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.

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.