Diamonds Bond stupidly can't remember the very memorable detail of Wint and his wart, and even then ignores the weird man betting on the ship facing trouble. It couldn't be more obvious for him! By this point it was evident that Fleming was contriving so much that he'd written himself into a corner, when better options were available to create tension.
Sorry, what are we talking about here?
Ch. 11-20 (The Soft Life—Black On Pink)
James Bond in London: 70ish pages in, depending on your copy, Bond is found in the throes of boredom and we get a lot of very Bondian stuff straight off (his morning exercise routine, hot then cold shower, dark blue Sea Island cotton shirts and worsted trousers). May is introduced here. I guess Fleming decided Bond could use a Mrs. Hudson. The deal with the house being potentially canvased strikes the reader as alarming, but not Bond—the first of multiple oversights he will make. Curious that Tiffany left Bond, after months, and that he misses her badly. Bond certainly flirts with the idea of permanent relationships. First Vesper, then his curiously strong feelings for Gala, then Tiffany. Bond described as "the surly caged tiger on the floor below" M's—ha! M's embarrassment over asking Bond questions about his romantic life. I see Bernard Lee playing this perfectly. "The Lord knows I don't know much about these things..." Bond and M both appear too ready to neglect the notion of a trap, however. An oversight enthusiastically corrected in the film.
James Bond Abroad: The first of the gadgets—Q's tricked out attaché case—the predecessor of every cinematic gadget yet to come and a natural model for each gadget-laden Aston Martin or BMW. Bond immediately disposing of his suicide pill (referenced in DAD). Loelia Ponsonby ridiculously superstitious, though Bond reveals himself to be alarmingly superstitious as well. Sign of the times? A given for a Protestant/Catholic upbringing? Bond's reflections on himself as a youth and what he's become. Fanciful thoughts as he soars over the world, quickly dismissed as usual. Another electric storm, bit of a repeat from LALD, but it's nice to read about the "hurricane-room" where Bond retreats for safety. His own private "priest hole"? Apparently dolphins go through the colors of a sunset when dying, and Fleming had witnessed this. Or he's just making shit up. True of every Bond novel I guess, but Bond's flight to Istanbul and his subsequent appraisal of the city are travel writing at its best. Bond choosing the Kristal Palas for its name and winding up in a stinkhole sounds like something Fleming would do, given his sense of humor and sometimes whimsical ways. No scrambled eggs in Istanbul; mosques topped by "big firm breasts" though.
Darko Kerim: Kerim features more than any other ally to date. Perhaps more than any other ally period. He wins Bond over quickly, becoming one of maybe ten men he would call a true friend. However his story—and it is a fascinating one—opens a confusing can of worms. He loves women, ferociously. As does Bond. As does Fleming. Who doesn't? However his assertion that "all women...long to be slung over a man's shoulder and taken into a cave and raped" drains one's face of all color. And this was evidently how Kerim's father treated women, and how Kerim himself treated women. Capturing and raping them. And he calls his father "a kind of hero" and "a big, romantic sort of fellow." Needless to say, there are some very, very misguided notions at play here regarding what women are actually like (outside of some men's fantasies) and what does (or should) define a good man. But Kerim's appalling story of chaining his "Bessarabian hell-cat" under the table "like a dog" so she could "learn who was master" is at least somewhat grounded by the horrified reaction of Kerim's mother. Apart from that, no judgment is passed by Bond, who soon after finds himself laughing and joking with the man, or by the narrator. Another of those embarrassing and quite uncomfortable passages. But moving onward, Kerim proves himself a very capable and knowledgable ally—with a gadget of his own, the cane-gun, borrowed for Zukovsky in TWINE.
The Gypsies: The fight between Vida and Zora is wonderfully described, the larger girl appearing leonine, the smaller panther-like. Young did a tremendous job of translating their feral ferocity onto the screen. The fight that follows against the Bulgars is damned good reading too. The way three men descend upon Kerim at once and him going under, but not before swinging up his useless gun to coldclock one of them. The way Vavra's curved knife appears to suddenly grow out of one of the Bulgar's backs. Great sequence. (And Red Grant appearing as Bond's "guardian angel" in the film was a great and logical alternative to the Bulgars having received orders to leave Bond untouched.)
Tania: A delightful verbal interplay between Bond and Tania, rife with teasing, though here he makes another mistake, simply agreeing to Tania's plan to put them on the Orient Express. Why not take the upper hand? Why trust this girl whom you've just met? He did a similarly thick-headed thing with Solitaire in LALD. Thank goodness Bond never comes up against a genuine seductress in Fleming's novels. He'd be done for. All sense goes out the window the moment he sets his eyes on a pretty thing. Hard to blame him though, the way Fleming describes Tania. The crowning touch, of course, the benign bizarre, is the SMERSH photographers breathing and sweating heavily as they film the lovemaking below. Good stuff, Mr. Fleming.
Part One/ The Plan
Chapter 1- Roseland
What a fascinating start to another novel. I seldom read great villains in any fiction I experience, but somehow Fleming just had a way of making every character, either major or minor, important or interesting such that you felt they were a real person. One of the best examples I’ve seen from him thus far is Donovan “Red” Grant. I’ve heard some in their analyses compare him to a werewolf, citing his “furry” nature and temperament, and thought it was a perfect detail that, when he is about to be called on a new mission implicating our hero James Bond, the watch he has depicts the moon as ¾ full. A great, perhaps intentional bit of foreshadowing on Fleming’s part to indicate to us that the man is about to “turn” again and do his grizzly work. I’ll be on the lookout for more werewolf metaphors as I did deeper into the text.
The real magic of the chapter is how all the impressions about Grant are relayed through an innocent masseuse. I speak all the time about the value of introducing characters via other character’s impressions of them, to build up their legend, and the same effect is realized here. By getting inside the head of a woman free from the world of assassination and espionage to experience the strange figure of Grant, we get a complex and fascinating set of interactions that leap off the page through her unfamiliarity. The hard labor she experiences trying to knead the tensions out of the strong muscles, almost inhuman, how the body made her loathe it and revolt against the sight of it, the “bestial” pattering of hair and the drowned looking “morgue-like” face resembling a painted over china doll. The picture of the man becomes seamless to imagine, and revolts us too. We also get little details about how Grant would sometimes have bandage on him to heal his wounds when the masseuse came to meet him, driving her to wonder just what his body was being used for when he was away for weeks and months. The hints of his true purpose are perfectly implied to us, and already we know that there is danger in this man in how much he can survive and the indifference he holds for pain.
One of my favorite things about the movie version of From Russia with Love, and Grant as a villain in it, is how the script and costume design build him up as the doppelgänger of James Bond, down to their animal tactics, how Grant purposefully dresses to stylize himself after Bond’s British image, and ultimately the equal match they offer each other. I was hoping that the novel would’ve managed these same comparisons between the hero and villain, and I was happy to already see hints of it in this opening chapter. The contrasts between Bond and Grant amount to a high number already, just in how the two would act around a beautiful masseuse, a situation Fleming has beautifully painted her for examination and comparison.
It was brilliant for Fleming to come at Grant’s introduction through a sexual lens with a nude and inviting masseuse coming to relieve his tensions, as that instantly makes one think, “What would James Bond do in this situation?” While reading the novels we’re so used to hearing Bond’s inner thoughts and musings on the attraction he feels for the women around him, almost to an animalistic degree, so when we’re faced with a man like Grant who not only ignores the woman, but “blankly” stares at the sky offering no amount of passion or attraction unlike so many other clients of hers, he immediately becomes fascinating in contrast. Bond would be on this girl’s business, would’ve been flirting with her from their first session and would almost certainly have engaged in some quick recreation after the woman offered her consent to the handsome and mysterious man (like Hoagy Carmichael, but crueler looking).
The robotic, empty nature of Grant, like his humanity has been chiseled away to leave room for nothing more than Russian utility, is a stark and brilliant contrast to Bond, passionate, human, and with the same cold blue eyes and cruel mouth that invite more than they repel a woman. In short, Bond is a tool of government without allowing himself to be solely burnished to fineness by that arm of the British realm, whereas I get the feeling that Grant has no life outside his Soviet-ordered hits and lacks the human flaws and recreations of Bond in his gambling, smoking, drinking, and sexing. In a cruel sort of way, the viceless man seems more sinful than any other, and dangerous to boot.
As the chapter comes to a close the momentum of the book is set in motion, with Grant off the chain and onto the scent of another mission. I love that his codename in the Soviet service is “Granit,” sounding like “granite,” again connoting his impenetrable and hard nature. The way the killer reacts like Pavlov’s dogs at the ringing of his Soviet bell is chilling, as is how he has formed his life into a regimen and system of perceptible patterns that he instantly predicts almost before they happen. He knows the patterns for when he has a fresh job, the motion that his handlers give to call him forth, and the utility expected of him by his masters gained only through years of brutal experience.
The tone or color of the novel thus far is red, and promises more of it as we head off beyond the introduction. Red for the roses surrounding Grant (and the scent of the soap he uses in chapter two), for the harsh sunburn on his monstrous body and the bloodlust firing inside of him, for his piercing codename inside SMERSH and even the red star of Communism itself and the colloquial name of the vengeful Soviet service itself, “Redland,” as noted by Bond at the end of Casino Royale. Red, red everywhere.
Chapter 2- The Slaughterer
After Grant gets his mission from the Soviets via telephone, it’s interesting to me that he has a nervous reaction. Clearly he likes to be informed with details about who and what he’s dealing with, and that ignorance sets him off on his back feet. It’s also interesting simply because the robotic man finally has a human reaction to something happening to him, which didn’t seem possible from what we know about him to this point.
The details of Grant’s villa where the Soviets have stationed him are especially fascinating to me. The English and American magazines tossed about his room and the paperbacks and hardcover thrillers at his window particularly drew my interest. Are the magazines his way of connecting with English and American culture and current events so that he’s on the ball in the field when he runs into British and American agents and can credibly deceive them with their own popular culture? And what of the thriller novels in the room? Does he get a sick entertainment out of reading about spies doing other spies in, or does he think he actually learns tactics from them on how to be better in his own cruel work? I like that Fleming never lets us know, building up this man’s mystery and just why he does what he does.
