Fantastic! I'm so surprised at how much I'm enjoying the James Bond novels.

I don't know why I'd previously assumed that they wouldn't be well-crafted. I've rarely been made to feel so much suspense, to feel so tense and involved in action sequences as in the car chase, the clifftop tragedy, and - wow! - that climax of the rocket launch in 'Moonraker'!

In essence, Fleming's writing is fundamentally modern, and I find myself repeatedly marvel-struck at the delicacy and refinement of his style. Consider the opening of Chapter 16: 'A Golden Day', which is like a lovesong to the English coast of Kent, and shows Fleming's appetite for precision and accuracy in his phrasing, structuring, and image building, as well as a real attraction to language:

'It was a wonderful afternoon of blue and green and gold. When they left the concrete apron through the guard gate near the empty firing point, now connected with a thick cable to the launching site, they stopped for a moment on the edge of the great chalk cliff and stood gazing over the whole corner of England where Caesar had first landed two thousand years before. To their left, the carpet of green turf, bright with small wildflowers, sloped gradually down to the long pebbled beaches of Walmer and Deal, which curved off towards Sandwich and the Bay. Beyond, the cliffs of Ramsgate showing white through the distant haze that hid the North Foreland, guarded the grey scar of Manston aerodrome, above which American thunderjets wrote their white scribbles in the sky. Then came the Isle of Thanet and, out of sight, the mouth of the Thames. It was low tide and the Goodwins were golden and tender in the sparkling blue of the Straits with only the smattering of masts and spars that stretched along their length to tell the true story. The white lettering on the South Goodwins Lightship was easy to read and even the name of her sister ship to the north showed white against the red of her hull. Between the Sands and the coast, along the twelve-fathom channel of the Inner Leads, there were half a dozen ships beating up through the Downs, the thud of their engines coming clearly off the quiet sea, and between the evil sands and the sharp outline of the French coast, there were ships of all registries going about their business: liners, merchantmen, ungainly Dutch skoits, and even a slim Corvette hastening down south, perhaps to Portsmouth. [...] It was a panorama full of colour and excitement and romance, and the two people on the edge of the cliff were silent as they stood for a time and watched it all.'

As with the other Ian Fleming novel I've so far read ('Casino Royale'), I'm pleased to see that it's really not from Fleming's presentation of women whence the sexism in the James Bond franchise arises. Galatea Brand in 'Moonraker' is as carefully drawn as Vesper Lynd in 'Casino Royale'. Gala says that she loves the rocket Moonraker as much as Drax; in my view, Fleming attempts to portray her as just as dedicated and driven as the male characters. In fact, the archetype whose role Gala Brand seems to fulfil in the plot, unusually, is the figure of mentor. She is the character from whom the hero protagonist gains the skills and tools that they need in order to complete the quest, at the centre of the plot. Gala is, as such, the wisdom keeper in 'Moonraker'.
Actually, I suspect that even our hero, if truth be told, recognises Gala as his mentor. She is the only one whilst on-mission to whom Bond discloses his suspicions and to whom he imparts his findings. And thus, Gala is often the figure who unlocks knowledge for Bond. Observe that it is Gala who confiscates the notebook from Drax's pocket, it is Gala who gets hold of the crucial figures, and it is Gala alone who, in fact, solves the entire mystery and comprehends the truth of Drax's evil scheme! Furthermore, it is Gala's superior 'head for numbers' that devises the eventual plan to foil Drax and save London from nuclear devastation. James Bond could accomplish nothing in 'Moonraker' without Gala Brand empowering and equipping him.

I am mindful that Fleming offers us the narrative through Bond's eyes. The following quote illustrates the complexity where the author's gaze and the hero's gaze vie for assessment of Gala's character:

'She said something to Walter and then stood beside him looking upwards as the pipe was delicately manhandled through into the interior of the rocket. Bond thought she looked very innocent standing there with her brown hair falling back from her head and the curve of her ivory throat sweeping down into the plain white shirt. With her hands clasped behind her back, gazing raptly upwards at the glittering fifty feet of the Moonraker, she might have been a schoolgirl looking up at a Christmas tree-except for the impudent pride of the jutting breasts, swept up by the thrown-back head and shoulders. Bond smiled to himself as he walked to the foot of the iron stairway and started to climb. That innocent, desirable girl, he reminded himself, is an extremely efficient policewoman. She knows how to kick, and where; she can break my arm probably more easily and quickly than I can break hers, and at least half of her belongs to the Special Branch of Scotland Yard. Of course, he reflected, looking down just in time to see her follow Dr Walters into Drax’s office, there is always the other half.'

