Time-traveling James Bond
Only Doctor Who can boast more reincarnations than James Bond, though the latest 007 can now claim to have traveled back in time, too. In a bid to relaunch the superspy book franchise, respected novelist Sebastian Faulks (鈥�Charlotte Gray,鈥� 鈥淏irdsong鈥�) has written a Bond novel set in 1967, picking up immediately after the events of Ian Fleming鈥檚 final work, 鈥�The Man with the Golden Gun.鈥� Faulks鈥檚 Devil May Care isn鈥檛 a reimagining or a reboot, however. It鈥檚 pure homage and, as such, is credited to 鈥淪ebastian Faulks writing as Ian Fleming.鈥�
This isn鈥檛 the first time that a well-known author has dispatched Fleming鈥檚 hero on a new mission. Kingsley Amis wrote 鈥淐olonel Sun鈥� in 1968 and then, in 1980, thriller writer John Gardner penned the first of 14 Bond novels, updating the spy for a new era by cutting back Bond鈥檚 cigarette intake and even disbanding the double-O section inside MI6. But in Faulks鈥檚 鈥淒evil May Care,鈥� M is still a man, the most feminine thing about 007 is his signature 鈥渓adylike鈥� Walther PPK pistol, and Bond and Miss Moneypenny exchange inappropriate workplace banter that would make even Austin Powers blush.
Thankfully, the double-O鈥檚 double entendres are kept to a minimum. And for once, the female character names wouldn鈥檛 embarrass a priest uttering them at a christening. Even more surprising: Bond is remarkably chaste, his hotel bedsheets unrumpled until the final scene.
Faulks鈥檚 largest departure from the original books is the setting. In a first, Bond ventures into Tehran, described as 鈥渁 nest of spies鈥� because of Iran鈥檚 position as a hinge between the East and West. The secret agent鈥檚 mission: Find Julius Gorner, a multimillionaire businessman who has made his fortune turning poppies from nearby Afghanistan into illegal drugs. Bond is partly on a personal vendetta because his new flame, Scarlett Papava, has enlisted him to rescue her identical twin sister, whom Gorner has purportedly imprisoned in his vast underground complex in the desert. (Go ahead, it鈥檚 OK to titter.)
Indeed, the standard 007 conventions are present and accounted for. (Well, almost. Faulks sidesteps the obligatory 鈥渟haken, not stirred鈥� reference by mischievously noting that Bond prefers his black pepper 鈥渃racked, not ground.鈥�) Like so many villains before him, Gorner has a deformed appearance 鈥� in this instance, a genetic throwback has given him a hairy ape鈥檚 hand that is incapable of a proper grip 鈥� and he employs a formidable henchman. Of course, Gorner is also bent on Britain鈥檚 destruction via a maniacal plot that he brags about once he captures his opponent. Disappointingly, there鈥檚 no shark pool in Gorner鈥檚 underground lair.
However, this is no Roger Moore caper. The author injects too much no-nonsense grit into the proceedings and doesn鈥檛 allow Bond to use any gadgets. Another welcome touch: For the obligatory early contest between Bond and villain, wherein 007 sizes up his foe and invariably discovers that he鈥檚 up against a cheat, Faulks is canny not to resort to the setting of a casino. In 鈥淒evil May Care,鈥� this joust of wills transpires on a tennis court. It鈥檚 a gripping scene. The epic game between Gorner and Bond is so fierce it makes the 1980 Wimbledon final between McEnroe and Borg seem like a friendly round of Ping-Pong. Elsewhere, Faulks serves up cinematic action set pieces such as a car chase, an underwater sequence, and a climactic battle inside a pilotless plane.
Since this is a tribute to Fleming, Faulks adopts the author鈥檚 spare prose as well as Fleming鈥檚 predilection for detailed descriptions of settings, clothing, and food. In fact, there are so many tantalizing descriptions of Bond鈥檚 cuisine that you鈥檒l want to read 鈥淒evil May Care鈥� within a 20-meter radius of your fridge.
The novel goes down as easily as one of 007鈥檚 bon mots. It鈥檚 enjoyable as an exercise in mimicry, but it could have been so much more. Bond鈥檚 personality is dossier thin, and there鈥檚 no character arc to make the reader feel invested in the hero鈥檚 exploits. Even the new Bond movies starring Daniel Craig recognize that audiences want more than comic-strip action these days.
Fleming once wrote, 鈥淭he target of my books ... lay somewhere between the solar plexus and, well, the upper thigh.鈥� To make the literary Bond relevant to the 20th century, Faulks should have targeted his book for the mind.
Stephen Humphries is a Monitor staff writer.
