What is there that can possibly be left to be written about Britain’s favourite secret agent that hasn’t already been said a million times before, by feminists, by film reviewers, even by distinguished literary gents? While the cover art is calculated to have any teenage boy’s blood racing – girls! guns! rockets! – this book delivers on both the book and recent film versions of Casino Royale’s promise of a more appealing, albeit less charming, Bond.

What you know are to become key elements of the films already exist here. Bond’s love of gadgetry and the high life are evident, whether that is fine tailoring, his Ronson lighter for use on his own blend of cigarettes, or the little flat off the King’s Road. He drives a Bentley, rather than an Aston Martin, an older, classic model he takes pride in racing against foreign engineering, at least until he totals it.

Yet while aiming for effortlessness in all this acquisition, Bond is only one loss at cards away from ruin. We see him chafing at the daily routine and ploughing half-heartedly through the paperwork just like any other office worker, although in the privileged position afforded to a senior civil servant, he is no idle playboy. When away from London on operations, he has a Leica camera in one pocket and a Beretta in the other but perhaps more telling are the gadgets he lacks: having to drive to the next town to telephone allies in Scotland Yard or waiting for essential information to arrive by telegram.

Also lacking is any contact with anyone he isn’t working with or for. Perhaps this lack of companionship is compensated for by being surrounded by women, of course possessed of a beauty that mere mortals can only dream of. Whether it is the carefully selected waitresses of the gambling club M frequents, the steely Secret Service secretaries, or a ‘severely competent’ police woman, the lucky fellow rarely encounters a plain woman. Yet central female characters Gala Brand and Loelia Posonby – though crazily named – are also blessed with a quiet strength, essential to keeping the battered and broken Bond on his feet throughout the action.

Though Fleming laments that Posonby is approaching an age where:

'Unless she married soon, Bond thought for the hundredth time, or had a lover, her cool air of authority might easily become spinsterish and she would join the army of women who had married a career.'

Perhaps this is not the terrible fate he makes it out to be, and it is arguable if a quick tumble with 007 would be a better one, especially as he is facing a similar destiny. His own prospects for a long and happy retirement seem slim, after all. Although contemplating certain death with hopelessness after torture and near defeat, he never questions the rights and wrongs of the power the Service wields over his life. He is good at the essentials of his job, his boss is decent, that is enough. Bond is far more of a bastard than you remember, quite a lot rougher around the edges and unafraid to fight dirty if circumstances dictate. Able to pass with the Lord Basildons of this world, but not quite of them:

'Bond knew that there was something alien and un-English about himself. He knew that he was a difficult man to cover up. Particularly in England.'

Perhaps it is his misfortune that the exotic locations so fundamental to the films are passed over for this tale, which largely happens within sight of the White Cliffs of Dover in the usually sleepy South of England. Moonraker’s plot delivers such atomic age fears as a rogue scientists, cities laid waste by the most powerful rocket ever built and an unsettling yet impolitic mistrust of those who have gone from enemies to allies in the blink of an eye.

It is a cracking read, belting along at a great pace and lending a warmth and a human side to its characters that you would perhaps not believe existed if you had only watched the films. You may think you know all there is to know about James Bond, but you won’t until you experience him on the page.

And, 70% into the third Bond novel, I'd say the Fleming formula is complete: a cartoonish supervillainous conspiracy to launch an atomic warhead at London inspired in the main by monomaniacal spite and vengeance, followed by Bond listening to the villain monologue his plan, and, upon this rant's completion, 007 taunting its author with a few cutting remarks with the object of making him lose his cool. Aaaaaand...SCENE.



For all the ludicrousness of the plot this book was definitely less problematic than its predecessor, and the downfall of the boorish Drax is of course quite satisfying in ways that the deaths of the odious Le Chiffre and supercilious Mr. Big didn't match.

I have read some lists that put this at the top of the best Bond novels, but I wasn't really impressed. Compared to the pulp craziness that was Live and Let Die, this book was almost dull. The first half of the book is Bond eating (or watching M eat), thinking about his money, playing cards, and walking around. It picks up a bit after that but I was already just waiting for it to end by that point.

