Carte Blanche: Why the New Bond Book Will Bomb

In 2008, the Estate of Ian Fleming released the first of the 'next generation' of James Bond novels – Devil May Care.

Rebooting the franchise after John Gardner and Raymond Bensen's long tenures, the Estate of Ian Fleming went back to the format they intended to introduce shortly after Ian Fleming's death – having each book in the series penned by a celebrity author. For Devil May Care, they made the inspired choice of Birdsong author Sebastien Faulks.

Devil May Care was a great addition to the Bond canon – a solid little story which coolly carried the style and substance of some of Fleming's better Bond books. Ever since I read it, I've been eagerly awaiting the next chapter from publisher Hodder & Stoughton.

It turns out, I might have been waiting for nothing.

Because the estate of Ian Fleming recently announced the next of the Bond books, Carte Blanche, and I'm deeply underwhelmed by what I've heard.

For a start, they've picked American Jeffery Deaver to write it.

Now Deaver's an accomplished author, and penned some truly clever thrillers. It would be an honor for (almost any other) franchise to have a writer like him at the helm. But with Bond, things are different. In picking an American author, the publishers risk making the same error they did when they chose Raymond Bensen to take the reins of the franchise in 1996.

Bensen was a great writer – far better than his forebear, John Gardner – but lacked an insight into British culture (most notably Bond's snobbery) that was an essential ingredient to Fleming's stories. I am concerned that Deaver might share that shortcoming.

[Perhaps this is a demonstration of your own style of British snobbery – Editorial Bear]

Don't say that! It would be like getting a British actor to play that most iconic of Americans – Superman!

[They did. You might want to read this – Editorial Bear]

Oh.

Anyway, what concerns me more – in fact fills me with dread for the whole project – is that Deaver's wading in and rewriting Bond's history.

You can understand why he's doing it, of course. James Bond was born in 1920, yet was portrayed as still being in active service by John Gardner and Raymond Bensen well into the 21st century. It was growing impossible to maintain Bond's continuity and also portray him as a young, vibrant and dangerous secret agent.

Sebastian Faulks solved this issue by setting Devil May Care in 1967; just weeks after the conclusion of Colonel Sun (the last of the 'canon' Bond books.) Jeffery Deaver is apparently taking the opposite tack.

"The book will be set in mid-2011," Deaver explains, "which is when the book will be coming out. Bond is a 29- or 30-year-old agent for British security, doing what he did in the original books. And he will be a veteran of the military campaigns in Iraq and Afghanistan. You'll see the cast of characters readers are familiar with - Miss Moneypenny and M - but updated for the present day."

Ouch. Bond is being 'reborn' in the mid-eighties, according to Deaver's math.

And to me, this means that despite dodging the deadly intentions of Blofeld, Goldfinger and SMERSH, Bond did get killed in the end. There's simply no way this modern mash-up will be anything akin to the chauvinistic, cold-blooded ladykiller we all know and love.

Bond was the archetype for the modern action hero – so to 'reinvent him' for a modern age is to thrust a character into a literary realm in which he's already become a stereotype. Likewise, the challenges Deaver's modern-day Bond will face will be starkly different to those of the original Bond – whose world view was shaped by wars World and Cold.

Don't get me wrong – I'm sure the new Bond book, Carte Blanche, will be a magnificent thriller – but it won't be a Bond book. Not in the same way Devil May Care was. It will be something like the exciting, but ultimately unsatisfying Quantum of Solace movie – a fast-paced thrill ride that owes it's name, but nothing else, to Ian Fleming's legacy.

Carte Blanche by Jeffery Deaver is available in hardback in June, 2011

James Bond: The Union Trilogy by Raymond Benson

‘James Bond: The Union Trilogy’ is a recently-released compilation of three James Bond books penned by American author Raymond Benson, who took over the reins of Bond’s literary adventures in 1996 (from English author John Gardner.)

Held together by the pursuit of common protagonists, ‘The Union Trilogy’ sees James Bond come up against a shadowy organization known only as ‘The Union’ – mercenary terrorists willing to commit any atrocity for the right price.

Their trademark: Slitting the throat of anybody foolish enough to betray them.

The trilogy kicks off with 1999’s ‘High Time to Kill,’ in which James Bond must race to the peak of Kangchenjunga – the smaller, but deadlier cousin of Mount Everest – to recover a vital piece of stealth technology.

It’s a solid story, intricately researched and with enough grit to remind us that Fleming’s James Bond was truly tough-as-nails – not the smarmy, smirking secret-agent we’re familiar with from the movies.

The compilation continues with ‘Doubleshot,’ which sees Bond recovering from a head-injury sustained during his adventure in the Himalayas.

With more than a nod towards classic film-noir plots sharing similar themes, Bond starts to question his own sanity after he’s accused of murder and forced to go on the run from his colleagues at MI6.

The final chapter in 'The Union Trilogy' is ‘Never Dream of Dying,’ in which Bond investigates a sinister film mogul (perhaps loosely based on the infamous Roman Polanski.)