One personation of Gala Brand (either Bond's or the author's) often silences the other, as in the above, but it's fascinating to witness the interplay between the two. We can see that Bond's view of Gala differs from Fleming's characterisation of her by the fact that it is only ever Bond who refers to her as 'the Girl', and yet, she foils even Bond in the end: she gives him her wisdom, but not her body. Fleming holds back on Gala's biggest secret, in order to gather the clout for that final revelation of her unattainability. Fleming forbids Bond possess Brand, and so, the hero's innate desire to subjugate his female counterparts in the Intelligence/spy game (Moneypenny, Ponsonby, Goodnight, Lynd, Brand) comes to naught, and we see Fleming frustrate and undermine his protagonist in terms of his most rudimentary drive.

I know this is only an assessment of a very small slice of the novel, rather than a full review, really, but I'm interested to see where this particular train of thought leads me as I listen through other novels in the series.

The James Bond novels haven’t aged particularly well. There still a lot of mid-century sexism. But this one avoids most of the problematic parts. Bond is actually a decent chap to the love interest. But what can you do with lines like “the impudent pride of the jutting breasts, swept up by the thrown-back head and shoulders.”

The plot is pretty good and makes sense. The villain is appropriately loathsome.

The first part of the book takes place during a high-stakes bridge game. It’s about as exciting as you might expect.

Here you are, sat on a balcony in a faraway part of the world, at three o'clock in the morning because you have All The Jetlag - and have I mentioned this might be the hottest place you have ever been? - and you realise that what with one thing and another, you have not actually finished reading a book in close to a month.

The last time this happened was probably five or six years ago.

It has been a month full of very brain-intensive work, and you have only just managed to escape. Yesterday was the only day in the last fortnight that you weren't at your desk at 10pm. You are glad, at least, to work from home.

You are very tired.

What you are not, here, is terribly comfortable: it's your first trip abroad in an embarrassingly long time, and as you waited at the baggage carousel when you got off the plane, you heard the woman who was sat next to you, and who you chatted with on the flight (third flight in 24 hours) say excitedly to her friend, "She's from SCOTLAND. She doesn't like the heat."

On your e-reader, you are reading Moonraker, which someone has told you earnestly is nothing like the film. They are quite correct. You also, you realise now, have somehow picked the only James Bond book there is that doesn't leave the British Isles. It literally takes place in London and Dover. It assumes you know the rules of bridge. (Fortunately, you learned them at university, and can just about remember.)

Your hotel room has a coffee machine, but no kettle, and no teabags. You feel like you have arrived here, not just from the UK, but also from actual 1955.

The first great Bond novel. Once again, forget the silly (but enjoyable) 1979 Roger Moore film of the same name--no Dr. Holly Goodhead or Jaws here.

Casino Royal is a masterpiece of lean, bare-bones, near-poetic English thriller writing; Live and Let Die is Ian Fleming coming to grips with his new-found success as a writer and learning to write great prose. Moonraker is Fleming putting it all together in a story that is at once disappointing in its lack of exotic locales, yet experimental enough to expand Fleming's literary signature in significant ways.

The public disappointment was palpable in 1955, when MR became the first James Bond novel to take place solely in England. This wasn't the way it was supposed to be. The Secret Service ran assignments outside England. Bond even states that his persona is too recognizable to be of use in-country.

But this lack of external locations serves to enhance Fleming's storytelling prowess. It forces him to make his story character-driven. Scenes of Bond at Target Practice and his excelling at cardsharp training cue the reader that MR is going to be different. Bond is unmasked as a boy playing at being a spy--albeit quite successfully. But he is also exposed as a talented and intelligent man of deception who cares more about succeeding at his job than his personal welfare--including his sexual appetites.