I finished reading 'Moonraker' close to midnight last night. Loved it! Drax is as bad as can be, Gala Brand is tough and gorgeous and 007 is, well, the invincible "Bond, James Bond." This one has a bit of a slow start with a high-stakes game of bridge, but then the action picks up and blasts off just like the rocket, Moonraker. So if you're a James Bond fan, this is a must read.

Once again I am pleasantly surprised by the pleasures of the Bond series. I read them all in high school but my memories are really based on the movies, which don't do the books justice. No gadgets here but lots of action, and a really splendid bridge match that must last for about an hour (the length of my commute today). Bill Nighy is so good as a reader, ironic yet sensitive. In the interview afterwards he talks about how unexpectedly good the writing is and how sensitively Fleming handles the romantic scenes. Bond doesn't get the girl--and Gala Brand is a great creation, clever and resourceful. Polished prose and vivid character descriptions, lots of action and some violence--but a great car chase--pageturning pace, gritty and intense tone. An immensely entertaining diversion. This is part of a series of audios from Blackstone, all read by celebrities (British actors of note).

Chiar mi-a plăcut cartea asta, se vede că Fleming crește că scriitor, deși nu era vreo capodoperă. Are multe limitări, dar îmi place că încearcă.

Acțiunea se petrece de data asta acasă. Cumva Fleming e conștient de propriile clișee și se joacă cu ele. Investigația lui în jurul șantierului rachetei Moonraker devine foarte interesantă foarte repede, însă mai avem timp să aflăm mai multe despre organizația din care face parte Bond, despre omul de dincolo de aventura la limită, și, evident, dacă se combină cu Gala Brand.

Bond is back. And the scope of his mission is bigger than ever.

At M's exclusive gentlemen's club, a high profile member is making a splash by accruing substantial winnings in high stakes bridge matches. Something is rather peculiar about the lucky streak this particular member is riding. Hugo Drax ought not to be the kind of man who would cheat at cards considering that he is a survivor of horrific war injuries, a self-made multi-millionaire, expert in precious metals that go into the manufacture of jet engines, and a philanthropist whose research is forwarding a rocket program that will forever alter the possibilities of transportation and weapons delivery mechanisms: the Moonraker. Britain could not be prouder of this jet-age hero. But M wonders why someone of this caliber would attempt a swindle at cards. Enter Bond.

Enlisted by a friendly request from M, Bond will brush up on his gambling skills and his card-cheat training in order to flush out Drax's tactics. Perhaps this will reveal something about the man's character along with understanding why he is willing to use his rocket program for Britain's benefit. It could be that someone who is so oblivious to etiquette and ethics has unknowingly allowed moles to infiltrate his ambitious intercontinental rocket systems and possibly sabotage the launch. It all starts with a card game. From there it is a countdown until launch day.

This book is a mixed bag, but good on the whole. The villain monologues, there is sappy melodramatic dialogue between Bond and a female character, and Drax is such an odd duck that his character borders on preposterous. However, the reader gets an exciting card playing sequence, a badass car chase, and a pretty decent gut punch in the last couple of pages. What more could a Bond fan ask for?

If I have learnt anything this year, is that you cannot judge a series by its first two (or three) books. Half a star goes to the magnificent Bill Nighy. For more than seven hours I was constantly amazed at how good of a narrator he is.

The movie Moonraker is the one I like to refer to as Bond! In! Spaaaaaace! or Star Wars: Attack of the Bond. I figured the book would be relatively similar, but you'd think I'm new at this project. Silly rabbit! The book was published in the mid-50s, the movie came out in the late 70s - the book's Moonraker referred to a nuclear weapon whereas the movie's Moonraker referred to a space shuttle. Clearly making a movie about spacelandia would be appealing to the masses following the release of Star Wars. Good job, masses - going and ruining it for the rest of us.

Again the trailer above shows very few things that appeared in the book, but it's my own fault for thinking one of these times there's going to be something more in common than simply the title and the James Bond character.