As Bond probes further, he’s shocked to discover that the shadowy mastermind behind the vicious ‘Union’ might be somebody closer to him than he could possibly have imagined.

Wrapping up the compilation is the original Benson story ‘Blast from the Past,’ which debuted in Playboy magazine back in 1997 – plus a new and extended introduction from the author himself.

The introduction is a fascinating insight into the thought-process behind the three stories, but does contain several ‘spoilers’ that give away vital plot twists. I’d recommend reading the introduction after the stories themselves.

And after that layer cake of Benson-style Bond, how did I think the American author held up?

Benson’s Bond shares more characteristics with Fleming’s original character than Gardner’s prissy, pallid imitation did. Bond womanizes, drinks, kills and gambles with an emotionless impunity that reminds us just how dangerous the man is supposed to be.

Benson also shares Fleming’s devilish flair for details – with intricate research in ‘High Time to Kill’ that makes Bond’s mountaineering come vividly to life. Likewise, the torture scene towards the end of ‘Never Dream of Dying’ is honestly, unequivocally unnerving and ranks alongside the testicular-torment Bond experienced at the end of ‘Casino Royale.’

Less successful is Benson’s writing style. Some stages seem rushed – delivering bland exposition instead of evocative description. Likewise, much of the dialogue is awkwardly stilted and doesn’t feel real. Another criticism is the clear ‘Americanism.’ Benson flits inconsistently between using American and English words – perhaps he’d have been better off sticking to one or the other.

But looking at the whole package, ‘The Union Trilogy’ makes for a deeply satisfying read.

For all his faults, Benson’s got a clearly superior grasp of the James Bond mythos than his predecessor. While John Gardner wrote fairly generic thrillers (Bond could have been replaced by Boysie Oakes or any other Gardner creation) the Bond that Benson writes about is clearly Fleming’s famous creation.

That makes ‘The Union Trilogy’ a solid choice for Bond fans everywhere – a worthy testament to Raymond Benson’s time at the helm of the Bond franchise.

Ask Militant Ginger

We haven't had an edition of 'Ask Militant Ginger' for a while - and this month we had some doozies of questions! So after an inexplicable absence, here is a question and answer session based on real-life questions that people have typed into search engines - and been taken to 'Militant Ginger' as a result. First off, two questions related to the same movie!

Does the guy smoke in 'He's Just Not That Into You?'

In the romantic comedy He's Just Not That Into You, Bradley Cooper plays a philandering husband married to obsessive-compulsive Jennifer Connelly. It's not his affair that upsets his wife, though - it's the suspicious that her husband is sneakily smoking behind her back (he promised to quit, because Connelly's father died from lung cancer.)

In the final moments of the movie, Connelly is lamenting losing her husband... Right up until the moment she finds a packet of smokes in his suit pocket. Enraged that he'd own up to his affair - but lie about smoking - causes her to finally kick the ungrateful lug out of her house.

So, gentle reader, the answer is yes. Bradley Cooper's character in He's Just Not That Into You is
sneakily smoking behind his wife's back - revealing just how immature and deceitful men can be about seemingly innocuous things.

What car does Ben Affleck's character drive in He's Just Not That Into You?

Bradley Cooper's best friend is played by Ben Affleck - a man with a fondness for 'boy toys.' In addition to his fifty-foot yacht, he has an utterly awesome 'woody' - a wood panelled car.

Thanks to an episode of Pimp My Ride I'd seen earlier that day, I was correctly able to identify Affleck's classic car as a Jeep Wagoneer - one of America's first 'sports utility vehicles.'

They were manufactured virtually unchanged from 1963 to 1993 - making it very difficult to identify the specific year Affleck's was. However, I found the actual car for sale on eBay and can confirm that it was an '87 model.


Why doesn't Socialism work?

This is a question I tackled here. Although I don't think socialism is remotely close to the scary, evil bugbear the conservatives nail it as - I don't think it works.

There are all sorts of reasons why socialism is sketchy, but the root cause behind all of them is 'human nature.' Humans don't want to live in a society in which we're all equal. Man is programmed to want more than his neighbor.

Personal gain is the major incentive to work harder. When a community takes the profits of its hardest workers and distributes them to 'equalize' compensation, it takes away the reason for that one worker to work so hard. He reduces productivity - and the entire community loses out as a result.

But while socialism makes for a crappy business model, but it's not entirely worthless. When it comes to vital infrastructure - like railways, postal services, schools and the like - state ownership often means more flexibility in operating an important public service. Even in so-called 'Capitalist' America, many institutions are state owned because they simply couldn't operate effectively as private industry (like the Postal Service.)

Why do Christians hate gays?

Christians shouldn't 'hate' anybody, but some of them do.

These are mainly the evangelicals and fundamentalists of America (who number 80 million, although that figure is rapidly dwindling.)

Those particular Christians are hypocrites. In the words of Randall Terry, an outspoken Christian activist:

"Let a wave of intolerance wash over you. I want you to let a wave of hatred wash over you. Yes, hate is good...."

He was talking about people who voted for Clinton - but a more common target for evangelical Christian ire are 'homosexuals.' Gay people are blamed for just about everything - including 9/11. To quote Jerry Falwell, the leader of the Evangelical movement (who last year hosted the presidential debate between McCain and Obama in his 'megachurch'):

"The gays and the lesbians who are actively trying to make homosexuality an alternative lifestyle -- I point the finger in their face and say "you helped this [9/11] happen.""

Those right-wing Christians claim that homosexuality is wrong because the Bible says so. The Bible also says that eating shellfish and wearing cotton is wrong, but these Christians pick and choose which bits they want to listen to (because if they had to adhere to the whole thing, life wouldn't be much fun at all!)

The Biblical debate is a big one. I've written extensively about it here. In short, though, it boils down to whether or not you think modern society's rules and standards should be regulated by a 2,000 year old piece of corporate propaganda.

Some Christians are unable to remove the Bible from their moral equation - and are therefore unable to judge something based on anything other than their own blinkered standards. Those evangelical Christians 'hate' gays because they believe the Bible told them to. If the Bible told them all to jump off a cliff, presumably they'd do that, too (we can only wish.)

But not all Christians are as limited as these ones. For example, Mummy Militant and I attend a church which welcomes gay people, and even has a few same-sex couples in the congregation. This is because some Christians are evolved, and have realized that Christ's message of love is more important that some fine-print minutia condemning homosexuality.

Why do pirates wear eye patches?

When I was a kid, I got told that pirates wore eye-patches because splinters or swords had popped their peeper out (much the same reason for the prerequisite wooden legs and hooks on their hands.) In actual fact, though, even biopic (i.e. two-eyed) pirates never went into battle without an eye-patch.

This is because the ocean could be a very bright place. On deck, the sun beat down mercilessly. Once you went below deck, however, the bowels of a pirate ships were dark and dim (pirates roamed the seas before electricity was invented.)

It takes up to thirty seconds for your eyes to adjust from bright light to near-dark - so when a raiding pirate stormed below decks, he'd be literally blinded until his eyes adjusted to the dark. That's why they took to wearing eye-patches.

Before the battle, a pirate would don his patch and one eye would adjust to the gloom. The other he'd use normally, and would be all squinty in the sunlight. After battling the enemy on deck, our raiding buccaneer could jump into the gloom below decks and lift his eye-patch - revealing his pre-adjusted eye and having instantaneous vision even in the gloom of the galley.

It's a neat trick - and one that's still used today. My father taught me a trick he used on guard duty with the RAF. Stand with one eye scrunched shut, so if the enemy cut the lights, you'll still have some pre-adjusted night vision and be able to react much faster than waiting for both peepers to adjust to the blackout.

What does Quantum of Solace mean?

'Quantum of Solace' was a fantastic short story from the James Bond anthology 'For Your Eyes Only.' It hardly features Bond - and was more about the story of two young lovers and their doomed love affair.

In it, Ian Fleming coined the term 'Quantum of Solace' to describe the smallest smidgen of love or respect that keeps somebody in a relationship. 'Quantum' is the smallest amount measurable by man. 'Solace' comes from the Latin word for consolation or comfort.

It's generally the 'Quantum of Solace' that keeps somebody in a bad relationship. If a boyfriend ignores his girlfriend, goes out with the boys without her or cheats on her, she might want to leave him - but when he does that one thoughtful thing - like making a mix-tape of 'their' songs or something equally inconsequential - it reminds her of 'why she fell in love with him' and the whole vicious cycle starts all over again.

But, more than that, the 'Quantum of Solace' is that essential spark which keeps love alive. As long as there's that 'Quantum,' a relationship can exist. When it's extinguished (by, perhaps, one thoughtless act too many) love can never be rekindled.

"The Governor had presented Bond with a theory concerning love, betrayal and cruelty between marriage partners. Calling it the 'quantum of solace,' the governor believed that the amount of comfort on which love and friendship is based could be measured. Unless there is a certain degree of humanity existing between two people, he maintained, there can be no love. It was an adage Bond had accepted as a universal truth."

High Time to Kill, Raymond Benson

How do I start writing adventure stories?

It's easy! Pick up a pen and get scribbling!

As readers of Militant Ginger will know, I love old-fashioned adventure stories. In fact, a constant thread throughout my life has been my efforts to get 'Adventure Eddy' into print.

