I’ve mostly (but not always) been treating these Bond novels in a couple of ways. First, I’ve been dealing with them as guilty pleasures, books that I read with a Ulysses dust jacket over the cover (I don’t actually do that; in fact I really love the lurid painted covers). Second, I’ve been using them to wind down between more serious books, books that are more emotionally intense or intellectually demanding (or just plain boring). Thunderball reminded me that Fleming’s prose is actually quite good. It’s extremely compact and straightforward, but that isn’t a limitation. Fleming still manages to convey a sense of physicality and decadence without ever letting go of its plain serviceability.
The racism and bigotry that marred some of the other books is mostly absent from this book (mostly because the Nassau locals aren’t really given any substantial parts in the book), and Domino Vitali is pretty close to being a real human being. This novel also marks the first appearance of SPECTRE, the group of freelance terrorists that serves as Bond’s major opposition in the films. Much of what made it into the films (the use of numbers instead of names, the extent of their plots, and so on) makes much more sense here, and actually seems practical rather than ludicrous. I was very nearly tempted to immediately move on to The Spy Who Loved Me, but I’ve got a lot more demanding books to read, and only so many Bond novels left. Rationing is important.
Up next: The Scar, by China Miéville.