The rest of the chapter is utterly compelling-and just as chilling-as Fleming recounts Grant’s life and continues to frame his legend. An assortment of wild details from his life, his start as the offspring of a weightlifter from Germany and an Irish waitress behind a circus tent, “The Feelings” he gets at full moons that compel him to killing to stave off distaste, his work for both the political side of Ireland and the criminal underworld as a youth and his defection to Russia via the Royal service are so bizarre yet unforgettable in their imagery.
I felt my skin scorn itself as I read the details about his violent compulsions, where Fleming really paints him as an animal out of a fable that needs slaying, very much in tune with a werewolf I’ve heard the character compared to before. It’s chilling that his good feeling via killing tramps and other women comes from the simple joy of squeezing the life out of them, and how he doesn’t even view the act in sexual or passionate terms; he is absent of any desire beyond the barbaric and foregoes all feeling outside red-hot brutality. The legend he builds for himself in Ireland as the “Moon Killer” again connects to his werewolf persona, a man at battle with his animal inclinations.
I like that Fleming has Grant attempting to stave off his killing while serving in the military, and that he does so through some heavy drinking. We read that Grant would take a bottle of whiskey with him into the woods surrounding his base, drink it down and remain there as he became unconscious, exiting the woods again in the early morning. I don’t know about anyone else, but this passage again called back to my mind the action of a werewolf or wereman to me. It read like a passage out of a fable or dark tale where a man with the bite would turn into a werewolf at a full moon and head out hunting for food in a nearby forest. The beast would suddenly “turn” back to a man as daylight came pouring back through the wood and night called its end, leaving him stumbling from the trees back home as Grant “staggers” back to his army camp the next morning as if he himself has become human again as well, his bestial side at rest for a while longer. Brilliant.
I was fascinated to read about Grant’s crumbling relationship with his native service while in the military working for the Brits and how he slowly turned his allegiances to the Russians and finally decided to use his job transporting sensitive intelligence to give the Soviets a reason to trust him. His respect for their brutal ways is chilling, as is his desire to serve their cruel means as a tool for brutalization. This comes in stark contrast to a man like Bond, who serves something larger than himself because he wants to be a protecting force and do what other men can’t do to help his nation from great threats. Grant seems to have no allegiances to country and simply strives to use any governmental services open to him that can satisfy his desire to kill and cleanse himself of frequent bloodlust. The British took umbrage to his desires, evident in how they booed him when he fought dirty, so he went where his “recreations” could be more appreciated in Moscow.
As the chapter ends roses again becoming a defining image. As Grant remembers how one rose was lying on the desk of the Soviet who seemingly gave him the job that he remains with a decade later, much to the man’s glee, the killer is reminded of how his life since his defection has been full of the flowers. Surrounding him in the garden at the villa, in his line of sight as they grow on the roads he takes to his assignments out of Crimea, the very scent of the soap he must use to keep hygienic; they suffocate him and are perfectly red to match the communist and bloody concerns he serves.
The red rose is the perfect image Fleming could’ve picked for characterizing the life of a killer in one of his spy novels. As a thing roses are a deceitfully beautiful image, because when picked one can forget the thorns that can stick them and cause a bleed. This in many ways speaks to the duplicity of the novel, and the dangers lying in things that send out of a comforting image in so many of Fleming’s other writing as is natural for a dangerous and always changing spy world like the one Bond frequents. In many ways I imagine Grant likes the idea of the rose, something beautiful and romantic that has a violent side inherent in its thorns, harming the lovers who pick them in an attempt to give an image to their passion shared with another. Their lust delivers to them pain, almost like a punishment. Yes, I think he’d find that idea, and the human action of romance intertwined with roses, amusing and comical.
Chapter 3- Post-graduate Studies
Fleming takes us back into Grant’s past again as the killer waits for his plane ride to be over, detailing more of how he grew to become the head executioner of SMERSH. I was amused, in a black sort of fashion, that even the tough and brutal Soviets whose jobs involved finding trained killers were so scared of Grant’s abilities and so unsure he could be reigned in that they considered having him executed as a precaution. That really says it all, and you can only imagine being in the position at the other side of the desk from this sort of fellow. A man from your enemy’s camp audaciously walks right into your base, fearless, and demands that you put him to work for his enjoyment of killing, an opportunity that makes him grin as he stands to part from you.
The rest of the chapter really makes it clear that Grant was destined for the kind of work he’d be doing for SMERSH. Despite his uncontrollable nature, SMERSH decide that the value he poses as a killer immune to “lassitude” is worth the risk for them, and put him to work because he represents such a dire scarcity of human. As he is trained into a formidable agent, we get a window into Grant’s struggles with political coursework-discussions of Marxism, Lenin, and other bookish things he has no aptitude for-contrasted with how easily he takes to fieldwork, ciphers, and executing effective and devastating operations that leave no mistakes. In this way the man’s indifference to political leanings or a concern for any education beyond being a killing apparatus make him the perfect natural tool for the Soviets to exploit. And being who he is, Grant doesn’t give a damn. Just let him loose and he couldn’t be happier.
It was chilling to read how the Soviets handled Grant, and how his assassination missions had to be planned outside of full moons so that he would be at his most controlled. Again his werewolf like tendency is referenced, where he is medically described to be uncontrollable to anyone, even himself, at those hours, very much like how the bite of a fantastical werewolf from myths would override the minds and bodies of “normal” men to turn them into beasts of their own making. Of particular horror is how the Soviets would satisfy Grant’s bloodlust at full moons, taking him to prisons where enemies of the state were at his mercy for whatever cruel tortures he could imagine for them. In arranging this the Soviets not only allowed Grant to get experience with a variety of killing implements, but they also gave him the ability to cleanse himself and clear his head of the compulsions that could drive him too far out of their control. This would in turn kill two birds with one stone, a murderous act against animal life that I’m sure a young Grant may’ve tried to perpetrate in Ireland when he was first starting out.
On the whole, Grant becomes a very solitary figure when his life story is taken in. He is either feared or envied to the very brink of hate by those around him for his abilities with little room in between, and because of this he is isolated from everyone around him. Even his handlers have a feeling of intimidation and wariness when it comes to him, like a dog owner who tosses a giant steak into the pen of their Rottweiler to calm its erratic and mad hunger out of fear and disgust. And yet in many ways Grant craves this form of solitude, or at least when he’s not indifferent to it. He wants to be the best at his work and one can only be the best when one has no equals to challenge them, hence why it is called being “#1.” And that is the hook of the chapter: as Grant is shuttled off to whatever work awaits him, he wonders if there is a man out there, somewhere, who he must kill before he can lay claim to being the most effective man in his business.
I wonder who that man could be?
Chapter 4- The Moguls of Death
A new chapter begins and, the journalist that he is, Fleming peppers us with more facts about the Soviet Union’s intelligence climate than you could imagine in strict and overflowing detail, sharing sensitive and classified information with his reading public of the day. He most certainly got put on a list, and a file was made.
I’ve read some quick thoughts from other readers who saw this meeting between the Soviet intelligence workers as slightly comical, and I get that feeling too. While similar moments from the British perspective would be played with high tension and the earnestness it demanded by the native writer, it could easily be argued that Fleming is making light of the Russians and how they run their business with his imagining of such an incongruous and awkward coming together. I particularly enjoyed the hardline, uber-nationalistic “For Mother Russia” Communist of General G. lighting up his Russian cigarette with a Zippo lighter from America, as incongruous an image as you can imagine that points to a lot of hypocrisy inherent in him. I found it doubly amusing considering that the town I went to college in, Bradford, Pennsylvania, is the home of Zippo and where their main headquarters are stationed.
Other moments of amusement occur when Fleming notes how the intelligence representatives all think they’re more clever than the others in spotting the obvious recording equipment, and how each keep their speech to a minimum through their paranoia to avoid upsetting their betters, a showing of controlled cowardice and thought policing. General G. is built up as a sycophant through this same recording equipment, as we learn that he purposefully name drops colleagues he wants to suck up to so that they’ll hear themselves being praised on the tape at a later date, scoring him career points. Even the general’s explanation and monologue about the “hard-soft” policy which should be an earnest talking point is painted with a derisive brush by Fleming, writing it as if our reaction to G’s speech should be to say, “So you think you’re clever or something?”
The overall drama and theater of the entire meeting really exudes artificiality, with every man playing a part in either a sycophantic or meek display for those who may be listening in. These details and how these men act render them less as the tough and reasoned Soviet parallels to Bond’s native intelligence chiefs and their stiff upper lips, but far more man children suffering from cowardice, incompetence and over dramatizations. And I think that was basically Fleming’s whole point.
Chapter 5- Konspiratsia
As the Russian meeting continues, we get further into the heads of the Russian representatives present as they form their next trap for a yet to be named secret service.
We learn of the egoism of General G., beside himself and expecting great honors and plaudits because he was chosen by the mysterious “Throne” at the top of the pile to lash out at SMERSH’s inadequacies, seemingly oblivious to the fact that, as its leader, he holds much of the responsibility for those inadequacies. In this section we get details that tell us just how G. got to his position, a well connected man in the intelligence community that rose to prominence once Beria was dead, a man who tried to stop his advancement at every turn. With the cunning Serov’s help, G. had reached the top with nobody to contest him.
As the briefing goes on we witness the jabs shared between these men, of how lowly they view each other or how much they want each other to fail in front of their betters, like how General G. puts General Vozdvishensky into a position where he must select which intelligence service is the best to target, possibly because G. is lost for suggestions and wants another man to seem incompetent on the tape recorder. Later on, when Vozdvishensky overly praises the British, G. is planning how he can use the comment against the man later on-possibly making a case for him being a traitor to the state or a British sympathizer-and hopes Vozdvishensky digs himself deeper into a whole as the meeting develops. When discussion of the Americans comes up, you can tell that G. purposefully makes it seem like Vozdvishensky is underestimating their threat so that the man may double down and overly praise them as he did the British, “saying that the Pentagon is stronger than the Kremlin.” The bait isn’t taken, but we can see quite overtly that G. is fishing.
