In 1963, on April 13th, the world was graced with the publication of the very first James Bond book. The author, Mr. Ian Fleming, created one of the most unlikable spies in human history, and I am including real ones, who then went on to star in numerous other books and movies that featured the talents of several leading men over the decades, and pretty much a bunch of throwaway sex object women things.
I have had limited exposure to James Bond, mostly through cchris and I still have no idea why he likes it so much. No answer will make sense to me. I have seen the human leather sugar bowl, Daniel Craig, in most of his efforts, and then what cchris deemed as “the worst of each” of the other actors, which we synced and it was still difficult viewing. And then, also, I read this book, the Spy Who Loved Me, which was a gift, I did NOT buy it myself, or even spend energy obtaining it for free from a library.
According to Ian Fleming, the real James Bond was a sunburnt Hoagy Carmichael looking guy with even less personality than I would have believed possible. He was described as being “so British” which I don’t even know what that is supposed to mean. “He tutted Britishly at the American saying the word “elevator” as if that was the word for it. Then he amped up his Britishness and Britished three bullets through that non-British’s head. Kablam kablam kablam.” Cool. Riveting.
Here’s a comic of my conversation about things related to this moment: