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In this satirical book Norway and The Netherlands are at war with each other in 2005 .
And you obviously started it.
An incident at an ice skating championship started it.
How many wars start I am sure.
by Richard Maurice Bucke
[1901]
A prequel to ROGUE ONE: A STAR WARS STORY could have gone to so many different places, but author James Luceno, by now a veteran Star Wars writer, chose to focus entirely on four characters of the movie: Galen, Lyra, Krennic and Tarkin. We learn how Krennic managed to coerce Galen into joining the construction project for the Death Star. We also learn about Krennic's difficult working relationship with Tarkin, whose dissatisfaction with Krennic is made evident in the movie. Mas Amedda, Saw Guerrera and Poggle the Geonosian make small appearances too.
CATALYST is pure character development and no action, something I'm not used to getting from a Star Wars book. Whether Luceno's choice or publisher/studio mandate, this fairly non-explosive tale is somewhat complementary to ROGUE ONE; one provides the details, the other the action. Maybe the book, a good 400 pages long, could have benefited from a little fire. It takes discipline to keep reading to be frank. But some of the details it offers can enthuse fans of ROGUE ONE, though perhaps in small doses only.
Indeed, CATALYST does fill in a few blanks and shines some light on Galen's personal ethics. Lyra, seen as a feisty woman in the opening scenes of ROGUE ONE, is given spark and courage. Meanwhile, Jyn is born and raised, but she takes a backseat in this book, probably for the best. I guess it's fair to say that not everything that's hinted at in the film is actually explored in this story, but Lucino nevertheless gives the hardcore fans some connective tissue between REVENGE OF THE SITH and ROGUE ONE, albeit in modest quantities.
CATALYST is a decent enough book with good prose by an experienced Star Wars writer. It provides what it promises--a prequel story to ROGUE ONE--but is suspiciously devoid of action. Should you read the book? Probably not. Whether a fan of ROGUE ONE or not, the film won't be better understood if you do. The novel solely exists to placate those who won't calm down until they've dissected every anatomical part of the Star Wars universe. In other words, it's probably not for everyone.
3.5/5
Norwegian humour anthology. Fun and smart.
Literary Bond scholar Umberto Eco coined the term "Bondologist". I've a lot to thank him for!
Yes, I found it there too. Have since bought the book in first edition. Rather costly!
BOOK 1
CASINO ROYALE
by Ian Fleming
It's the last week of December 2017. After nearly two dozen Star Wars EU books this year, I can feel that a short break is long overdue. And since I have been yearning for another dive into Fleming’s Bond books, what better time to get going than right before New Year’s Eve? Armed with my new Vintage Classics series, a welcome change from my trusted Penguin editions, I sit down, pull out CASINO ROYALE and start reading. I have David Arnold's score for CASINO ROYALE (the movie) playing in the background on repeat mode, a drink nearby, the lights dimmed and a powerful reading lamp bathing the pages of the book in bright luminescence. A few hours of hard focus and relentless admiration later, I evacuate myself from the glorious mix of tension, lust, drama and good living as presented to me by the ultimate raison-d'être of all Bond fandom: Ian Fleming. For the sixth time in my life, I have just read in utter shock that the bitch is dead. I get up, stare at my copy of JAMES BOND THE LEGACY by John Cork and Bruce Scivally, and feel blessed for being a James Bond fan. The night is no longer young, and my eyes are suddenly feeling heavy.
Reading CASINO ROYALE as a Bond fan is tantamount to the ultimate James Bond experience. It's one of Fleming's shorter novels but it captures the very essence of Bond like no other book or film does. From the much revered opening lines to the painfully dramatic closure of the book, all the ingredients of the so-called Bond formula are carefully inserted at the right time and with surgical precision. Not a single word is wasted on moments of masturbatory self-indulgence, something many authors fall victim to quickly and often. Instead, Fleming's prose is economical, measured, fast and steamy. With every chapter come new revelations, new introductions, new tensions. Not a moment's pause is granted to reflect on what we have learned so far. With that in mind, it's even more surprising that he gets one of his most intriguing and original stories told so well.