When the discussion moves beyond Vozdvishensky to the other members present, we again see a shallow and immature game of thrones being played before our eyes. Getting inside the heads of these Russians, we learn that General Slavin has seen the discussion unfold and doesn’t want to overstep a line or say a wrong word, so he remains silent and agrees with his colleague to avoid upset. The shoe then passes to Colonel Nikitin, who consciously prepares to call out Slavin for being too stupid to add anything to the discussion-professionally throwing him under the bus in front of those who will listen to the recording later-while offering a suggestion of his own that would strategically be agreed upon by the other men, making him seem a better and more competent man by contrast. Nikitin recommends the British, to G.’s frustration at having his “thunder stolen,” for he wanted to be the one to impress his superiors by making the final selection. These copious moments show what a room full of children this body of Russian intelligence can be, where the operators are more motivated by making themselves look better than the others and by jeopardizing each other’s job instead of being invested in simply doing their actual jobs, like Bond’s people would be. Fleming’s intention here is clear, creating a scene out of a Mel Brooks film set inside the Kremlin.
As the meeting gets into a discussion of the many services SMERSH could target, fans of the past novels who have general knowledge of the cast of characters in Fleming’s books get treated to a particularly dark easter egg as Mathis of the French service is suggested as the victim of their plans, but quickly shot down (figuratively speaking).
When it comes to the discussion of England, it was amusing to me to read about the culture clash that the Russians felt for the British spies. They couldn’t fathom how men and women who get paid less, receive no decorations of service while in the job, and no special privileges at home or abroad, would continue to serve such a cold mistress as MI6 with their lives. Perhaps this is Fleming’s veiled way of contrasting his countrymen with the Russians, showing that the British value a duty and obligation to protect above all others without the assurance of gifts in the doing, while the Russians are always looking for how they can be compensated for doing the same work with a third of the loyalty and determination. Or perhaps Fleming is poking fun at the Brits, wondering along with the Russians just why spies like Bond sign up for a raw deal. It could be a bit of both, but for some reason I think it’s more to do with the former; chalk it up to Fleming’s national pride.
When the British service is finally selected, we hear an agreement from all the men as the plan is formed in detail. Fleming again seems to poke fun at the Russians here, namely General G., for he doesn’t seem to know who the head of MI6 is despite his high position. In an embarrassing and amusing moment, Colonel Nikitin knows the answer but it takes his aide whispering in his ear, ushering him on, to make him risk speaking out at all, again so paranoid at the idea of being recorded. What does it say about an intelligence community when men are afraid of saying the right answer in a recorded meeting? Again, Fleming’s points are clear and biting.
It’s at this time that we get a funny description of M, a man considered “too old for women.” It’s chilling to hear a man who we’ve grown to like being talked about as a possible target for SMERSH to be shot in a London street, showing what is at stake if the operation goes through. When General G. goes in search of a mythic hero of the British service they could build the plan around to hurt the nation as much as possible, only one name can come up, and that is James Bond. I’m sure the spy would be amused and possibly flattered at how overly dramatic the Russians are being in toting him as a Herculean figure of his nation worthy of such a nasty plot, further entertained by how the suggestion of his name was made “hesitantly” by Nikitin, a man who feared his own superiors with a paranoia overwhelming fear.
It’s this chapter that officially kicks things off, and connects all the dots thus far. We now know why Grant is being called and what he’s being tasked with, and we can see how Bond is going to be implicated in a complex and devious plot of subterfuge and deceit.
Chapter 6- Death Warrant
Man, what a chapter. So much to unpack and go over.
To start us off we have General G. going into a loud and obscene rant about how such a man as James Bond could slip past them and be forgotten, given how much trouble he has caused them. Of course, the egotist he is, G. is careful to note that Bond’s tangling with SMERSH was an issue before he took control of the outfit and hasn’t been since in an effort to free himself from blame.
It’s at this point that Fleming injects some continuity into the novel, reminding readers who may’ve forgotten all the times Bond intruded and destroyed SMERSH operations or, in the case of Drax, operations taken on that would’ve led to the advancement of the state, even down to the diamond smuggling of the last book that was unconnected to Russia. I especially loved how, when Le Chiffre’s death was brought up, G. said that the man was an “excellent leader,” writing off his misuse of SMERSH funds as simple “money troubles” that would’ve been solved if Bond wasn’t there to put a wrench in it. Fleming is showing us the lengths to which the Russians will go (and particularly G. here) to justify the actions of anyone on their side-even men like Le Chiffre who took advantage of them-when the British are involved. It then becomes an “us vs. them” situation where those that stand with Russia are perfect and honorable no matter what, and those that stand with the British are pesky and insufferable ants that need to be squashed.
From the above emphasis Fleming placed on connecting this novel with all of his past work, we can tell that the author was intent on giving his audience, no matter how many books of his they’d read, the proper context so that they could understand why Bond was such a hard target for SMERSH and worthy of execution. Because of this context the briefing here has two functions, inside the plot and out of it: the Russians are discussing Bond with earnestness for the first time as they decide if he’s a worthy target (making it credible to include), and Fleming uses this opportunity to organically inform the public about the events of the man’s past. For those of us who know the novels this “recap” will come off as a necessary bit of plot as the Russians talk about a man they have only a cursory idea of, and for those who don’t remember the books well it will be fantastic to be reminded of Bond’s past and the context of the last few adventures to understand why the plot is moving in such a direction.
As Bond’s danger is made obvious, we again have infighting amongst the Russians who all blame each other for Bond not being killed sooner, each aware of how they could be perceived as incompetent on the tape recorder if they don’t rush to defend their actions. So childish.
What follows is a meaty and fascinating discussion about Bond’s past history with the British service, a detailing of his record and a summation of his threat as the Russians ponder him as a possible target. Of particular interest is the question of if Bond would be a hero to his nation worth tarnishing, to which Vozdvishensky bitingly holds that the British have no heroes beyond athletes. The queen and Churchill are named as those that fit a heroic mold for the public, but because Bond is a secret agent and is part of a war-like body that the public don’t view as heroic, the chances of such a man being held on a pedestal are low.
Of particular derisiveness is the comment that, “[The British] do not like to think about war, and after a war the names of their war heroes are forgotten as quickly as possible.” It’s hard to tell if Fleming is sharing is own viewpoint on how Britain handles war and the aftermath of war, or if he is simply giving the Russians this critical outlook to build them as anti-Britain and smug in their way of running a country that is perceived by them to be better. As a man who was close to conflict, perhaps Fleming wasn’t above being open about his misgivings with war efforts, and used this opportunity to thinly veil it for readers. But as of this moment, I don’t know and couldn’t offer a guess as to what Fleming felt.
The rest of the chapter is fascinating from a writing perspective because Fleming uses one of my favorite tools and has other characters give their impressions about Bond that fit their subjective viewpoint. Most prominently, we learn that British agents who were prisoners of war in Russia held high regard for Bond as an agent, a nice detail that shows how much the man is appreciated and respected by those in his own service. Just this detail alone is perfect, because the ultimate effect makes Bond out to be a mythic hero, the very thing that the Russians want to rip asunder. By getting these outside perspectives on Bond after we already know him, we are able to judge how true or untrue the opinion of him is, which is a nice bit of fun as we see how one man can leave different people with a variety of impressions about him depending on their nation of origin or experiences with him. That relativity of morality, of Bond’s rightness or wrongness in doing what he does depending on an outsider’s perspective, calls back to the “Nature of Evil” chapter of Casino Royale where Bond’s idea of Le Chiffre varied from SMERSH’s because the pair were on opposing sides and had the mutual assurance that they were doing what was right.
At this point Bond is even described as a “lone wolf,” but “a good looking one” as the Russians continue to build his profile from a physical standpoint. Knowing the running joke that Fleming had made out of having women internally compare Bond to a certain Hollywood performer in past books (like Vesper and Gala Brand), I was waiting to hear one of the Russians say, “One of our honeypot agents in the field referred to this man Bond as a Hoagy Carmichael look-a-like, but somehow crueler, Comrade General.” Alas, it wasn’t meant to be.
My favorite and probably the most chilling part of the chapter comes next as General G. requests Bond’s file and lays out pictures taken of him in the past, inspecting each to get a sense of the man. I don’t know about anyone else, but this section really blew my hair back and I didn’t expect to read anything like it. For some reason I felt worried for Bond, but in the past tense instead of the present, because of how close he was to the Russians and possible death without knowing it and how he was watched, stalked and tailed in moments of both private recreation at a café and professional circumstances as he operated in the field.
Two pictures in particular really got me, the first being the shot taken at close range from a buttonhole camera in 1951. Not only did I find it fascinating and worrying that Bond was brushing shoulders with secret Russian agents in the field that he didn’t even know were there, despite looking them in the eyes as he passed them on the street, it was the simple idea that they’ve always been watching him, long before he ever became a problem for SMERSH, that really shook me. All this time they were there in plain sight, like just another pedestrian, but how could he ever know?
The final picture, taken at what appears to be a concierge desk from a hotel in 1953, was the second one that knocked my socks off. The picture and the date obviously puts us back with Bond in Royale, in the opening chapter of Casino Royale as he moves away from inspecting Le Chiffre on a balcony and heads to his hotel to rest for the night. Readers may remember how Bond was conscious of the hotel staff around him at this time, suspecting that the lift man or the concierge were planted by the enemy, and sure enough this picture essentially confirms Bond’s suspicions as correct. The concierge was a mole all along, right under his nose, and had photographed Bond while he was stationed around him at Royale. Fleming again shows that his ability to create continuity, even with the smallest of details in his books, knew no bounds.
It’s interesting to view these pictures from an outsider’s perspective along with G., because we have no context for what Bond was doing in them, creating mystery and intrigue. Why was he at a café? Meeting a contact or unwinding after a hard job? In the photo of him on the street, walking with purpose, was he headed to a dark and trying mission, or had he gotten some particularly bad news that set him off? In the buttonhole picture we know Bond is in the field, but what was the mission and why was he being watched by Russians while there? These mysteries built up by Fleming are so effective because they create in front of us the whole history of a man. Because of these details we understand that Bond’s life and career didn’t begin with Casino Royale, that he has had a long history of dodging bullets and leaping from shadow to shadow as a spy predating that time. We can’t know and will never know what his missions were in the past or what he was doing while pictured in the photos, but they clue us into how long he’s been at the work and all the times that, unbeknownst to him, he was under surveillance. All the danger, all the voyeurism and all the hidden threats of spy craft are laid out before us, represented by nothing more than an amateur photo album in the hands of a pack of Russians. Well done, Fleming. Well done.