Gala (short for Galatea) Brand is a surprisingly deep "Bond" girl and earns her stripes alongside our hero despite his fixation with the mole on her right breast. She is a woman torn between traditional and modern roles and keeps the faith to both.

But the most impressive feather in Fleming's cap is his villain, Sir Hugo Drax. Where le Chiffre and Mr. Big were monstrously larger than life in their "cardboard" depravities, Drax is a fleshed-out man of such villainy that even Bond is taken in (despite all the evidence to the contrary--more than just his physical deformity) by his earnestness.

Gone is the clumsy flashback of M giving Bond his assignment. Indeed, the structure of the novel being separated into three parts is experimental for Fleming and greatly enchances his superlative narrative and tense dialog--which has a flare and rhythm all its own.

The story is a tad dated, and the impetus behind Drax's madness has been used enough to make his character seem passe, but Moonraker represents a high-water mark early in Ian Fleming's literary career.

Highly recommended for the James Bond enthusiast or anyone interested in Bond beyond the movies.

So far, this is my favorite of the Bond books so far.

I’m sure we’ve all experienced that disappointment of re-reading a book, read many years previously, and it failing to live up to fond memories. It’s probably why I seldom go back to old favourites. Sadly I had that with Moonraker.

It’s a shame; the book is divided into three parts, and the first part in London has some of Ian Fleming’s very best writing. He’s masterful at capturing the drab 1950’s post war atmosphere, the interior workings, offices and characters of the secret service; and his confrontation with the cheating Hugo Drax at a Bridge table is a highlight of the entire series. The reasons for M’s suspicions of the much liked and philanthropic Drax are typical Fleming. ‘Extraordinary man,’ he says to Bond. ‘There’s only one thing…’ He looks mildly across at Bond. ‘He cheats at cards.’

Unfortunately the latter two parts of the novel come nowhere meeting the expectancy stimulated by the opening. Even if you can get past the preposterous plot, fifty moustachioed German scientists, just ten years after the war, being allowed it seems with minimal observance from the British government to build what is basically a bomb next to the white cliffs of Dover, then plan to nonchalantly wander off a pier to an awaiting Russian submarine on completion, reads surprisingly for Fleming rather flat and devoid of tension. Perhaps the worst crime of all, and I’m giving nothing away here as we know Drax, like all Bond villains, is going to fail, does not end with a face to face confrontation. It's all very distant. The fact that the finale comes to us via the live reporting of a silly-assed Terry-Thomas like BBC commentator is also a strange decision.

Still, it’s worth a read for the gripping first part alone. We also get to find out a few things about the usually enigmatic character of Bond. His age for a start – he’s 37 (the book was first published in 1955). And we also discover that he gets depressed and often thinks of his death, which he believes will be before the obligatory age of retirement from the 00 section, 45.

The Bond books don’t have to be read in order; any references to previous adventures usually takes no more than a sentence or two. My advice would be not to start with this one.

First of all, I was lucky enough to find a 1959 Pan copy of Moonraker, a treasure for my collection. Bond books hold a special place in my heart because I distinctly remember checking them out, a couple at a time, from the adult section of our local public library. They took up a whole shelf, and I worked my way through the series. This was likely around 1967, I was in my early teens, and I thought myself to be quite the sophisticate, taking out those racy Bond books. Rereading them now, they seem pretty tame, especially when I conjure up visions of a svelte Daniel Craig, in a tuxedo. I grew up with Connery as Bond, endured Dalton, swooned over Roger Moore in his prime, and adored Pierce Bronson. That said, such comparisons to the Bond in Moonraker are totally unfair. The essence of the character is there in those brief 189 pages, and it's fun to go back to the roots of the phenomenon that is Bond. Drax as a villain, is just as despicable, the danger to England is just as real, and the cooperation between James and his female counterpart from Scotland Yard's Special Branch, is key to saving the day. Fleming' s prose detailing the craft of espionage, is so authentic-not a surprise since he worked for MI6. On the surface, the book seems outdated, but once you read a few pages, you are hooked. Just enjoy the ride!