While I haven't been altogether successful, my years of writing have taught me A LOT about penning adventure stories - specifically:

• You've got to grip the reader from the first paragraph - like in the Adventure Eddy story 'Science Lesson,' in which he opens a package somebody mailed him and finds a deadly fat-tailed scorpion inside!
• You need to have an unanswered question which keeps the reader motivated to continue reading - like just who sent Adventure Eddy that deadly scorpion!
• The characters must have good motivation for doing what they're doing. Characters drive a story forward, not plot. Give the characters believable motivation (like revenge, or a need to clear their name) and it'll make the whole unlikely scenario believable.
• Instill a sense of urgency! Time limits, or being chased by bad guys or police, give characters that extra bit of motivation to do dangerous things, and take risks they might not normally.
• Set up a few action set pieces - There are moments in a book that you'll remember forever - like James Bond's escape down the mountainside in On Her Majesty's Secret Service. Think of some really thrilling, really dangerous obstacles to overcome and it'll rack up the sense of peril.
• Put your characters in real danger - In Live and Let Die, James Bond's eponymous best friend Felix Leiter was mauled by a shark - a trick Fleming used to let his readers know that the dangers Bond faced were real, and there was no guarantee that even 007 would make it to the end of the book.
• Have a twist in the tail! The hardest trick is to throw a satisfying denoument into the mix. At the climax of the book, you've got to turn things around in such a way to blow the reader out of the water - and leave them breathless, yet satisfied. A good example is in the climax of Hugh Laurie's book 'The Gun Seller.' I won't spoil it, but it's a cracker and involves an exploding helicopter.

Do Nephilim die from copper shotgun rounds?

This is probably the oddest question I've ever been asked - linking back to my synopsis for a story called 'The God Squad.'

In it, a band of Vatican-approved 'monster hunters' would face off against an evil Nephilim - one of the half-angel, half-human creatures God had attempted to wipe out with 'The Great Flood.'

As far as I know, Nephilim are not noted for having any specific vulnerability to copper, so I'm not sure what significance that would make - but that wouldn't stop my band of morally ambiguous monster hunters riddling him with shotgun shells, if they thought that would get the job done!

The First Edition Death Warrant

At one point, I began writing a fictionalized biography of Auric Goldfinger, the seminal bad-guy from the book and movie of the same name.

Because he was redheaded, I'd always felt a certain solidarity with Mr Goldfinger. Fleming described him as barely five-feet tall - so that, along with his ginger hair, must have made him the very epitome of 'over-compensation.'

I imagined that was why he was so obsessed about becoming the richest man in England. The conspicuous props of his wealth - the Rolls Royce and the gold-painted beauties - were just part of his peculiar compulsions.

I imagined the story of this man's life. It was exciting, erotic and macabre. As a young man, I envisioned him as a noble sort, outwitting Nazis and Russians during World War II. However, as his obsession with the 'purity' of gold increased, Goldfinger himself became more and more corrupt.

I sent an email to the Estate of Ian Fleming to see if they'd be interested in reading this story - obviously, without their blessing, it could never be published. In the mean time, I thought I'd post the prologue.

The Last Statement of Auric Goldfinger

Prologue

The First Edition Death Warrant

Four days ago, I received my death warrant – although I didn’t realize it at the time.

The warrant took a rather lurid form. A hardback book featuring a skull on the cover, it’s bare teeth clutching a lush, red rose.

Two gold coins filled the skull’s empty eye sockets.

And on the bottom of the cover was the name of the condemned man.

Goldfinger.

My name.

- - -

I am Auric Goldfinger.

When I received the book, I had been prisoner of the British government for some nine months.

I read it in a little over a day. It was not very long and between the regular interrogations, there was little else to occupy my time.

It was a fantasy of sorts. A pulp melodrama built on a foundation of the barest elements of fact.

To read it was infuriating.

Many times, I would throw down the book and pace the narrow width of my room in disgust.

I am not sure who sent the book to me.

I assume it was the sneering peacock on the back cover – the man who had misappropriated my name and concocted a lurid, libelous fantasy around it.

Ian Fleming.

Nevertheless, I instantly recognized that this book signaled the end.

This disgusting, libelous ‘novel’ could only have been published in the smug satisfaction that I, the victim of this slur, would never be in a position to revenge myself upon the author.

Ian Fleming had written it, knowing that I was to die.

I had accepted that I might die while still a prisoner of the British government, but until I received that copy of ‘Goldfinger, by Ian Fleming’ I had not truly believed that my demise was inevitable.

Now, I realized, I was a dead man.

The skull on that book’s cover was my own.

The Saintmobile and the Bondmobile

Two of my major influences have been messieurs Templar and Bond (both pictured here by the same actor, Roger Moore.)

Simon Templar, the ubiquitous 'Saint', is quite simply the greatest adventure hero of all time. Suave, charming, debonair and brave, he personifies everything I idolize - even though about the only characteristic I share with the 'Robin Hood of Modern Crime' is a pathologically cheery outlook on life and a bent for flippancy.

James Bond, the 'blunt instrument' of Her Majesty's Secret Service, represents a dying breed of self-confident masculinity. Bond was an idealized version of his creator, Ian Fleming, who could eat, drink and womanize without restraint (which explains why Bond's still going, while Fleming croaked aged just 56.)

Both of them adored cars, and often appeared behind the wheels of vehicles lavishly described by the author. Although both Bond and Templar went through quite a number of vehicles over the years, they each have a trademark 'mobile which shares many of the characteristics I strive for in my own 'Gingermobile.'

The Saint's Car

When we first met Simon Templar, he drove a 'Furillac' - a fictional sports car with an American-sounding name (I often envisaged it as a Cord convertible, much like this one from A Kilted Travel Agent's blog.)