From just this set of photographs, G. seems to decide outright that Bond, a man with “decision, authority, ruthlessness,” must be the target of their trap. As Bond’s file is read the Russians hear details about the man we’ve already memorized, from his hair color and the comma of it that hangs on the right side to his eye color, vertical scar and where he keeps his Beretta. I found it particularly interesting that Bond is viewed to be a terrorist by the Russians in the file, which makes sense considering the sides they are on. For those of his service Bond is an outstanding operator delivering a strong message on behalf of the British abroad, but to those who are his victims, like the Russians, he is a terrorist who must be stopped. A very clever way of showing us how freedom fighters and terrorists are relative, all depending on what part of the map you find yourself.
The chapter ends with a surprising bit of sympathy that caught me off guard, but that I loved all the same. As the order to kill Bond is passed from G. to his colleagues to be signed, we learn that General Vozdvishensky is “sick of murder” and “enjoyed his time in England.” The man is caught in a tough position, torn between his dedication to the state and his reluctance to leave more bodies piling up around the world, especially for a man like Bond whose nation had earned his respect; he ultimately views the spy more as a victim than a target. When the paper and pen finally come to Vozdvishensky, he stops, takes his time and tellingly looks up into G.’s eyes, signing without looking at the sheet, possibly to try and remain absolved of what murder he’s involved himself in.
From Vozdvishensky's behavior G. senses that his instincts about him were right, telling us that the Russian had long suspected Vozdvishensky of not having the stuff for the job or being a flat out British sympathizer. The hardline general seems to misconstrue Vozdvishensky’s exhaustion with killing with being a traitor, when in truth the man is suffering from the very lassitude that G. lamented having to deal with in an earlier Grant chapter. Vozdvishensky had reached the limit of his utility as an agent of death, and his tally had become so high that his exhaustion with killing had finally set in. As was the case for so many before him, G. seems to make plans to liquidate him for quick replacement.
I really appreciated the above moment because, despite how much he derisively made light of the Russians in these few chapters that make up the intelligence briefing, Fleming took a moment to show the reluctance to kill and the deep humanity and compassion of a Russian who was as sick of death as a regular citizen would be. The real tragedy, beyond how misunderstood Vozdvishensky is by his colleague, lies in the fact that men like him who fight for less conflict and less death are the minority in a majority group who get off on imagining cruel and unusual punishments for their enemies. Compassion and open-heartedness is a weakness in the eyes of SMERSH, and only the cold may stick around.
Speaking of coldness, the chapter ends with yet another segue into a further development of the plot, with the “Wizard of Ice” Kronsteen and Colonel Klebb being consulted as a nasty trap is conceived for James Bond.
Chapter 7- The Wizard Of Ice
With this chapter comes a chess game, and the cold Kronsteen along with it. This is actually the scene where the film starts off with after the opening credits, but even then we lack the insight into the chess master’s mind that makes this particular section so compelling. We find the man in the middle of a winning chess game, a big one for his career and reputation. This is the same image we’re met with in the movie, but there Kronsteen comes off as egotistical and assured. It’s only in the quiet monologue of the book that we find out that, despite putting up a façade of coldness, Kronsteen has been sweating the game copiously and the pressure of the match has gotten to him. As readers we’re privileged, for we are privy to a fact and a weakness that he lets show to nobody else.
We feel the atmosphere and tension of the room as Kronsteen finally makes his defining moves to end the game, all while giving his opponent a look that approaches one Morphy would give (as referenced during Bond’s Blades game with Drax in Moonraker), eyeing his opponent directly to see their reaction to his winning strokes. Kronsteen shares that same sense of egotistical pride and a need for plaudits as Morphy, and enjoys seeing how the chess pieces that are humans react to his moves on the board itself.
One aspect of this scene that doesn’t make it into the film is the context of the message Kronsteen gets that adds so much to the overall mood of the section. He gets a similar message from his colleagues to come immediately in the movie, but here we see the man caught between winning his game and delaying his appointment or losing the match, harming his credibility and inviting suspicious questions about his departure. His desire to win proves to be too much for Kronsteen, and he chooses to prolong the game in a fashion that conveys his lack of concern for SMERSH. Though he thinks, “To hell with these people,” we watch his mood change as he urges the usher to continue, trembling inside with the fear of what his decision will mean for him in the immediate future. This shows that, despite putting on a confident face and acting impulsively for himself, Kronsteen does feel intimidation and worries about his fate delivered by the more powerful force above him, to the point that his victory in the game becomes a “bitter” one in retrospect.
After Kronsteen gains victory and plays to his crowd, he heads outside to a waiting black saloon, the ominous symbol of SMERSH that Fleming made us familiar with in Casino Royale when Gettler tails Bond and Vesper to their seaside getaway. As the ride goes on Kronsteen seems to make peace with his decision to prolong the game and his meeting, thinking up a worthy excuse as he goes along. Many moments of comedy come when a slip of paper noting the chess player’s mistake is passed along from person to person in SMERSH, each having a reaction that he is oblivious to. And to Kronsteen’s defense, he comes up with a helluva excuse, rationalizing that he must protect his cover at all costs. This is a true statement, but also a false one, as that was never the man’s motivation at all, which General G. knows. Kronsteen valued only the victory and the feeling of domination in his opponent, and not even the endangerment of his family would stop him from achieving that end. His façade of obligation and loyalty to SMERSH was only a cover, an easy justification to divert further questions and looks.
With tensions regarding his punishment quelled alongside G.’s burning of the note, Kronsteen is grateful for the lenience and promises to put all of himself towards the plan ahead. It’s fascinating to watch him work, like a computer, establishing who his target is and how those traits and tendencies could be used against him during the trapping. He clearly has a strong psychological sense, and is able to water down a human to discernable features that he can poke and prod at his mercy.
Of particular amusement during this section is how Kronsteen becomes completely distracted from the mission at hand as Colonel Klebb is presented to him, a sight if there ever was one. Fleming’s description of her, with her “pale moist lips,” the “nicotine-stained fur” coating above her mouth and the puppet-like opening and closing of her lips form a bizarre and perfect picture well in tune with how the writer created his colorful villains.
It’s at this point that we hear Kronsteen’s point of view about human beings, and how they are nothing more than pieces on a board to him that he moves around to experience the reaction of other “pieces,” like a scientist zapping parts of the human body to study how they each reacted to the stimuli. We see all the thought he puts into his traps, studying the mark and how their own character can be their downfall, playing the operation into their hands enough to trick them.
From Kronsteen’s perspective we finally get a peek behind the character of Klebb, how she got to her position and who she is. Her brutality is evident from her survivability, noted by the chess player as her driving trait, and how she is thought to have murdered Andreas Nin, a man who she was rumored to be the mistress of, showing that she has allegiances to no one. What may be most surprising is what Kronsteen calls her “sexual instinct” or “sexual neutrality” that allows her to feel the physical ecstasy of the act without attaching any complicated and manipulative emotions or feelings to her partners. From Kronsteen’s perspective this coldness would be a “great and wonderful thing to be born with,” because he appreciates a mind that will only work for itself with indifference to others, much in the same way that he has an indifference to other humans who are little more than pawns at his fingertips, even his own wife and children.
And yet, despite how much Kronsteen seems to envy the coldness of Klebb, he imagines that this same trait of hers results in a laziness and “slovenly, even dirty” habits. I assume he comes to this conclusion because he views Klebb’s indifference to people as a sign that she may lack a drive or care for other things, namely professional obligations, and her coldness to all things makes her hard to warm up to anything. As for the habits she may keep, it seems only natural that a person like Klebb who repressed so much of her human instincts, or who didn’t seem to have much of them at all, would find herself acting out in perverse ways to get certain things out of her system. This could involve any variety of things, including but not limited to a peculiar or societally taboo expression of sexuality, as she wouldn’t view partners as anything beyond receptacles of pleasure and would lack the social filter to act accordingly with these people in the bedroom. Her lack of humanity would warp her experience of things far from the normal human tradition, almost inevitably.
My favorite part of Klebb’s characterization is how Kronsteen astutely and perfectly compares her to tricoteuses, women who would knit as a beheading via guillotine was underway in historical France. I don’t think you could find a better image than Fleming did here to impeccably relay the sense of indifference to pain and suffering that Klebb represents as a character, an almost inhumanness despite the slightly black comic image of the metaphor. A dreadful woman, indeed.
With all the major players and villains of James Bond introduced and characterized, one can see how Fleming intended to tie them all together. We can see that each character, from Red Grant to Kronsteen to Klebb, are all driven by desires and mad lusts that make them seek out their work in an effort to satiate them. Grant has a bloodlust and enjoys killing as a way to purge him of bad feelings, so naturally he is drawn to a job like SMERSH’s executioner where he will be afforded endless attempts to kill people in an assortment of cruel and unusual ways.
Kronsteen has an inherent desire to outthink opponents on and off the chessboard and enjoys gaining favor and respect from those around him, so naturally he finds himself playing a mental game to the roars of Russia’s crowds in public and plans the most methodical and cunning mouse traps for SMERSH in private, holding a high reputation in both spheres.
And lastly, Klebb’s bizarre sexual proclivities are perfectly realized in her position within SMERSH, a power center that gives her the ability to do as she pleases with what one would imagine is near impunity. We don’t know what fully drives her as well as Grant and Kronsteen at this point, but it is evident that her neutrality of mind is the perfect tool for an organization like SMERSH that relies on clear headed and cruel employees to realize their goals.
The chapter ends with the perfect lead-in to the next chapter, where we will meet the “beautiful girl” that will be the unwitting pawn of Kronsteen’s coming trap for James Bond.
This chapter has the job of introducing us to the leading lady of the text, Tatiana Romanova, and I think Fleming does a great job in such a short time. The main reflection I have on Tatiana is that she comes off as a very down to earth, endearing and sweet girl. She’s a simple woman with simple pleasures, happy to look out at the beautiful sky while listening to music and able to feel contentment in the moment.
