Saturday, March 17, 2012

Jeffrey Deaver: Carte Blanche (2011)

It's not really that I'm on a spy kick lately.  I don't think.  But I guess one thing leads to another...

The Tanuki has actually read all the Ian Fleming Bond novels.  It was before he took up blogging;  he even has considered going back to re-read them so he can blog them, but the trouble is, that would require re-reading them - he didn't find them memorable enough to be able to do them from memory now - and, truth be told, they weren't all that good.  The Tanuki thinks that, like some of the producers of the various filmic Bonds, Ian Fleming didn't always fully understand just what he'd created, and therefore couldn't/didn't realize it as fully as it deserved.

Nevertheless/therefore, the completist in the Tanuki has sometimes thought about reading some of the later takes on Bond, to see if later authors get it righter.  But he never has, until, sick as a motherfucker a few weeks ago, he saw the new Bondsman's new Bond on the rack at the supermarket.  Bought it, read it in one day.  Promptly forgot most of it.  The cold medicine might have had something to do with that.  But not, the Tanuki thinks, much.

The problem with this Bond is the same as the problem with Salt and, worse and more to the point, with the Daniel Craig Bonds.  Nobody's having any fun.  Nobody's having much sex.  Nobody has any glamor. 

We're in a Puritan age, and James Bond may not survive it.

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