Templar later borrowed his friend Norman Kent's car - and after Norman died heroically at the end of The Last Hero, Templar adopted the 'Hirondel' and drove it throughout almost all of his European-based adventures.

Like the Furillac, the cars of the Hirondel Motor Corporation were fictional - however, we do know what they looked like. Author Leslie Charteris based Templar's cream and red Hirondel on his own twelve-cylinder Lagonda Rapide, meaning the car The Saint drove resembled something like this:


We know it was very fast, low-slung and practical enough to contain four people (who could be slung in and out of the vehicle with relative impunity, thanks to the convertible top.)

We also know the car did about 5mpg and the Hirondel Motor Corporation was based in Britain (and appeared to produce a limited number of these cars, practically assembling them by hand.)

Bond's Car

To most us us, the name James Bond is synonymous with 'Aston Martin.'

But while the movie incarnations of 007 have always been behind the wheel of that stylish brand of luxury touring car, the original James Bond was very particular about his choice of transportation. He drove a Bentley, plain and simple.

In Casino Royale, we were introduced to Bond's 1930 Bentley Blower, a super-charged 4½ litre Le Mans car in matt, battleship grey. As tended to become a habit with Bond, he crashed it at the climax of the story (car chases and martinis clearly don't mix, even in the 1950's.)

In later books, author Ian Fleming promoted Bond's chariot to the 'Bentley Continental Mark IV' - a car equally as fictional as Simon Templar's Hirondel. Although Bentley never produced a real Bentley Mark IV, it's fair to imagine it might have looked something like a contemporary Bentley Continental, like this one I've stolen from A Kilted Travel Agent's blog.


Bond suitably modified his car with an Arnott supercharger (leaving Rolls Royce no choice but to wipe their hands of this 'bastardized child') which allowed the Bentley to cruise at 100mph 'with 30 in reserve.'

Just like Simon Templar's Hirondel, Bond's Bentley fulfilled three major criteria:

1. It was fast.
2. It was big.
3. It was luxurious.

Operation Gingermobile

Now I'm on the path to my future Gingermobile, I think it's important to look at what I've learned from James Bond and Simon Templar and put that information to work choosing my own Gingermobile.

If I had an unlimited budget, I think my choices would be expanded somewhat. At ideal candidate might be a Jensen Interceptor (which a television incarnation of Simon Templar actually drove in the 1980's.)


It combines speed, size and luxury with the good looks and polish of a fastback grand tourer.

Unfortunately, I don't have $20,000 to blow on a Jensen - but it has at least given me a bit of direction towards what car I'll ultimately select as my own Gingermobile.

Watch this space!

What does 'Quantum of Solace' mean?

"The Governor had presented Bond with a theory concerning love, betrayal and cruelty between marriage partners. Calling it the 'quantum of solace,' the governor believed that the amount of comfort on which love and friendship is based could be measured. Unless there is a certain degree of humanity existing between two people, he maintained, there can be no love. It was an adage Bond had accepted as a universal truth."

High Time to Kill, Raymond Benson

The other day, I received this comment on my post 'What does Quantum of Solace mean?'

"Sorry. I still don't understand, "What does Quantum of Solace mean?" Can you give a simply synonymic phrase? It's too difficult for me to translate into another language. Thanks"

The truth is, it's not exactly an easy concept to explain. Ian Fleming, who originated the phrase in a short story from 'For Your Eyes Only,' was prone to occasional philosophical musings and the 'Quantum of Solace' was both his most memorable and mysterious.

But in my arrogance, I am going to attempt to explain it.

Empathy between people is measurable. The 'quantum of solace' is the smallest measurable iota of consideration you have for another person. Unless you have that 'quantum of solace' for somebody - as in, that smallest scrap of consideration and empathy for them and their feelings - you lack the capacity to love or befriend them.

I'll give a real-life example: A girl who was in an open relationship with an older guy (by open relationship, I mean 'friends with benefits' - as in, they occasionally hung out together and might occasionally sleep together.)

She liked him; as a friend and possibly even as a lover. She would drop last minute plans to see him if he called. She'd pick him up from the bar when he was too drunk to drive home. She wrote him emails. She brought him Chinese takeout when he'd got home from work. She didn't want to be his 'boyfriend,' exactly. She just made an effort because she liked him.

He liked her, too. Maybe. If he did, at least, he never seemed to show it. He just couldn't really be bothered. He'd cancel plans with her at the last minute. He'd sleep with other people and expect her to listen to his romantic laments - even while they shared a post-coital cigarette. He was the kind of guy who'd 'forget' to pick her up at the airport, even though he'd promised to. If she broke down at midnight, he'd ignore her call, roll over and go back to sleep.

In many ways, their relationship proved another Ian Fleming maxim: "In love, there is always one partner who kisses; and another who offers the cheek."

As in, there's always one partner who makes the effort, and the other who'll let them make the effort.