The woman’s feeling of satisfaction becomes tragic quite soon when we realize her situation in a strict and controlled Soviet Russia. She’s cramped into a box of an apartment with nothing beyond the essentials around her amongst thousands of other women, and has little open to her in such a cramped and fearsome climate that knows about the power of SMERSH all too well.
And yet, although some women of the west would complain while finding themselves in a similar position, Tatiana looks at her confines and is still able to see the positives, including decent pay, government issued tickets to ballets and operas, some clothes and food to fill her stomach, and the opportunity of simple employment. She would never be allowed to live in excess or with many freedoms, but she is able to appreciate what she does have and certainly doesn’t take them for granted. And yet we can see that she craves more, or wants to feel more.
Big events in Tatiana's life would be to save some money on cheaper meals to buy a new coat, and even the small act of stealing one piece of nice silverware from a Russian hotel tells us everything we need to know: she is searching for nice things and likes the feeling of having something that feels special and that isn’t a mandatory item every other girl has. A piece of silverware is just silverware to westerners, but to her it’s shiny and new and all her own, just Tatiana’s. It’s sad that such a thing is the only symbol of self-expression she feels she has, pointing to the constrictive nature of her communist surroundings that sap individuality away.
As Tatiana prepares herself in the mirror we also find a girl who is immensely deprecating and self-conscious. She doubts her beauty and nitpicks her features-is her mouth too wide, her chin too sharp?-in a way only beautiful women who don’t know how beautiful they are can. This again makes her endearing, but also makes her sympathetic because she seems to think that she won’t or can’t be appreciated for anything beyond her outer looks. I guess that in a country where one of a woman’s main goals for success is to get a government official to select them for marriage, being beautiful on the outside can sometimes be all one worries about, or is viewed as all that matters to society.
When Tatiana gets a call to meet with Klebb, we see her small little world crumble as she tearfully wonders what she has done to receive such an appointment. She goes over her past history, of a bad joke she’d made or a conflict with the state she’d aired, showing the paranoia that comes from living under the specter of SMERSH. She even half thinks that the stolen spoon has done her in, making it pretty clear that, in her mind, the Soviets will go after you for any crime either big or small.
From Tatiana’s perspective we get more thoughts on Klebb that feed into Kronsteen’s thoughts in the last chapter as the girl prepares to meet with the dreadful woman. Of particular interest is the fascination Klebb seems to have with torture, and how she enjoys watching each one that is carried out while wearing a smock as it gets coated with the victim’s blood. The mind games she plays while in this role, of simulating a motherly presence to break the men under duress, is chilling, and it’s quite right that a woman would melt the spirit in this way while a man would only toughen it, making her part in the torture so vital. I mentioned in my analysis of the last chapter how each villain has selected work that suits their lusts, and again we can see that a woman who loves to watch minds break is perfect for the head of a department that has torture and death in its title. Klebb is right at home and her betters use her as much as she does them in getting off.
As Tatiana leaves her room she looks back at her living space, barren and like all the others, and wishes to see its familiarity again. It’s not much, but it’s hers, and again we see how appreciative she is even while having so little of anything in her name. With no feeling of identity or self-expression open to you it’s easy to latch on to what is around you to define who you are, no matter what you see, and that is the experience the girl is having here.
Chapter 9- A Labour of Love
It doesn’t take long for Tatiana to make up her mind about Klebb as she enters the woman’s apartment. She’s already heard the revolting and horrific stories, but the stench of the woman and the space just continues to repel her. When Klebb begins to come on to her, she recalls the other kinds of stories she has heard, and keeps her distance.
Although Tatiana is a very loyal woman to the state and has been raised with that obligation, she is instantly wary of whatever job she has jumped rank to do, stiffening “like an animal who sees the steel jaws beneath the meat” of a trap. The master manipulator that Klebb is, she notices Tatiana’s mood and quickly decides to get the girl filled with alcohol to make her more malleable. And yet, despite Klebb’s mastery, Tatiana isn’t a fool and knows that all the pleasantries are masking the real reason she’s there.
We learn much about Tatiana through the plundering interview questions, including her loyalty to Russia, as we see when she says she never thought of leaving Moscow for the west. It’s hard to tell if this is her deep down feeling, or if it’s something that’s been beaten into her via the communist machine, but part of what makes this novel interesting is that it sets her up for a culture clash with the ultimate western hero, James Bond, who will show her what she’s missing in her own little world in that box apartment.
When it comes to the more intimate questions, we can see how much Tatiana values her private life and doesn’t air her sexual experiences to anyone, and certainly not a woman she’s just been put in front of. It’s quite a cruel and insensitive way for Klebb to find out if she’d make a good honey trap for Bond, but then that’s the whole point: she’s a cruel and insensitive woman by nature and at times it’s hard to tell if she’s putting effort into being that way, or if she is naturally empty of those filters most humans have. The mistake Klebb makes is treating Tatiana’s meeting like one of her interrogations, even using the same tactic (“treat me as you would your mother”) to get inside the woman’s head. Tatiana spots this and, because she knows how Klebb operates, realizes what’s happening. But by that point the alcohol and exhaustion had done their work and she was at the mercy of the colonel.
Things get interesting when the subject of Bond comes up, and the girl is shown a photo. She doesn’t feel confident in her ability to make love with a man she didn’t feel love for, showing that she values finding the right partner instead of sleeping with anyone around for a quick thrill. Part of what makes it interesting that she’ll be in the field with Bond is that he’s far more sexually liberal, and her conservative nature will be an interesting foil to the spy. Tatiana ultimately guesses or hopes that she might be able to do it, but only if the man pictured was “gentle,” a very sweet adjective that shows us a girl who just wants to be treated well. She’s in luck in this instance, as she’s about to meet one of the gentlest men she could hope to find, once she looks behind his cold mask.
At the end of the chapter we are helpless as Tatiana is largely bought. Her earlier red flags and defensiveness has been chipped away, and she now sees herself as a loyal operator of the state on an important mission, justifying to herself all the rest of it, even the sexual element, such that she considers it an “honor” to have been selected. Klebb has burrowed into her mind, and made her believe it all. Thankfully, Klebb didn’t burrow so far that poor Tatiana felt compelled to do with her whatever she’d planned in that see-through nightgown and brassiere. The girl’s reaction is quite amusing for such an awkward moment, rushing out down the corridor with her ears covered, expecting to be yelled at as she went.
Chapter 10- The Fuse Burns
In this chapter it is finally seen what a wicked trio Klebb, Kronsteen and Grant make, three cruel minds working on one methodical problem. Grant especially is in the perfect position to do his best, with the promise of even more work if he does well on the operation, and the opportunity to kill the representation of all an Englishman is in Bond, the nation that he has despised since his defection a decade previous. In many ways Klebb knows she has Grant as bought as she does Tatiana, but for different reasons. The girl has been bent by fear and the duty of the state, but Grant is simply there to get his fix, very much the addict she compares him to.
With the chapter closed we now move from the lives of these cruel and unusual band of Russians to experience the British side of the coin, finding Bond in London and standing by as his own service reacts to the coming trap being set for them.
Ch. 21-28 (Orient Express—La Tricoteuse)
Wrapping up final thoughts as we head into Dr. No tomorrow...
When I first read through the Bonds (more or less in order, apart from having started with YOLT and TMWTGG...I know, right?), FRWL emerged as one of my favorites. Not top three, nor even top four I don't think, but I recall being tremendously impressed by the quality of the book. Having just finished it again just now, I think my initial impressions were down to the quality of the setup (because it is a very good setup) and the shock ending of Bond left for dead with a question mark. A daring move—abruptly and perfectly executed with Bond thudding upon the symbolically "wine-red" floor. An ending as abrupt and as perfect as Casino Royale's. And if you want to get all deep and stuff, Mathis shows up here too, perhaps bringing things full circle, and if Fleming really was thinking of closing up shop here, he probably brought Mathis back briefly for that very reason. A nice quintet of Bond adventures. FRWL indeed would have been a grand plot to end off on. Thank goodness Fleming didn't though. There is much greatness yet to come.
But reading through all these Flemings back to back to back (to back to back), I'm becoming more aware of how interestingly structured Fleming's books are. This struck me most prominently with LALD, then again here with FRWL (and the others have their own interesting structures to mull over). There is a kind of streamlined nature to these plots. There's the setup, then the climax, and not a whole lot else happens. Maybe a little something in between like the gypsy camp in FRWL or the business with the Robber in LALD. But in LALD, we meet Mr. Big once before Bond tracks him down on voodoo island. Here too, once we get onto the Orient Express, things move pretty swiftly toward the finish, and there's not a whole lot going on for Bond before that point.
I have to admit, FRWL as a whole did not hold up as well for me as the others. Perhaps I was expecting too much of the book based on my earlier impressions. Kerim's death happens all too suddenly. Tatianna sort of disappears as a character once we get on the train (her best moments in the story were during her initial setup). Fleming blunders into a couple of missteps for Bond, overcompensating for the contrivance of Grant assuming the role of Nash by having Bond enthusiastically justify why this particular man should be the man M had sent and "How like M. to make absolutely sure!" with an exclamation point. Then he, briefly, makes the same mistake again with Klebb, even though he's just had the wool pulled over his eyes by SMERSH. But at least Fleming doesn't repeat his mistake of actually calling out the villains by name (as with Wint and Kidd in DAF) and simply suggests Red Grant as Nash by his physical description, allowing the reader to thrill in the slow reveal.
There are high points in these final pages. The "madness" Bond detects in Nash is well done, and the final fight itself is riveting (even if some of the details leading up to it don't ring true—why the hell let him go into his pocket for a cigarette??). The fight with Klebb is thrilling as well. And it's nice to see Fleming getting right to the meat of things, sans helicopter battle and boat chase. But the payoff here, by comparison with Fleming's preceding adventures, doesn't hold up to its setup as well for me. That may partly be the fault of Red Grant, Rosa Klebb, and Tatiana Romanova having been set up as such fantastically drawn characters in the first half, whereas Fleming appeared to me to be rushing towards a finish and stumbling over any number of missteps in the end. I may perceive things differently on a future read, as I have on past reads.
Total scrambled eggs count: 0
Or maybe it was just the lack of scrambled eggs.
That was certainly the case for me with those final three chapters of FRWL.
https://www.mi6community.com/discussion/12509/bond-polls-2017-007-literature-contest-top-10-flemings-best-results-3rd-place-page-7#latest
Chapter 11- The Soft Life
“I was born for a storm and a calm does not suit me.”
