eponymous sentence:
p26: 'Goldfinger.'

cement:
p189: 'I say they'd look better in cement overcoats,' said Mr Strap impatiently.

I know this is the original material, but finally, the James Bond that we've all come to love.

That golf scene was torture, though.

Actual Rating: 3.5 out of 5

I find myself in a dilemma. There is so much that I find worthy of admiration in Ian Fleming's 'Goldfinger', most of all that it serves as such a near-perfect blueprint for one of the most enduring classics of escapist cinematic entertainment. The novel is a grittier, leaner and even meaner counterpart to the undeniably lavish big-screen potboiler and it benefits, in many notable aspects, from the writer endowing what is essentially pot-boiler material with his trademark strokes of incisive, well-structured, eminently readable prose and his eye for vivid, even voyeuristic detail. The action is sadistically, relentlessly entertaining, the rare flashes of wit are deadpan in the fashion of gallows humour and even Bond, with all his old-fashioned sexism and blunt racism, comes off eventually as a rugged, roguish hero with a grungy layer below his smooth, sleek surface that makes him so believable and worth rooting for.

And yet...there are also so many parts of the narrative where I could not help but feel that this novel, to live up to its reputation, cemented, ironically, by its cinematic counterpart in the first place, could have been a lot more intriguing, even subversive and well-plotted out. And even as we are willing to accept Bond, warts and all, it is a bit difficult to get over just how quaint and dotty the book feels sometimes.

But I will come to the niggles later. Let's first begin with Shirley Bassey belting out that infamous name in her rich, gorgeous voice that pours molten gold literally into our ears and hearts.

'GOLD....FINGER!!!'

True to the words from that song, he is a man with a Midas touch...or rather a spider's touch. James Bond encounters him first in Miami, winning rather uncannily extravagant sums over card games until his opponent starts suspecting foul play. Foul play it proves to be, Bond sauntering his way casually, confidently into the scam and, as if to rub more salt to Mr. Goldfinger's wounded pride, he even seduces and walks away with his alluringly attractive and comely accomplice as well.

As it turns out, Mr. Goldfinger is a man who is clearly up to something fishy, regardless of how he cheats at cards or even at a later game of golf. He is being investigated by authorities who are suspecting that he is smuggling his gold bullion from Britain to India to profit from the increased prices and so, Mr. Bond is assigned to follow his trail. And that is only the beginning of a tense, constantly dangerous pursuit that lunges oo7 on a wild goose chase from Sandwich to Geneva, promising us many thrills and even more spills to follow.

But while all those thrills and spills come at all the right moments, this particular adventure does not quite feel as fiendishly clever as 'Dr. No' or even gritty and menacing as 'You Only Live Twice'. Being the only two other Bond novels that I have read hitherto, the comparisons are inevitable: 'Goldfinger', while effortlessly an entertaining read from cover to cover, packed with all the trademark elements of smooth sex, simmering suspense and sudorific stealth, is not as well-characterised and genuinely unpredictable and well-plotted as the above mentioned works.

First of all, there is the embarrassing problem of Pussy Galore. In the film, she was played by the ravishing Honor Blackman and came off as a tough-spirited, smooth-talking femme fatale who held her own against both Mr. Goldfinger and James Bond (even though, rather unforgivably, she was nearly "raped" than "seduced" by Bond into foiling the evil plans). Fleming does not even try; his version of Pussy Galore saunters in way too late into the narrative and even then, she is nothing more than a caricature of the archetype lady crime boss, who knows only how to back talk to mob bosses and ends up being yet another gorgeous, comely woman who will fall eventually in Bond's arms.

The fact that she is portrayed originally as a lesbian and then, as if Fleming is very afraid of the idea of a Bond girl who is interested primarily in women, is yet another wasted opportunity for the book to break free of its own curiously conservative-minded template. I have always maintained that we ought not judge books whose social and cultural views belong clearly to a milieu and date that no longer feel relevant but even allowing for the fact that pretty much all the Bond books are a product of their age and time, Fleming's hesitant attitude to let Galore be what she is and to whitewash her original character to allow for pig-headed, masculine wish-fulfilment is a crying shame. And that only deprives her of much needed character.

On the other hand, Mr. Goldfinger is quite literally the devil riding a Rolls Royce and one of the many, far-from-compensatory pleasures of the novel is that Fleming has lost none of his Midas touch in carving out compelling, wholly dastardly villains who also happen to be equipped with the choicest lines and moments in the narrative. In comparison to the cold-blooded, coolly manipulative schemer of the novel, Gert Frobe's showboating villain is only a series of pithy one-liners and theatrical affectations; the Goldfinger of the novel is a truly formidable person, one not to be trifled with and one who manages to stay one step ahead of not only James Bond but also the mob bosses of Chicago and New York on whom he has to depend for carrying out his eloquently elaborate plans.