He was with her merely because it was convenient. She was generous to a fault, she was easy to get along with, she was fun and non-judgmental. She was always doing kind things for him, without expecting anything in return - and when there wasn't anybody else around, she was available to go to bed with him.

Yet the mismatched balance of their relationship wasn't sustainable. Eventually, after months of feeling unappreciated and exploited, this girl decided enough was enough. She was going to end their 'friendship' because she made all the effort and received no consideration in return.

He ignored her. He took her for granted. He made her feel like she was entirely inconsequential to his existence. That 'quantum of solace' - the small part of him which acknowledged and was considerate of her feelings - no longer existed. She felt like if she walked out his life forever, he probably wouldn't even notice.

And then he did something entirely unexpected. He made her a mixtape of U2 songs - the ones they'd listened to when they'd gone to a concert together (she'd got free tickets and given them to him.)

The fact that he'd sat down for twenty minutes and made that tape for her - not for anybody else, and in remembrance of something they'd done together - was enough to rekindle their relationship and she abandoned plans on walking out of his life.

The 'friends with benefits' relationship continued. He continued being a shit to her. Their mismatched relationship continued and he never stopped making her feel unappreciated and taken for granted. But that mixtape somehow represented that tiny iota of consideration he had for her. He'd done one inconsequential act to make her feel 'special' and that was enough to sustain something unsustainable.

While I might not be able to explain exactly what the 'quantum of solace' is in a short, easy to understand way, I can give you that true-life example of the concept in action.

I've really no clearer way of explaining it: The 'quantum of solace' is nothing more than homemade mixtape of U2 songs, or some other seemingly inconsequential, almost immeasurable thing that makes the difference between indifference and affection.

What does Quantum of Solace mean?

"This title is meant to confuse a little. It debates relationships and how they hurt and how people can be hurt. If you are not respecting each other - it's over, and at the end of the last movie Bond doesn't have that because his girlfriend has been killed." Daniel Craig, on the title of the new James Bond movie.

I'm so excited about the new James Bond film.

2006's Casino Royale was pretty awesome - even for a Bond purist like me. Casino Royale was always my favorite James Bond book and director Martin Campbell made a good effort to keep the story as pure as possible, yet simultaneously bring it bang up to date and include enough explosions to keep the plebs happy. [Don't you mean the 'regular cinema-goers'? Editorial Bear]

This year, the next of the 'rebooted' Bonds will hit the cinema screen with the perfectly titled Quantum of Solace.

Quantum of Solace

But what the hell does that title mean, you might ask.

Quantum of Solace is actually the title of a short story included in the James Bond anthology For Your Eyes Only. It was one of Ian Fleming's more avant-garde writing experiments - opening with James Bond at a boring dinner party in Government House, Nassau (back in the days when the Bahamas was still run by Britain.)

Bond is incidental to this story - which is actually the tale of frustrated housewife Rhoda Masters, as told by the Governor himself.

Rhoda Masters was an air stewardess who married timid diplomat Philip Masters on a whim. But instead of finding the life of a colonial diplomat's wife luxurious, the flighty young woman soon became bored and began an open affair with a local playboy.

The affair was scandalous because Rhoda was so brazen about it. She and her rich, handsome lover made no effort to hide their passionate romance and Philip was turned into a bit of an island joke - the timid cuckold who 'put up' with his wife's flagrant infidelity.

But the affair tooks it's emotional toll on Philip and soon his work suffered and he faced a nervous breakdown. The Governor saw the devastating results his wife's affair was having on the young diplomat, so he sent Philip off to Washington DC for a lengthy trade negotiation with the Americans.

While he was gone, the philandering Rhoda was told in no uncertain terms to end her affair before her devastated husband returned.

Rhoda acquiesced to the Governor's demands - but the man who returned from Washington weeks later was very different to the timid, loving husband she'd been cheating on.

Something inside Philip Masters had died and when he returned to the Bahamas, he was a shell of his former self. Hard, cold and utterly indifferent to his wife.

Rhoda's affair and cruelty towards her husband crushed that last 'Quantum of Solace' he held within his fractured heart. Now free of any lingering affection, Philip Masters sold up everything and left Rhoda stranded in the Bahamas, divorcing her and returning to England with his former wife left utterly penniless and scorned by the rest of the diplomatic crowd.

Huh?

A quantum is the smallest possible measurable amount of something. The most utterly tiny amount that makes the difference between something 'being something' and not. In scientific terms, it's generally considered to be an atom.

The 'Quantum of Solace' was explained as being that small, practically immeasurable spark of compassion, love or feeling that kept Philip Masters alive inside while his wife was so horrifically callous towards him.

As long as there was that Quantum of Solace, there was something between them. When she finally crushed that tiny spark, Rhoda killed the connection between her and her husband. That's what empowered him to leave his wife utterly penniless in an unfriendly community - practically driving her to prostitution before a rich Canadian rescued her (and it is Rhoda and her second husband that Bond meets at the conclusion of this story.)

Ian Fleming's books are rich with clever catchphrases and concepts, but the Quantum of Solace is one of his finest. The immeasurable speck of affection that keeps a love affair smouldering.