The above quote from Andrew Jackson is one that immediately fluttered to my mind while I read this chapter and Fleming again introduces us to James Bond. For many years I’d thought of Bond as a thrill seeker kind of man, aside from his dutiful nature, and perceived that he would be a miserable sort if left to retirement or a lump of quietness in his job as a spy. I was very happy-and sorry for him-that Fleming confirmed my suspicions with this chapter, which finds Bond experiencing the mental and spiritual drain of accidie and a dash of ennui as the lack of excitement and danger in his life brings him to despair.
We see the immediate effects of Bond’s headspace, where he turns to some exercise to clear his mind and put a pulse into things, though only temporarily. When his housekeeper May mentions a man from a Communist union coming by the house repeatedly discussing televisions, Bond gets slightly paranoid and wonders if SMERSH are watching him. If it weren’t for the first part of the book and what we learned in it, we may think Bond is just making up stories to himself to make his life more interesting, but it is very likely, if not certain, that SMERSH have been watching to ensure that the spy is in town to receive their coming bait. But one can’t blame Bond for ignoring the red flag this time, as the last run-in he had with the organization that he knew of was on the case involving Mr. Big and the pirate treasure. Perhaps he thinks he’s been relegated to a harmless target by the Russians at that point, and not worth following up on.
Bond’s indifference to thinking more about the possible clue in front of his eyes shows us how much his ennui has gotten to him, kicking the energy and finesse out of his once cement solid faculties of observation. He compares himself to a sword in a scabbard, a perfect metaphor for how much he needs burnished. It just goes to show that no matter how long a man is in the business of surviving like Bond is, those skills and instincts die with misuse, both in the short and long term.
It’s at this point that we get a minor and (from my point of view) a very disappointing reference to Tiffany Case and how she and Bond have gone their separate ways. Connecting back to the stages of a relationship Bond profiles near the end of Casino Royale, stages he prefers to avoid, we see that his relationship with Tiffany has gone through the usual highs and lows in the old predictable way: a passionate start, the quiet happiness of shared living, then the final painful weeks and goodbyes in the dynamic, of separate beds and severe, fast departures. One could call the Bond of the debut novel a cynic, but is he wrong? He hasn’t seen a relationship go the distance, and they all end exactly as he fears they will no matter what he does. I wish Fleming gave us a bit more context to explain what had happened between these two, as I loved their connection and think they deserved a better send-off as a unit. But, to the writer’s defense, we are learning these details while being rooted in Bond’s perspective and, because the spy holds a distaste for thinking about what’d happened, it’s not logical or credible that he would open up and spill his guts.
The rest of the chapter details a perverse Bond going at it with a man called Troop, for some committee business I think I lost the plot of. From what I could gather Bond is on a committee by selection (like jury duty) to discuss with his other colleagues how defections as seen in the Cambridge Five affair could be put to a stop or dealt with better. Bond approves of advocating for a better selection of agents, brain over brawn, whereas Troop seems to view intellectuals as all gay and untrustworthy and…and…yeah, I’ve lost it. Bond’s point does have a relevancy to the plot, however, as we are about to see him face off with a hardened killer in Red Grant who, despite not being intellectual at all, will make him fight for his life. In this way it could be argued in Stroop’s favor that more “dull” or simpleton minds could still provide the results needed to face the enemy, on top of them being easier to control. I almost think it was Fleming’s intention to make the references to these developments seem sloppy and misguided because even Bond doesn’t seem to know or care what’s going on half the time.
I was amused by the fact that Bond doesn’t really even know if he believes what he’s arguing in the committee, or if his life has gotten so boring that he’s entertaining himself by coming after Stroop with purposefully obstinate remarks and positions. It’s clear that when wartime Bond is put into peacetime he’s insufferable to everyone, from his secretary and colleagues at the bottom clear to M at the top. The quotation he remembers as he heads off to work, “Those whom the Gods wish to destroy, they first make bored,” has a lot of relevancy here in the example Bond presents. Boredom breeds idleness and idleness breeds mistakes.
Chapter 12- A Piece of Cake
One thing I really like about the structure of this novel and how it connects to my earlier point of Bond and Grant being quasi-doppelgängers of each other, is the way that Fleming brings us into the lives of both men. Both Bond and Grant are driven by certain desires for the work they do, and when we meet them in their separate sections of the novel they’re both quite eager to the point of restlessness and dying to get at another job. While Grant is in it for the bloodlust, a dark obsession, and Bond is simply motivated like a dutiful adrenaline junkie, their attitudes and their distaste for quiet and boredom are self ruining.
At the start of this chapter we find Bond getting another golden call from M, which he answers and, once heard, immediately questions Tanner about the contents of the mission in the same way Grant did to his guard at the villa when he was summoned. It’s interesting how Fleming handled Bond’s attitude toward a new job in this novel, because you could almost think that the spy had retired for years and just come back to it again. The moments leading up to his briefing are charged with the past experiences he’s had getting his missions, as if he’s receiving a wave of mad flashbacks, and the opportunity and twisted job promised to him by Tanner seems to mean more to Bond than anything has before because of it. It’s fascinating to see how just one year ruined him and made him long for what he once had, despite the fact that he never left MI6 and had been in his office during those many months.
This man is a far cry from the spy we saw in Moonraker, who lamented the rough jobs ahead of him after he heard severe reports regarding the health of his fellow Double-Os in the field, putting his own life and career into perspective. Time has passed since then and perhaps Bond has found out that his earlier desire for quieter work was a lie he told himself, because the absence of those jobs are more of a danger to who he is than the hazards they pose as he takes them.
One thing I was very happy about in this chapter was how, through M, Fleming forced Bond to come clean for the readers about Tiffany and what had happened between them. He knew that Bond would never share those details any other way, and dreamed up the perfect scenario where only the MI6 boss could get those many layers peeled back. I walked away from finding out the truth of Bond and Tiffany’s relationship fairly disappointed, but in her character and not in what Fleming wrote. I really liked the character in Diamonds and frankly consider her to be the most fascinating and well crafted thing about it, but who she turned out to be, or what she grew into, didn’t seem to live up to that. I don’t like that she seemed to have cheated on Bond at some point in the past months, and decided to swap horses after all he did for her not only in saving her life, but by showing her that not all men were bad or hidden rapists that wanted to use and abuse her. It was truly Bond and Bond alone who broke the psychological chains that held Tiffany back from living a normal life, and in a sort of tragic way the passion she had with Bond could’ve shown the girl that she could feel those things again and she went and found it with another man instead. Without Bond, Tiffany wouldn’t have been able to discover that part of herself and the most lovely part of their relationship and how a man gave a woman back her trust sadly proved to be the relationship’s doom.
It always warms me just how sportingly and honorably Bond takes these women playing him and leaving him behind with his hands frozen in the air, ready to hold him. As we saw in Moonraker, he takes shock splits rather well and doesn’t get out of control, bark at the woman or try and manipulate the situation until it starts serving him better. He just observes, accepts what is, and lets go, now of both Gala and Tiffany to live their better lives. I guess it wasn’t expected to go far between him and the ex-smuggler, who he refers to as “a bit neurotic.” Fleming wrote Tiffany as a very hot and cold bipolar character that we saw constantly fluctuate in mood and feeling during the previous book as her care for Bond collided with her past trauma and anxieties.
It isn’t hard then to imagine that Bond spent many days waking up to Tiffany in a variety of moods, sometimes stormy and unpleasant, while the next day she would be smiling at him passionately on the pillow. Bond was ultimately with a woman who had two faces that he’d known too well, the darker side that seemed to be fueled with the trauma of her rape and her never-ending suspicions with the men around her that he tried to shine away with his light. Her manic and depressive stages were inevitably going to cause problems for a man like Bond who I think prefers simplicity in his relationships, and at the very least consistency. He’d seen how a hot and cold temperament can foster unease and wear in a relationship, as seen in the ending of Casino where he and Vesper drift further and further away through her wild moods. It’s just a shame that it’s continually Bond who is left in the dust while he watches the girl go off to a happier place with someone else. “The man who was only a silhouette.”
Through the rest of the briefing Fleming sets up a pretty wild bit of circumstances for Bond to ponder, delivered in a mix of the bizarre and ordinary that only he could manage. It’s amusing to see Bond react to this love story he’s the center of, enamoring a girl from across the world that has only known him from pictures and stories in a file. This scene in the movie comes off as just as ridiculous and you’d think it would be, but the novel actually does a really strong job of making it not seem so ludicrous after all. M’s defense of Tatiana’s feelings, painting a picture of a lonely girl in a strict communist society warmed by the thoughts of a western man that recalls one of her childhood heroes, a man who she symbolically wants to come and rescue her like in her favorite fables, is actually not too hard to believe for the time period. (I also like that Tatiana compares Bond to a mythic hero from his enemy nation, as SMERSH want to manipulate the heroic status he serves for his native British to ruin them all) M’s further rationale about people falling in love with faces they see in films or in magazines strengths the argument, and the perspective of a girl in such a closed society as Russia that doesn’t offer the kind of escapism and feeling of expression as a western one would seems to win Bond over to the story’s validity. I think all this is far better explained than in the film, where Tatiana is viewed as more of a love sick puppy and we never get any great context into why she believes that Bond is the man to save her.
The involvement of a crucial decoder that could give the British more information on enemy movements than ever before (and certainly post-war) is an assurance that Bond has to be sent forth to try and get the device through any means necessary, regardless of if Tatiana’s story is a ruse or not. I really liked the detail we find out about Bond here, and how he purposefully doesn’t know a lot about decoders in case he’s captured in the field. I can only assume he doesn’t want to have the temptation of secrets to share on his mind while being tortured, to ensure that no matter how much pain he receives he’ll have nothing important to spill about his service. Quite honorable.