CASINO ROYALE isn't about Bond killing the ultimate evil and be done with it. Rather, he has to beat someone at a card game of all things; someone who is working for the ultimate evil but who isn't quite the ultimate evil himself. That someone is the cold and ruthless Le Chiffre, of whom little is known except that his hubris, greed and a good ounce of bad luck have stirred up his financial affairs big time. With "Red Land" having important interests in said affairs, Le Chiffre has the sword of Damocles hanging over his head. SMERSH could barge in at any time to sort this little domestic problem of theirs out in absolute but lethal discretion. Neither the British nor the Americans would have to move an inch, were it not for the humble possibility that Le Chiffre can earn back his lost dough at Casino Royale; and so Bond, being the best card player in the service, is sent to defeat him. It's a gamble! No matter what 007's talents are, if the odds are against him, Le Chiffre may still walk unscathed. The ingenuity of this plot cannot be overstated. Bond's victory is not a foregone conclusion; it hinges on his experience with and knowledge of baccarat, but also on old-fashioned good luck with the cards. As such, the "spy novel to end all spy novels" is astonishingly less about spying than it is about solid bluff, aggressive card playing and very high stakes.
The temperature at the baccarat table may have risen to solar levels, but there's little time to cool off afterwards. The events following the card game lead to some extremely painful, brutal and unexpected ordeals. Bond is both physically and emotionally damaged, and in both departments Fleming will make us feel it. Bond will never 'superman' himself out of his torments but instead must rely on silly coincidence, clumsy mistakes by others and dark forces operating beyond his will. His predicaments are unusual and dangerously exotic, but we can sympathise with him because his physical and emotional suffering serve to humanise him. This is fairly unique in a Bond story--especially if we include the films, which, for the most part, have shied away from a 'human' Bond by diluting his capacity for grief and distress to comfortably modest proportions at best. Yet Fleming will not indulge Bond with merciful leniency. Where others usually end, Fleming starts. His first Bond novel damages, scars and introspectively challenges Bond. He will contemplate good and evil, the nature of being a secret agent and the price of love. Few of the films have ever managed to include so much nuance, complexity and conflict.
And yet, one might at first suspect to suffer tremendous boredom. The mid-book climax is about a card game after all, and one of which the rules are also elaborately established by the author. That doesn't strike as a particularly ruttish page turner, now does it? Yet Fleming manages to instruct and entertain at the same time, securing a surprisingly fast pace despite the inherent risk of becoming unpleasantly didactic. With every card on the baccarat table, the game Bond plays to beat Le Chiffre picks up momentum. Fleming's prose is throughout the book a constant driving force to keep our adrenaline levels high, even when little action plays out. Everything Fleming writes is either suave, clever, "cool" or flat out brilliant. He takes us into a world where even the simplest of details matter. With an inexorable eye for detail, Fleming explains which brand of suitcases, cigarettes, perfumes and clothes Bond and others bring to the game. Very few authors can make those detailed descriptions aesthetically pleasing and in fact essential in the telling of their story; Fleming is perhaps the best at this sort of thing. By absorbing every bit of information Fleming found either amusing or necessary to include, we get the chance to "live" this story, and to be Bond for a good 200 pages.
Bond, however, isn't the only focal point of the book. Other characters are almost as well served by Fleming as he is. M, Mathis and Leiter are instantly presented as both respectable and likeable, and Fleming requires barely more than a few lines of dialogue or a description of their facial expression to make us feel that way. He understands how to use slight irritation or clever remarks for comedic effect. Le Chiffre, by contrast, is a despicable man overall, something Fleming will effortlessly convince us of. And then there's Vesper Lynd, an unclear presence, certainly attractive but also cautiously absent during some of the pivotal moments in the book. The shroud of secrecy surrounding her is dropped only after friendly or deadly goodbyes with other characters. She is the final punch of the book. Her ultimate reveal doesn't quite come out of left field, though, and yet it does. Fleming makes his final surprise twist perfectly earned, a clear example of his superb writing and story telling. When the penny drops, things make sense, but they made sense before that too. The little voids in the story are finally filled; the big ones were filled ages ago. But it's in the final pieces of the puzzle that perhaps the biggest throat grabber lies. CASINO ROYALE may be one of the shorter Bond novels, but its characters aren't any less memorable as say Blofeld, Tracy, Goldfinger or Doctor Julius No.
Contemporary critics were often unkind towards CASINO ROYALE. But the sex and vices, the violence and moral slippery-slope were, in any event, much more of a concern then than they are now. A lot has changed since the 1950s, and our concerns have shifted if not shaded. Modern reviews focus much less on the aforementioned elements which, in fact, are only a bit "naughty" anymore by modern standards. Nowadays Fleming is rebuked, by some at least, for his alleged sexism and racism. Perhaps that's exactly why it feels so good to read CASINO ROYALE, as the book not only reminds us that times were different once, but also invites much-needed subtlety and nuance to the often aggressive "political correctness" debate which currently pursues, among other things, censored versions of famous books, including the Flemings. When properly read, CASINO ROYALE isn't some misogynist unspooling of an older man's sexual frustrations, gender bias or angry nationalism, but a charming act of merging his wartime expertise with the delicious indulgences of a boundless spy fantasy as dreamed up by the ultimate 'bon vivant'. With one leg in the political reality of the cold war and the other in caviar, expensive leisure and guiltless above-the-law action, the book makes the mind ping-pong between wanting to be there and not wanting to be there at all. This constant chain of amusing conflicts is broken only by the desire to live the unhealthy but dangerously appealing life of James Bond, a modern knight, who shoots a gun rather than wielding a sword; who pumps the engine of a Bentley rather than riding a horse; who wears a tailored tux rather than chainmail. He is sophisticated and determined, vulnerable but persistent, clever and sexual; and Fleming needs but a few excellently written pages to make us understand whom we're dealing with.