It's often said that the opposite of love isn't hate. In fact, love and hate are separated by the thinnest of lines. Really, the opposite end of the spectrum from love is indifference. It's that Quantum of Solace that keeps somebody caring about another human being - instead of dismissing them as utterly emotionally insignificant.

The Real World

I've only seen the Quantum of Solace flicker a couple of times before - once when I broke up with a girlfriend I was still crazy about. I'd been a terrible boyfriend - and that behaviour had crushed her last Quantum of Solace. So when we broke up, I was still utterly crazy about her, but she couldn't care less. She didn't even have the interest to be angry at me. I'd just become an insignificance and she treated me accordingly.

Another time, I cared about a girl who still held some Quantum of Solace for an ex-boyfriend. He treated her terribly. Cheating, lying and being utterly heartless. But just as that Quantum of Solace threatened to burn to nothing, he'd make some utterly insignificant gesture - like giving her a 'mix tape' of his favourite songs, or inviting her to some family gathering in an act of supposed 'intimacy' and then the Quantum of Solace would flair up again and she'd be as hooked as she ever was.

Bond Is Back

Considering I'm so drawn to the concept, it should be no surprise that I'm excited the new Bond film is called Quantum of Solace. It opens up all sorts of possibilities to explore Daniel Craig's tough, but vulnerable Bond persona.

Part of me is worried it's just from expediency - there are still a few Bond titles that haven't been used yet and they all beat the generic 'Tomorrow Never Dies' and 'Die Another Day' and other meaningless phrases with 'die' in them.

But although the plot apparently stems around foiling a coup d'etat in some South American country - so it seems unlikely that aspects of the original story will be included - I still have hope,

Casino Royale was fresh and exciting and now they've got some momentum behind them, I'm sure the team at EON Productions won't disappoint us with James Bond's next installment.

No matter how bad it's ever got (like the decade gap between Timothy Dalton's last movie and the exciting Goldeneye) I've always held a Quantum of Solace for Monsier Bond.

Nanowrimo Failure

In a kind of literary suicide pact with fellow Nanowrimoer Jodiferous, I have decided to throw in the towel to 2007's Nanowrimo challenge. The spirit was willing, but the imagination was weak.

I flunked. I failed. My Nanowrimo attempt ended like English ambitions in a football World Cup - an embarrassing disappointment.

I think the largest hurdle in my path to 50,000 words was a plan.

I am a stickler for plotting out each of my novels, chapter by chapter. This time around, I had been so wound up with a publishing project that I never even thought about what I intended to write until a few days before the kick off date.

I leapt headfirst into The God Squad - but in less than 10,000 words, the lack of planning led my team of intrepid monster hunters into a gloomy morgue and no off-the-cuff plotting promised to lead them back out again.

Good story. Good idea. It just needed a plot and planning.

So The God Squad lurked in the shadows and I moved onto Plan B.

By this stage, I'd already wasted 12 days of Nanowrimo, so I would have to double my word count to even approach completion. So in the absence of an original idea, I yanked Adventure Eddy out of vacation and threw him into a radio-based adventure I'd been musing about for a while.

One Saturday, I hammered out 10,000 words of that story... And hit a dead end.

It was a nice little story, but needed to be plotted and planned. Adventure Eddy came to a dead end sitting in a studio at WinFM during Mia Saxon's mid-morning show.

[Mia Saxon's back?? And she's a radio presenter?? - Editorial Bear.]

So we'd blown the half way point by now and things were looking grim. Despite having typed a total of 20,000 words in two unrelated stories, I was now left with a word count of zero.

I tried my hand at one last project - something I'd been musing about for a while.

Basically, it was a fictional autobiography of Auric Goldfinger - the bad guy in Ian Fleming's 1959 book Goldfinger.

As much as I love his books, Ian Fleming was a pompous ass - and worse than that, the first three Caucasian bad-guys he invented (Le Chiffre, Hugo Drax and Goldfinger) were all redheads!

Since the popularity of The Moneypenny Diaries (the so called 'real' diaries of Bond's secretary) I figured maybe it was time for a different perspective on Bond's most enduring nemesis. So I started a little story following Goldfinger's arrest and incarceration after his failed attempt to rob Fort Knox.

I claimed his 'death' was staged by the British government so they could interrogate him and reclaim the billions of pounds worth of gold bullion he'd smuggled out of Britain.

It was fun - but difficult. Fleming's incontrovertible 'facts' in Goldfinger made a reinvention of the character kind of difficult and once I'd dug into his back story - which featured an upbringing in war-torn Latvia and a stint spent in Korea - I realised I wouldn't be able to right this story without several history books and - you guessed it - some concrete planning regarding plot.

So my third effort came to naught as well.

A grand total of 20,124 words written - and none of it worth printing on anything other than toilet tissue.

So since I'd made three stabs at Nanowrimo, I figured Goldfinger's mantra was worth observing. To paraphrase - first time is Happenstance. Second is Coincidence. Third time is Enemy Action.