Overall, it’s interesting how Bond and M share a minor mind game throughout the briefing in this chapter, where M is attempting to sound sympathetic to what happened with Tiffany, though the spy knows he doesn’t approve of his relations with women in the first place. A master manipulator of his own, it’s clear that M wanted to make sure that Bond was free from obligations with another woman before giving him a job with a woman who he would need to charm and seduce to ensure that he lived up to his legend. M is doing his job here and wants to get the best results no matter what, especially with a decoder on the line, but at the same time it is nice that he asked Bond about his personal life to be certain he wasn’t tangled up instead of thrusting the job on him and just expecting him to essentially cheat on Tiffany with Tatiana. In a small way that shows how much his agent’s well being means to him, despite his disagreements regarding Bond’s choice of lifestyle.
Chapter 13- ‘BEA Takes You There…’
Fleming delivers us another chapter with Bond on the move high in the sky, off to a new location and mission.
In this chapter of the novel the writer repeats two elements that appeared in Live & Let Die before it, the first being a second mention of the concept of a “Q Branch” to give Bond his equipment for the coming job. This group of gadget makers are first mentioned at the end of the second novel when Bond requests some tools to help get him across to Mr. Big’s island of pirate treasure, which his home service supply him with. From Russia with Love includes the second mention thus far, with Q Branch providing an advanced case full of hidden compartments for his lethal tools of the trade and some money for the local area he’ll be rooted in all packaged inside a run-of-the-mill case. It’s a great and character defining detail that the first thing Bond did when he got the case was flush the cyanide capsule down the toilet; he doesn’t go in for that sort of thing.
Another element that Fleming repeats from Live & Let Die is a supernatural angle in the story and a moment where the plane Bond is flying in experiences a moment of turbulence. The voodoo coated second novel has Bond experiencing an existential crisis as the plane is in danger of plummeting, thinking about the futility of safety belts and life vests on planes that leads to an acceptance of death and appreciation of life, which comes out of nowhere and becomes a rather strange aside in the novel’s momentum. In From Russia with Love the mid-air moment of turbulence is much better crafted, with Bond’s worries rooted in Ponsonby’s fear of flying on the superstitious 13th of the month. By presenting this character moment between Bond and his secretary first the seed of ominous doom is already planted by Fleming, making it less jarring to the momentum of the story when a storm rattles the plane and Bond again falls into an existential crisis, wondering what his ultimate fate will be. I love the detail that Bond has a “hurricane-room” inside himself that he goes to when he feels his life is up to chance, preparing to face it all. It sounds like a meditation technique one would use to stay calm in a tense situation, a sort of “spiritual panic-room,” and for a man like him it makes sense to practice it from time to time.
It’s interesting that Fleming created such a similar scene with Bond on a plane in this novel that establishes the same mood or feeling as the first. Bond certainly has bad luck with flying, and turbulence appears to get to him. One thing is for sure: Ponsonby’s feeling in her bones will prove to be right, just not about the flight.
Perhaps the most interesting aspect of the chapter is how what Bond sees outside his window, the sights on his journey, ignites comforting memories of the past that turn into him wondering how his past self would view who he is in that moment. It’s a very human snapshot that I think we all experience, where we take stock of our life and decisions up to a point and wonder how we would be perceived by the kind of person we were in the past. Bond has faced so much since he was an innocent, carefree and “eager” youth, so it seems only natural for him to wonder just how far he’d gravitated away from who he used to be after so many years of pain, fear, loss, betrayal and all the other feelings and events that can lead to the soul-erosion he has tried to lessen. I also feel that his mission here, to “pimp” for England, might have him feeling embarrassed or ashamed at what his old self would think of where he’s at, as if his work and reputation as a spy has gotten him no farther than a common sex pervert.
I don’t know what it is about plane rides, but they always seem to make Bond dig deep into himself in a very existential or philosophical way, pondering life, who he is, and what it all means. I guess being above the earth, trapped inside a compartment that shouldn’t be able to fly makes one see the bizarre wonder of life, and how minute you are as a speck of human existence in it. Those feelings and realizations must conjure up questions in Bond that are only brought to his mind when he’s above it all.
I found it amusing that the mad lover Bond is discovers himself grappling with how to seduce a woman for her material possessions while making it look like he loves her for who she is. You’d think that his history of womanizing has trained him on how to do this, but that it hasn’t tells us a lot about him. Namely, that he only goes after women who he truly feels an attraction to and doesn’t sleep with anyone that he doesn’t feel a connection and lust for that is sparked by some aspect of who they are, and not what they have. I guess in a way that makes him a more glorified or respectable philanderer, if there is such a thing.
The rest of the chapter troubles Bond no more as he touches down again and his existential side dies for a while longer now that he’s been literally and spiritually grounded. Fleming introduces one last shot of paranoia, however, as Bond picks up on the sound of a motor scooter starting when his car passes it on the road. It’s hard to tell if this is a random motorist minding their own business or a dangerous SMERSH plant, and that’s the whole point. I’m sure Fleming will continue to inject more moments like that into the novel as we go on, making us guess if what Bond hears around him is innocuous or life threatening.
Chapter 14- Darko Kerim
The chapter starts off with Bond having an amusing time dealing with the hotel room he’s selected and their insect population, giving him a flavor unique to Istanbul and its particular amenities of brown bath water and bug gut-splattered wallpaper. The view from out his window silences Bond, however, and opens him up to a beautiful country he’d never been to before. It was nice to see him using his languages as he tried to order a meal for the morning, showing him getting his feet as an exotic stranger to the land.
As Bond goes out into Istanbul proper on the way to Darko Kerim’s, he is met with the visuals he didn’t see from his window earlier; the garish advertisements and the new additions to a once historical part of the world turned modern in steel and concrete with fresh, glittering hotel structures. I enjoy Bond’s distaste for the view and how the landscape had changed, as I would prefer the place at its peak as one of the biggest melting pots and cultural centers the world will ever know. The spy’s reaction reminded me of how he felt about Vegas, a location so overcome with a busy and touristy sense that it lost all sense of genuine life and energy. When Bond finally gets to Kerim’s quarters, a place of beautiful greenery isolated from the bustling world outside, the contrast is beautiful and well earned.
When we finally meet Kerim it’s a very warm introduction much like the film, which it should be for how much dialogue its script lifted from the text. The big man makes for a fascinating figure, his crooked nose and “debauched” appearance creating some wild imagery. It’s clear that Bond warms to him fast, and enjoys sharing his company. In the first bit of discussion the pair have we find out that Bond was tailed out of the airport by Bulgars in the palms of the Russians, leaving Kerim to educate the spy on how things run on that side of the world and just how overtly each group work amongst each other. Bond is so used to keeping a low profile and using his cover in the field, but he now finds himself in a world where everyone spies on each other and knows what is going on at all times, changing the state of play in an intriguing way. This gives a unique feeling to From Russia with Love that makes it stand out all the more, as if its structure and heavier focus on the villains and plot didn’t do that already.
The news of a limpet mine attempt on Kerim’s life and the problem Bond faces in seducing Tatiana presents the two men with intersecting and intimately pressing problems that they hope aren’t related. The paranoia and possibly of subterfuge isn’t lost on either man, and we head into the next chapter with Bond intent on romancing the girl in bed to test if she is genuine about her feelings towards him. All that Kerim described in the girl, from her innocence to her nervousness, could be Tatiana acting it up, but she could also be having those very natural reactions because of how frightened she is at screwing up and being killed by SMERSH. In effect, her human reaction to the nasty organization she is under is actually helping her to do her job more naturally, a feeling she wouldn’t be able to replicate for Bond and his fellow agents if she was as inhumane and cold as Klebb.
Chapter 15- Background to a Spy
In this chapter Fleming continues to create more bits of paranoia in Bond’s head as he returns to his hotel after meeting with Kerim to find that his room has been moved to the honeymoon suite. The switch is perfect for what he’ll need to do with Tatiana, but he knows it’s quite likely that the enemy has made the first move on him and the game has begun in earnest. He knows the enemy is aware of him, but not exactly what the full picture is. SMERSH seem to be coordinating the mission and helping Bond out in his seduction just long enough to get him to bite. I really like the line that is featured during this section: “If there was one thing Bond couldn’t stand it was the sound of his boots being licked.” He prefers to earn his respect the old fashioned way, and doesn’t enjoy playacting from anyone.
The rest of the chapter is spent acquainting us to Kerim, whose backstory is less than harmonious with his exterior exuberance. Granted, the man lived in different times and in a completely separate culture removed from ours, but it seems the man inherited a bit too much of his dad’s gung-ho spirit with women and took the knocking them out and taking them back to the “cave” thing a bit too far. The film was right to leave out all of Kerim’s backstory minus the circus experience, because these details make him a far less endearing or likeable character no matter how you cut it.
I did find it interesting that both Grant and Kerim had the circus as part of their formative histories, the former whose dad was a strongman and married a woman he met around a circus tent, and the latter a guy who had trained to be a strongman. You almost wonder if Kerim and Grant’s dad had ever crossed paths (I’m not sure of their ages) while entertaining the Russians outside Turkey, as the latter seemed to be involved in a traveling show that went all over the world.
The chapter concludes with some ominous foreshadowing that Fleming will pay off later. There’s no way to read this chapter and not know that Kerim is definitely going to die.
Chapter 16- The Tunnel of Rats
Heading back to Kerim’s office, we learn of his massive family tree and offspring turned spy network, the reason he has a motto of blood being the best employment; he’s probably right. The man makes a comment that he has instilled in his children that M is just below God, a humorous remark made in good spirits. For Bond, however, this is probably the opinion he truthfully holds of his boss, if not outright putting him at the very top if he’s an atheist or agnostic.
As the pair of agents make their way through the tunnel to a spot underneath Russian headquarters, Fleming gives us some strong atmospheric writing. I could hear the squeaking and scuttling of the rats, smell the mud and animal odors and hear the squishing of the ground under their feet and all the drops of moisture hitting the tunnel floor in between. The history of the place is quite riveting and interesting as well, and it’s great that Kerim is using the tunnels for what they were technically intended for in a general sense, as a tool to oppose invading parties in Turkey. I just don’t think the ancient Turks could’ve predicted that it would be Russians that the tunnel would finally be used against. I was quite amused that the periscope is hidden behind a mouse hole, and that the Russians are so oblivious as to what it’s really hiding that they put a mouse trap there to catch a nonexistent pest.
The chapter finishes with Bond’s first attempt to get a look at the woman he’ll have to seduce the Spektor off of, with their big meeting coming fast.