But, see... the book has this whole long beginning sequence involving a card game between James Bond and the one-who-turns-out-to-be-the-villain Hugo Drax. As fascinating as that can be in print, card games don't translate well to film - at least not until the later Bond movies like Casino Royale because Daniel Craig makes a hot-damn poker player. But I digress. Space, however, especially on the tail of Star Wars can be really exciting, even if rationally it makes no sense whatsoever.

The Bond girl in the movie is (hehe) Holly Goodhead, a much better name (to 14 year boys across the world) than Gala Brand of the book. And then there's this whole Nazi busy in the book and blah blah blah. But SPACE! And LASERS! And Jaws in space! These things are in the movie, so therefore the movie is better.

Clearly.

Theme song by (OMG NOT AGAIN) Shirley Bassey. I think so far she's had the most theme songs for Bond movies? It was great at first, but now it's like Share the love, Shirley, give someone else a chance, mmkay?

Not the best Bond book by any stretch of the imagination. Had there been a laser or two then maybe it'd be decent enough, but this was a bit ho-hum for my tastes. Movie was better. Implausible but better.

Next up... For Your Eyes Only.

Exciting!

I think Ian Fleming finally got it right with number three in the James Bond series! I have almost no complaints about this novel as I have about the first two books in the series. After having read the first three novels in the Bond series in order, I believe modern readers maybe should read 'Moonraker' before 'Casino Royale' or 'Live and Let Die'. We all know Bond's backstory, and 'Moonraker' can be read as a standalone. It isn't, like, Great Literature, but it is fun, and James is more like the actors in the movies.

The book's plot is based on 1950's technology and post-World War II worries, but even so, 'Moonraker' is a solid three stars.

(A-) 84% | Very Good
Notes: James Bond, dispirited office worker, awaits assignment and considers the empty, material life his profession affords.

The two thirty-eights roared simultaneously.

So begins Moonraker, the third novel by Ian Fleming. Published in 1955, it continues the exploits of British Secret Service agent James Bond following Casino Royale and Live and Let Die, with the long-running film series adhering to Fleming's bibliography neither in order or in story content. This smooth, spare spy thriller bares next door to zero similarity to the film released in 1979 and while I grew restless with the acrobatics of the back half, I loved the business in the front half, which takes readers through a day at the office with a gaming expert and modern male sophisticate occasionally called on to assassinate enemies of the state.

The novel starts with James Bond having a bad case of the Mondays, worked over in the basement firing range by his instructor (his sidearm is a Colt Detective Special) before going up to his eighth floor office of Secret Service headquarters, "Radio Tests Ltd" to any curious pedestrians in Regent Park. Bond, also known as Agent 007, might field an assignment two or three times a year that require his particular skills, but is typically tasked with the chores of a civil servant--reviewing dockets and files full of geopolitical or technological data--while playing cards or golf with a few close friends on the weekend.

A red phone on Bond's desk summons him to the ninth floor office of the head of the Secret Service, known as "M." Bond is caught off guard when his boss refers to him by his given name and asks for his opinion on Sir Hugo Drax, a British industrialist who cornered the market on a ore called Columbite, which has a very high melting point. Drax is nearing completion of a rocket called the Moonraker, which will have the range to strike any city in Europe, guaranteeing Britain's security. A member of the private card club Blades, M has come by information that Drax cheats at bridge. Seeking to avert a national scandal, M requests Bond join him at the club to investigate.

There are one or two other small refinements which contribute to the luxury of the place. Only brand-new currency notes and silver are paid out on the premises and, if a member is staying overnight, his notes and small change are taken away by the valet who brings the early morning tea and The Times and are replaced with new money. No newspaper comes to the reading room before it has been ironed. Floris provides the soaps and lotions in the lavatories and bedrooms; there is a direct wire to Ladbroke's from the porter's lodge; the club has the finest tents and boxes at the principal race-meetings, at Lord's, Henley, and Wimbledon, and members traveling abroad have automatic membership of the leading club in every foreign capital.