I'd observe the warnings and surrender my Nanowrimo ambitions.

So what's the next step?

Well, I need to get my head together and start thinking about what it is I want to write, what I hope to achieve with my writing and how best to accomplish that. If the least few years have taught me anything, it's that the ability to sit down and write a 50,000 word story is just one of the many talents required to make it in writing.

I need a plan. I need focus. Otherwise I'll be like countless aspiring writers and scribble away, never really spending the valuable time required to find out what it is publishers or readers are looking for.

Watch this space...

Until then, some excepts from my stories:

The God Squad

They pinned the struggling girl to the gurney, straining as the tiny, slim woman threatened to throw them aside with her flailing limbs.

“Damn, she’s strong!” Mike was laughing hysterically. “I thought she was dead a minute ago and now…”

Thump!

The girl’s flailing arm struck him straight in the nose, knocking the grizzled man to the floor. His nose started bleeding profusely.

“Hold her down!” Doctor Lang ordered, but she realized it was useless. The girl who’d lain there like a corpse a few minutes ago was now fighting with horrific strength.

And screaming. All the while screaming and spitting blood.

Radio Daze (featuring Adventure Eddy)

“Hello,” Eddy crammed his muddled paperwork back into it’s folder. “What are you doing here?”

“Dur!” Mia rolled her eyes. “There’s a bloody great fire going on. I’m a reporter. What do you think I’m doing?”

“Oh,” Eddy realized she was holding a microphone and a tiny bit of kit he’d later learn was a minidisk recorder.

Mia ignored him, heading towards the crowd.

“Oh, this is great,” she complained. “I’m never going to get through that lot.”

Eddy stood there dumbly, his papers clutched to his chest.

“Where exactly do you want to go?”

“Where do you think?” Mia wheel around. “Look at those flames! Look at all the action! I need to get over there. I want to chat to the firemen. I want to interview the owner. I want to record the crackling flames on this thing,” she held up the minidisk recorder, “because it’ll make great radio.”

“Well,” Eddy beamed mischievously. “I think I could get you over there.”

Mia Saxon blinked.

“Really?”

“Piece of cake.”

The Goldfinger Chronicles

For twelve weeks now, their routine has been the same.
Captain Northrup enters my cell at nine o’clock.

I am taken to an interrogation room, where I am ‘persuaded’ to release information regarding the whereabouts of my global bullion deposits.

Account numbers. Vault holdings. Anything in order to procure my wealth for their bankrupt little government.

I will tell them nothing.

And until now, their attempts to extract information have been largely unimaginative.
For the first few weeks, it was just talk.

Talk. Questions. Threats.

So much talk that hearing Northrup’s pinched accent bark on could have itself been considered torture.

I told them nothing.

Talk is cheap. Silence is golden.

And gold has always been my obsession

Maybe one of these days, I'll dig one of these stories out and have another crack at it. But until then, it's time to take a break and get my head together.

I Heart Lisa

Pink World author Lisa Clark (who I've interviewed here) does something awesome when she writes. She has a totally unique voice and vocabulary which instantly bring her words alive. It's fun and cheery and wonderfully upbeat and I love it.

In fact, I covet it.

Yep, that's right. I have writer's envy. Not because of Lisa's richly deserved book deal with Harper Collins (although that's pretty brilliant.) I'm jealous of her writing because she personalises every paragraph. She has a voice.

A unique voice is probably one of the important ingredients in a successful writing career. I think many writers, myself included, fail when they try to capture somebody else's writing technique and copy the style of authors and genres that inspired them.

I realised this the other day, when I was sitting down with a colleague and discussing writing. She was telling me about some stories she had planned - evil and scary and riveting stuff which would give psychologists years of material. She had great, compelling ideas.

The writing she showed me conveyed these ideas in rich, thick prose. It was incredibly reminiscent of the style H.P. Lovecraft used in his books and short stories. Lots of darkness and evocative adjectives. That's when it hit me. This wasn't her voice.

They were her ideas, but she was trying to convey them in somebody else's voice. It didn't quite fit right. There was nothing wrong with the writing, as such. It's just really unique voices, like Lisa Clark's, leap out of the page at you in a way H.P. Lovecraft's vintage prose simply can't. He was considered excessively wordy back when his books first hit the shelves, back in the early part of the 20th century. Now his style seems ridiculously outdated.

My writing is guilty of the same crime. I have deliberately tried to adopt the style of my literary heroes, Ian Fleming and Leslie Charteris. Fleming was a journalist, always willing to cram trivia into his work to illustrate how smart and well travelled he was. Charteris was passionate about the dashing, handsome, infallible Saint. He was forever describing his long legs, piratical smile, tanned face and effortless charm. In recounting his adventures, Charteris used a style of writing which my brother once wisely described as "masturbatory."

I like to think the same phrase couldn't be used to describe Adventure Eddy - but certainly the methods and tone of my novel have their origins in the works of my two favourite writers. Perhaps the only way to move my writing career forward is to rethink the story and re-imagine it in an entirely new voice.

My own.