First time I'm trying a James Bond novel, and even though I wasn't blown away or anything, it was still an enjoyable read... Well, an enjoyable "listen" actually, since I picked this on audiobook. And I'm glad I did, because the always excellent Simon Vance does a great job narrating Bond's adventures.
I'm sure I'll listen some more in the future. Hopefully the next one will have a bit more action and a better female character.

My favorite James Bond yet! A thrilling card game, a sinister plot involving a nuclear warhead, and a good old fashioned car chase fulfilled all of my action needs. I quite liked the relationship Bond had with Ms. Brand (specifically that it didn't go at all as he expected it to) and the detailed writing in this novel is just absolutely luxurious.

Enjoyable story, much more realistic than the films. Bond succeeds in preventing nuclear armageddon both is injured. His hopes for a long term relationship with Gala brand are dashed when she turns up to meet him with her fiancee in tow.

I'm definitely getting my feminist card revoked for loving this book!

Please, people, ask me to tell you how to run a prestigious men's club or how to manage the salary of a secret agent/ high-ranking civil servant. These are things that Fleming puts in this book, which are completely incessant for the plot, but damn did I love it!

Also, just for the record in this one (SPOILER), Bond doesn't get the girl!!! Power moves by Gala, kisses the pretty boy, and then goes to marry the good one.

The only reason I began listening to this series of James Bond audiobooks is to get to this volume and hear Bill Nighy reading it. The readers of the two previous books were fine (Dan Stevens and Rory Kinnear), but to say that Nighy is the best reader is like saying a perfectly prepared prime rib is better than a Big Mac; there’s just no competition, really. For me, Nighy will forever be Samwise Gamgee, and his reading of Moonraker confirms that he is an amazing voice performer, not only of one character through an entire audio drama but of multiple characters in a novel. He brings in much more distinction of dialects for the characters, and it’s never a challenge to tell who’s talking at any given point.

The story itself is interesting. After two novels in which the villains and the stakes seemed surprisingly bland for an international super-spy, Moonraker is the first story that’s worthy of what I expect of Bond: a Cold War plot crafted by underground Nazis who seek revenge on the West and so partner with Russia to launch a nuclear warhead on London. That’s the kind of stuff I’m looking for in a cheesy, pulpy spy thriller. It’s a plot that in many ways would be right at home in the John Pertwee era of Doctor Who.

My complaint about the first two Bond novels is that Bond himself was incredibly clueless, missing obvious details that every reader picks up on many pages before he himself slaps his forehead and says, ‘Oh my! He really was up to no good!’ This book . . . well, it’s more of the same. The most astounding moment is when Bond catches someone going through his room, so he tosses the guy against a desk and injures him—but then he lets him run away, and Bond brushes it off with a casual, ‘Wellll, you know . . . he’s probably just one of those types of guys who enjoys going through other people’s stuff. No harm done, really. I don’t even need to mention it to anyone.’ Does that guy turn out to be an undercover Nazi who is working to annihilate London? Yes. I say, good show, Mr. Bond.

Something that intrigues me about these novels, and that I wasn’t expecting, is Bond’s attitude toward women. Obviously, there is a surface of misogyny; there’s no getting around that, nor is there any excuse for it. But deeper than that, the character becomes more interesting. Because though he is impatient with women in general, and often dreams longingly of getting away with some woman or other, what Bond seems to be seeking most desperately is the woman, a woman he will propose to and spend the rest of his life with. And what makes him take notice of a woman is not simply her physical beauty (though of course each woman he works with in the series just happens to be physically stunning; sigh), but her intelligence and professionalism. He’s seeking someone he can regard as an equal, not a subordinate or a mere “trophy.” Each of the books has had a moment in which Bond believes he is about to pop the question and begin a married life, which is what he most wants. In each book, that dream is thwarted, and Moonraker is the most interesting. In the end, he doesn’t get the girl, and he has to confront his assumption that surely any woman would be thrilled to have his attention. No, he realizes, it’s not true. Everyone has her own story, and he’s not nearly so important as he wishes to believe. It’s a surprisingly touching conclusion to the novel.

As a side note: I haven’t seen the movie version of this book, but because the movie poster features James Bond in a spacesuit, I was totally expecting this story to go into space at some point. It does not. At all.