At the gaming table, Drax is a crass, larger than life man, with one side of his face shiny from scar tissue left over from the war, when he survived a bombing on a rear-liaison headquarters by German saboteurs known as The Werewolves that left many Allied soldiers killed or maimed. Put off by the man's bluster and sweat, Bond ascertains that Drax is using the reflection of his silver cigarette case to sneak a peek at the cards he deals. Partnering with M, Bond agrees to the high stakes Drax enjoys, ultimately switching a hand dealt by Drax with a stacked one Bond slips out of his pocket, gutting the obnoxious multimillionaire for £15,000 and M hopes, teaching him a lesson.

Nursing a hangover at work the next day, Bond barely has time to consider what he'll spend his winnings on when M calls him into his office, this time on business. Four days before the test launch of the Moonraker, two men have been killed at Drax's plant on the cliffs of Dover and Deal. An RAF security officer in charge of protecting the perimeter was shot by one of Drax's men, a German worker who was apparently jealous of the officer's relationship with Gala Brand, Drax's secretary, who unknown to the industrialist, is an agent of the Special Branch. Not wanting the launch delayed, the Cabinet has opted to replace the murdered security officer.

Bond reports to Drax Metals and is impressed by the multimillionaire. Drax's "dogsbody" Willy Krebs comes across as a sneak while Gala Brand refuses to partake in Bond's repartee. 007 uses his predecessor's files to discover that the man observed an object in the sea and was likely killed for it. Bond and Gala Brand are nearly buried during a walk on the beach when the cliffs above them are blown up. Brand discovers that Drax plans to strike London with the Moonraker. Her boss abducts her and reveals he is a German seeking revenge for his homeland. Bond gives chase in his Bentley but is captured. Taken to the plant with Gala, Bond receives a lecture by Drax but is no longer impressed.

"Yes," said Bond. He looked levelly at the great red face across the desk. "It's a remarkable case history. Galloping paranoia. Delusions of jealousy and persecution. Megalomaniac hatred and desire for revenge. Curiously enough," he went on conversationally, "it may have something to do with your teeth. Diastema, they call it. Comes from sucking your thumb when you're a child. Yes, I expect that's what the psychologists will say when they get you into the lunatic asylum. Ogre's teeth. Being bullied at school and so on. Extraordinary the effect it has on a child. Then Nazism helped to fan the flames and then came the crack on your ugly head. The crack you engineered yourself. I expect that settled it. From then on you were really mad. Same sort of thing for people who think they're God. Extraordinary, what tenacity they have. Absolute fanatics. You're almost a genius. Lombroso would have been delighted with you. As it is you're just a mad dog that'll have to be shot. Or else you'll commit suicide. Paranoiacs generally do. Too bad. Sad business."

Nearly all the wonderful things about Moonraker occur in the first half of the book. I found the details about James Bond's office space to be cheeky and fun. I can't remember seeing the 007 of film really doing anything but gambling, smoking, being briefed on his mission, seducing women and then blowing shit up. Does this man have an office? A secretary? (Miss Moneypenny is M's secretary) What are his work hours? What's his take home pay? Does he take the tube to work, or carpool? This material grounds the novel as it segues into an Esquire article on how to spot a card cheat or how to drink vodka (add pepper).

"It's a trick the Russians taught me that time you attached me to the Embassy in Moscow," apologized Bond. "There's often quite a lot of fusel oil on the surface of this stuff--at least there used to be when it was badly distilled. Poisonous. In Russia, where you get a lot of bath-tub liquor, it's an understood thing to sprinkle a little pepper in your glass. It takes the fusel oil to the bottom. I got to like the taste and now it's a habit. But I shouldn't have insulted the club Wolfschmidt," he added with a grin.

M grunted. "As long as you don't put pepper in Basildon's favorite champagne," he said drily.

The buildup to Bond and Drax's bridge duel is sophisticated, exciting and fun but climaxes everything that follows it. The goings-on of an arms factory aren't anywhere near as compelling as the action at Blades. While Gala Brand doesn't do the business with Bond (Ian Fleming being less chaste than Walt Disney but quite austere), she doesn't do much but earn 007'sprofessional respect. Fleming's comfort zone is clearly the snapshots of modern male living, with a little gambling and some pyrotechnics thrown in. I enjoyed the glimpses into 007's job and the novel's setting precludes the rampant racism of Live and Let Die, but neither the villains or Bond's straits are memorable.