The magic of CASINO ROYALE is in the ingenuity and simplicity of its machinations, in the exoticism and eroticism it brings in qualified doses, and in the absolute power of its leading man, a character so enamouring to male and female readers alike, a prolific future for the books and film adaptations was set the moment Fleming had typed his first pages at Goldeneye. Timeless in its subtext and charm, the book maintains a loyal readership today, even if the political stage has transformed quite a bit since. Even more than that, it can be read again and again, allowing us to discover new things that weren't evident the first time. Self-proclaimed Bond fans who haven't yet sought out CASINO ROYALE have to live with a gaping hole in their Bond fandom. The mind reels when thinking about fans of the films deliberately escaping the purest Bond there is. For whatever reason they choose to do that, the biggest mistake one could make, is to assume that since it's the first Bond book, it must also be the weakest, possibly the least complete or attractive one of the bunch. The more I read the book, the more I am convinced of the opposite. This is pure genius, no more, no less; telling us just enough, not overstuffing itself with the kind of filler material that only constipates the reader's desire to keep going. In truth, the most powerful incentive to move on to the next book in the series, LIVE AND LET DIE, is to read CASINO ROYALE. The bitch may be dead, but Bond isn't; and there are many more adventures to be had with him.
So while the night may not be quite so young anymore, and my eyes are feeling heavy, I slip one book back into the pile and gently take the next one out. I put LIVE AND LET DIE on my night cabinet and close my eyes, putting Bond on a plane to the USA in my dreams. Because James Bond . will . return.
10/10
DD's 2018 book ranking
1) Casino Royale - 10/10
As a matter of fact, I'm currently reading the book and I have LALD and LTK on. The former plays nicely when we're in NY, the latter is most appropriate for everything after NY.
I am thinking that the film scores will be appropriate background music while reading all the respective books, except maybe TSWLM.
I take it we won that war?
@Darth fantastic review of CR, now I want to read it again.... Looking foreward to your LALD review. I think that's the book I love most.
We have the USA on our side, as you are morally inferior.
BOOK 2
LIVE AND LET DIE
by Ian Fleming
One day after I read CASINO ROYALE, the world, for some mysterious reason, is celebrating a strictly numerical coincidence on our calendar. People get drunk, party all night long and set off fireworks. One wonders what's so special about replacing a 7 with an 8. So be it; I will have nothing to do with such mindless and illogical outbursts. Instead I decide to sit down, inject some of Martin's LIVE AND LET DIE and Kamen's LICENCE TO KILL into my music installation, pull my hard working reading lamp a few inches closer and crack open Ian Fleming's second Bond novel, LIVE AND LET DIE. A few chapters in, I conclude that the room is heated perhaps half a degree too high and I start sweating. Or could it be that the book is doing this to me? Naked girls performing seductive dances on stage. An innocent but willing girl teasing Bond and, by association, us. Hot Jamaican days burning the skin off like nothing else. Fact: the heat is on; and while I had intended to perhaps spread my reading of the book over two nights, I ended up taking it all in at once.
And yet, compulsive reading may seem a bit strange in a book dealing with an old pirate's treasure and the clandestine transfer of gold coins into America, presumably to fund Communist activities. The British claim rightful ownership over these coins and so Bond is sent to Harlem where he must penetrate the dangerous and complex crime network of one Mr. Big. But all worries of tedium melt away fast when one begins to understand and appreciate the vastness of Mr. Big's enterprise. His incessant fear farming and seemingly unstoppable successes are built on a fabulous network of human spies everywhere and an effectively maintained voodoo terror. Bond will soon discover that anything on two legs is a potential threat and that Mr. Big has the upper hand--always.