Chapter 17- Killing Time
In order to make it appear like he’s not playing by Tatiana’s rules, Kerim drags Bond out for a night of debauchery with his gypsy friends led by the colorful Vavra. Stepping into the gypsy camp from the streets of Turkey is like entering a new (and old) world, where Bond must adapt to new rules and lifestyles. With luck he seems to get on with Vavra fine despite their language barrier, and even receives a courteous job offer to get in on some of the debauchery if things with MI6 don’t go his way.
When Bond hears about the complex situation involving the two women fighting to the death over one man, he’s caught in a pickle but decides to let it run its course by quoting Mathis’s statement of, “I love thrills.” That you do, Bond, that you do. Which is why you’re on this job in the first place, to stop you from being miserable and cranky while shut up in your house back in London.
During this time we find out that a Bulgar called Krilencu was behind the attempt on Kerim’s life, but not the context of why. In the film Krilencu attacks Kerim because he thinks that the man’s agents are killing his colleagues (when it’s really Grant doing it and framing Kerim), inciting a war between them. In the book I’ve no idea (yet) why the man is being so aggressive, however. Perhaps the Russians are asking Krilencu to wage a war with Kerim to distract him while their Spektor operation is underway? That doesn’t make much sense, though, as Krilencu would be risking retaliation from Kerim’s team and his own life just to pretend to try and kill him. This part of the plan wasn’t covered in the SMERSH briefings, so I’m lost at the moment as to what it all means and ties into.
The chapter finishes with a big meal before the catfight with the two women, the best and most amusing image from which is the moment that Bond is fed parts of his stew by an elderly gypsy lady who picks through it for some chunks. I’m picturing Sean as Bond as I go through the novels too, making it super awkward.
When the scrap finally kicks off we’re promised quite the violent and passionate affair, but when it’s over love how could it be anything else?
Chapter 18- Strong Sensations
Following a riveting and vicious cat fight in the center of the gypsy camp, an explosion blows out a wall and Bulgars rush in during a mad frenzy as Bond, Kerim and Vavra are put on guard. This sequence is a rare bit of high action for the novels, where up to this point the biggest shootout or fight Bond has been involved in is the battle he has with a few of Mr. Big’s hoodlums in New York during the first half of Live & Let Die. The sequence here, depicting Bond shooting wildly at the hip on many rising targets on the offensive, is the biggest in scope and danger Fleming had written to this point, making it quite thrilling. I wouldn’t have minded the action going on a bit longer, but Fleming likely wanted to keep Bond’s body count low in tune with the past novels while presenting a short but sweet problem for the hero to contend with.
After Bond is done saving Kerim’s life twice in a few short seconds during the raid his anger is unrestrained and you can tell he has a chip on his shoulder about inviting such bloodshed to the camp. The compassionate man he is, he uses his own wish from Vavra to stop the girl fight so that both lives are saved, but he and Kerim leave the location in mystery. (I want to read the fan fiction where Bond returns to Turkey after this mission and, in an effort to fill the void Tiffany left behind, brings both Zora and Vida to live with him and May in London. What a sitcom that’d be!)
We ultimately learn in the aftermath of the battle that Krilencu targeted Kerim and Vavra, but were ordered to spare Bond. It could be part of the Russian plan to keep Bond alive for Tatiana’s swap, the heroes think, or maybe the rogues were simply trying to avoid the diplomatic issue that would arise with a dead Englishmen on their hands. No hypothesis is positive at this stage for them.
As Kerim and Bond leave the location, the former’s words about death hanging around them is ominous and in touch with the cursed feeling of the book thus far, along with Ponsonby’s superstitions regarding the number 13. I don’t know who “a son of the snows is” (Kronsteen, The Wizard Of Ice?) but of particular chill-inducing revelation is that Bond must beware of “a man who is owned by the moon,” none other than Red Grant. In yet another novel Fleming presents us with a superstitious character, this time Vavra, whose predictions or instincts end up being correct to an insanely perceptive degree, much like Solitaire’s insight in Live & Let Die. Surely this is confirmation via Fleming that the spiritual realm is canon in his fiction (*wink wink*)?
With this spooky content in mind, the action moves on to Krilencu’s home turf, and to Marilyn Monroe’s lips.
Chapter 19- The Mouth of Marilyn Monroe
Fleming’s description of Istanbul at midnight is haunting as he delivers one of his most bizarre and iconic images, a villain being shot as he escapes out of the trap door hidden erotically between the lips of a poster girl. Being that Marilyn Monroe is my favorite actress and one of my favorite figures period, I really enjoyed the concept behind this chapter and how the film being commercialized, Niagara, is one of my favorite movies of hers where she got to sink her teeth into a wicked femme fatale role. The movie Fleming picked was perfect for his wicked plot pitting a seductive woman against an everyman in Bond, with its content of deceit and sex such a big part of the Monroe picture as well.
I found Bond’s reaction in the aftermath of Krilencu’s murder compelling, filled with “resentment against the life that made him witness these things.” It is true that, despite his work, he’s not cold blooded and prefers to kill quickly and efficiently as opposed to dreaming up elaborate deaths that prolong pain for his enemies. All his past kills in these books have only been those he’s committed on the spur of the moment, in complete defense of himself, making the very methodical kill of Kerim’s disconcerting to him. But as always Bond sees both sides and has no delusions about the world he’s in. What had to be done was done, and the earth turns.
The chapter concludes with a sultry tease of Bond and Tatiana’s first meeting, the moment that both the spy and SMERSH have been waiting for.
Full disclosure, when I first read my way through the Bond books, Dr. No was the first one to actually disappoint me. It felt like Fleming had lost that magic touch I'd been digging all along, and the giant squid rising from the depths like something out of Jules Verne or a 50s Harryhausen struck me sourly as a true jumping the shark moment. (And when I moved on to Goldfinger, my heart sank even lower and I worried that Fleming had lost it altogether; fortunately, things turned around.)
So I'm heading into Dr. No after having not read the book for some time, with some memories of the things that worked for me and the things that didn't, hoping and expecting to be pleasantly surprised.
So far things are off to a pretty good, if not exactly spectacular, start.
Ch. 1-5 (Hear You Loud and Clear—Facts and Figures)
Apart from the PTS (the first of Fleming's?), things get off to a gradual start by comparison with, say, LALD launching Bond into America full-throttle or FRWL sending us maddeningly, sans Bond, directly into the heart of Redland. And there unfortunately is little of the insight into character that so splendidly fills the earlier pages of MR. We are, however, introduced to two new MI6ers—Sir James Maloney and the Armourer—and Fleming reintroduces Bond himself quite deftly via M's conversation with Maloney about the poisoning and healing. (And is M ever a heartless bastard, accusing Bond of not having had it rough because he still has two lungs and his full stomach and intestines—I won't be so bold as to presume the condition of Bond's liver.)
We hear succinctly and with some deal of satisfaction that the Klebb woman is dead. Nothing more needs to be said. It's a perfectly brutal statement in its brevity. No mention of Tania, however. Seems she might have at least deserved the same brief paragraph previously afforded Tiffany. She wasn't quite a Tiffany, no, but she was a bit more than a Solitaire I'd say, and FRWL had left her future hanging. Who knows. One can only guess.
But Bond gets sent "on holiday" to Jamaica to deal with the Strangways case and bird poop. M tossing him an underhand softball. And Bond doesn't like it. It's sort of a softer precursor to YOLT, sending Bond off to shake him up and/or get him back in the swing of things.
Let's face it, Quarrel is the highlight of the book so far. His phonetically transcribed speech grows old pretty fast, but he's such an enjoyable character. You can tell he's one of those rare ten men in the world Bond would call a "friend" and Fleming doesn't even need to point it out. Bond requests the man personally after having worked with him during their LALD adventure. Strangways too shows up here—that dashing, eye-patched womanizer.
And that leads me to what has actually, overall, been the most enjoyable part of the book so far: the familiarity of all these characters and events from the film. The book was published in 1958, a mere four years before the release of the film, making it, I believe, second only to YOLT in having the shortest lapse of time between book and film. And it's damned enjoyable just to hang out on the page with all these classic characters: Quarrel, Strangways, the Three Blind Mice, Miss Trueblood, the photographer (a.k.a. Annabel Chung), Puss-Feller, Pleydell-Smith (albeit young and shaggy-haired), and now Miss Taro here at the end of the fifth chapter. The interaction with Annabel Chung in Puss-Feller's, her scratching Quarrel's face with the flash bulb, him crushing her mound of Venus, reads especially well. Pretty funny too how Quarrel takes a liking for the girl, even with blood still dripping down his face. You gotta love the guy.
I wouldn't say there's anything particularly great about Dr. No so far by comparison with the previous five (though DAF started pretty uneventfully, to be fair)...but I'm enjoying it.
No scrambled eggs yet. Though Quarrel does have salt fish with ackee and rum for breakfast. Which sounds like something I would want to have for breakfast while vacationing in Jamaica. Or tomorrow.
Yes, that's actually one of the things that has stood out to me the most in Dr. No so far, that dialogue of Maloney's: "Just one thing, M. There's a lot of tension there, you know. You work these men of yours pretty hard. Can you give him something easy to start with? From what you've told me he's been having a tough time for some years now."
We've seen firsthand what Bond goes through (getting his testicles crushed, his finger snapped clean back, his shoulder eaten by a barracuda, his nose seared, his flesh scalded, his Drax thrashing, his Brooklyn stomping) not to mention the psychological tortures inflicted by villains and girls alike, but because he's Bond and because he always pulls through and because there are more fantastical aspects to these stories, it doesn't necessarily sink in just how much he's been through.
But hearing it from a professional like Sir James Maloney, hearing him actually diagnose Bond and request something easier from M, brings the reality of it home. That was definitely a small eye-opener of a moment.
Yes, in light of the gravity of Maloney's request and especially in light of what we know is yet to come, M's joking about here becomes rather disquieting indeed.
This is true. The film does a good job of giving Quarrel's death weight, but there's history there in the book.
So, opening question: who else on the first reading immediately tried pinching their Mount of Venus to see if it hurts as much as Quarrel says it does? (It really doesn't.)
I've done it in the past, and I did it again. And it does hurt like hell.
(You might want to get that checked by a doctor if it doesn't ;) )