But it is also a tad disappointing to have him commit many an obvious error in underestimating Bond but that, I think, is by design. In the end, the book is not concerned with Mr. Goldfinger, certainly not with Miss Pussy Galore or even with Oddjob, who, too, is portrayed, despite the rather cruel Korean stereotypes tacked on to his character, cunning and physically fearsome in equal measure. It is about Bond, a flawed but ultimately not-too-awful hero who stays worth rooting for because of his undeniably good intentions beneath all the off-putting and blunt pig-headed attitudes that he displays. At least, he is more tolerable than his cinematic counterpart, who, even when played by the irresistibly magnetic Sean Connery, made the unforgivable error of mocking the Beatles.

'Goldfinger' is thus a fast-paced, commendably well-written and expectedly entertaining read but it would be best advised not to expect much surprise or subversion here. A sharp, discerning reader will guess the final twist easily enough and Bond's musings about Koreans and lesbians will certainly be out of date today. But if you can swallow all that, as I did eventually, and enjoy it, well it deserves those stars easily.

Goldfinger is an absolutely brilliant villain. Once you wade through the muck (i.e. the complete dehumanization of Koreans in general and Odd Job specifically, generally gross views of homosexuality, and utter contempt for bisexuals), the crime itself is fantastic. It ties in nicely to SMERSH, gives us updates on some of my favorite recurring characters, and the description of the area surrounding Fort Knox leading up to the climax is utterly terrifying.

Ben Schott's introduction to my edition tells of the muted critical reception this book received. Indeed it was the novel that prompted Paul Johnson's famous description: "Sex, Snobbery and Sadism". But to be honest, I don't think the three S's are more priminent in this book than in the previous adventures of J. Bond esq. In fact I greeted them like old and welcome friends. What bothered me about this book is just how ridiculous it is.

It's said the film adapatation of Goldfinger was the movie that sent the series down the outre, larger than life path it made its own for so many years. It is a close version of the book, so we do have Auric Goldfinger to thank for thirty years of over the top "Meester Bond!" villians. But to be fair, the script of the film does a better job of explaining some of the more bizare elements of the story - for example why Goldfinger keeps Bond alive in Switzerland, and Pussy Galore's sudden switch to Bond's side (in both senses). I try not to go to far down the comparison route, but reading this made me realise how smart the film actually is.

Fleming's vintage and his old school tie show up in the book's views of tea, women and - most notoriously - Koreans. And despite the attempts to make Bond more human (his ruminations about killing) those are the things you're more likely to remember. But that doesn't matter anymore, as this is a roller-coaster ride that just happens to have James Bond strapped in next to you. It's best to enjoy the thrills and try not to think how silly it all is.

Auric Goldfinger, Pussy Galore and James Bond. They're all here for another romp as Bond tries to derail SMERSH again.

Not awful. Definitely the most frightening Bond villain yet: a rich man who believes he is unstoppable. Strange increase in the misogyny in this novel, which wasn't exactly there previously. A ton of lesbian-hating and references to pansy men and manly women, which is, of course, indicative of the downfall of society. (Gag.)

Always such an entertaining read, just what I needed!

Bizarrely I have barely watched many full length Bond films over the years, with the exception of a couple of recent Daniel Craig efforts, although I had seen Goldfinger a few years ago. And even more bizarrely I had never read any Fleming before so I thought, when I found this lurking in the local library, that I would give it a go.
And I really enjoyed it! It is all quite preposterous but each plot twist was thrilling and exciting. It is amazing how much it dates now though - the role of women is so subordinate and ancillary and Bond's seductions seem quite ridiculous - there is even a part where Fleming describes Tilly Masterson as showing 'masculine/feminine master/slave reactions' which certainly doesn't chime with the sensitivities of our era, post third or even fourth wave feminism! Also the Cold War era Russophobia reads quite strangely today, although since the Russian invasion of Ukraine and tensions between the West and Russia maybe it has renewed relevance.
Despite this the focus on gold in particular is actually quite timely given the current inflationary pressures on currencies and the role of gold as a hedge and safe haven against currency debasement.
A cracking read.

The usual sort of things, literature for teenagers, if they are reading anything else than books with vampires. Nothing essential from a dull game of golf till the end.
The plot is quite thin, the coincidences too many, the villain is not smart enough to kill Bond, even if he has more chances to do it. Bond himself not at his best, but his proverbial luck makes the difference. A book for subway-travelers...

What did I learn from this book? James Bond is a sexist alcoholic? Yes. James Bond is prone to flights of romantic fancy? Yes. James Bond has really weird thoughts about heaven when he's coming around after being drugged? Yes. The book gave me tons of insight into Bond as a character, but that character I ended up not liking much. I'm impressed by his ability to drink Bourbon at noon and still save the lives of 60,000 Kentuckians by taping a secret message to the underside of an airplane toilet. Not to mention, "curing" Pussy Galore of her lesbianism just by being the handsome, macho jerk he his. Bravo, James.

(A-) 83% | Very Good
Notes: James Bond peels the snakeskin from the card-cheat to find a dragon in disguise, while lesbians make things difficult.

Did not like this, but I'll give a 3 because it wasn't Fleming's fault that it was made into a fantastic film which was my favorite. Gert Frobe, Goldfinger "I expect you to die Mr. Bond"