Fleming leaves nothing to doubt when demonstrating Mr. Big's criminal superiority. Bond can rarely move without great suffering. One of the most distressing moments in the entire book series is engineered by Mr. Big, and Felix Leiter is his victim. The sharp drama underpinning Bond's quest for coins seems disproportional to what's at stake. But the fight becomes personal very quickly, as immediately after his arrival in New York, Bond is caught in a crimson web of dangers. Only twice will he and Mr. Big meet; but both moments are amongst my absolute favourite in the book. For while Mr. Big is physically presented as something of a hulkish brute, his eloquence and calm demeanour lend him a captivating appearance, a determined strength and an unusual resistance towards intimidation. It's great fun to read the words Fleming makes him utter. Mr. Big has Bond firmly in his grip and will not hesitate to damage or kill him.
Besides gold coins, a fairly weak "MacGuffin", there's Solitaire, the real treasure. After the difficult and "distant" Vesper, Fleming throws a simple damsel in distress at Bond's feet. She'll do anything for him if it means getting away from Mr. Big. Fortunately, Fleming is good enough a writer to emphasise her charms and the sweet distractions she can offer Bond. Unlike her movie counterpart, she isn't too worried about any mystical future telling powers. She does, however, come off as virginal in sex and spirit both, and it leaves her in a somewhat submissive position amidst the three--or at one point two-and-a-half--men who will triangle her in this adventure. Pretty much everything Bond does is spurred on by his protectiveness over Solitaire, even more so than by the vengeance he seeks for Leiter's suffering.
All of this drama is interjected with Fleming's desire to teach us things about Harlem, the ocean, Jamaica, ... Even more so than in the previous book, he will leave no details uncovered, including some which, in hindsight, are fairly superfluous. He will make us witness a table conversation between two coloured inhabitants of Harlem, their slang almost phonetically spelled, so that we understand whom we're walking amongst. But the conversation adds little to the story and one wonders if it couldn't have been trimmed. Unlike in CASINO ROYALE, Fleming furthermore becomes very didactic in places, for example when discussing maritime biology. There is, of course, nothing wrong with that, except that occasionally, he comes dangerously close to weakening the very tension he set up so well in earlier chapters. For example, the preparations Bond makes for his final swim towards the Secatur, Mr. Big's smuggling boat, take up almost as much page time as his actual final confrontation with the man.
But compensating these temporary lulls are a few pretty good action scenes which, surprisingly enough, never made the LIVE AND LET DIE film adaptation but ended up in other films instead. The raid on The Robber's place was put in LICENCE TO KILL and the boat towing of Bond and Solitaire annex shark bait ended up in FOR YOUR EYES ONLY. Both moments reward the persistent reader, who can still feel the dangers, threats and pains from the previous chapters when allowed the satisfaction of Bond's cleverness and relentless cool. Another reward comes in the shape and form of two additional characters, Strangways and Quarrel, who will of course return in DR NO, both book and film. Instantly likeable, Fleming always makes sure that the ones on the good side truly belong there.
LIVE AND LET DIE is perhaps Fleming's most controversial book, now even more so than in the 1950s. He persistently refers to black people as "negros", a word which has since then gained much more of a negative connotation. Modern readers are of course expected to be smart enough to understand that some words can be more and others less agreed with over time. When Solitaire exclaims that "[she's] feeling gay", we should note that she's not outing herself as a lesbian; when Fleming types a variation of the N-word, we are quite aware that such was perfectly acceptable at the time and that it did not necessarily present a vicious means to perpetuate some negative stereotype of coloured people. Accusations of the latter can be further countered by Fleming's eroticizing of beautiful black women, his deference to the fascinatingly intricate and almost waterproof crime machine of Mr. Big and his kind representation of the amicable Quarrel. That a "white man" single-handedly defeats Mr. Big is through no superiority of his own. Chance and many painful sacrifices have paved that road instead. Even with my 21st century eyes, trying to court modern race equality sensibilities as much as possible, I cannot judge Fleming or his second book for being inherently racist. To document subcultures and slang of the day is not the same as to oppress an entire race.
LIVE AND LET DIE is a very good book, albeit not quite as pristine, concise and tensive as its predecessor. It draws blood often and with lasting effect, continuing the "trend" from the previous book that Bond's missions will never be simple. Ultimately, Bond cries at the end, which Fleming comments on as being the first time since childhood. Victories are hard earned, vindication comes at a great price. Accusations that Bond has but to shoot his gun or sleep with a woman to turn the tide usually come from frustrated Le Carré fans or people who have never read a Fleming Bond even once. LIVE AND LET DIE once again proves that Fleming makes Bond work very hard, and us along with him.
The sunburns sting, but Solitaire will take care of those. Adrenalized and satisfied, I trade this book for the next one in the series, MOONRAKER. And I can't wait to revisit it. But not today...
8/10
DD's 2018 book ranking
1) Casino Royale - 10/10
2) Live And Let Die - 8/10