[fact or fiction]

Devilish Decadence:
James Bond returns in Faulk’s Devil May Care

By: Andrew Kinback

It is extraordinary the fascination that America has with James Bond. Not only is he British and a hero we can’t call our own, but he is also downright the opposite of what America currently stands for: He is cocky, a possible alcoholic and a seducer of women. He drives fast, he sleeps in and has a license to kill (actually, some of that sounds almost too American). However, 12 books and 21 films later, America still gobbles up everything Bond almost as fast as it forgets it is in the throes of a neo-puritan revolution and isn’t allowed to enjoy something so self-indulgent as James Bond. Author Sebastian Faulks is hoping that is the case.

Writing as deceased Bond creator, Ian Fleming, and with permission and full blessings from the Fleming Estate, Faulks delivers the 13th Bond novel, Devil May Care. Everyone’s favorite sinful MI6 agent, 007, is back to once again rid the world of an overly wealthy madman bent on world destruction while shaking, not stirring, the martinis and doing everything in his power to bed as many women as he possibly can in under 300 pages. Or does he?

Devil finds James Bond in a very un-Bond-like predicament. He is on a three-month sabbatical, away from England and the dangers of his job. Bond is soul-searching, trying to decide whether or not—after years of high adventure, torture, pain, wine, lust and kinky sex—he is ready to hang up his Double-O status for a desk job. He knows he can handle any situation physically, but he questions whether his mind is still clear or has it collected cobwebs?

Before he can make a decision, he is whisked into a dangerous game by not only his own organization but also a rouge woman whose sister has been kidnapped by a mysterious man with a left hand that looks like a monkey’s. No, I am not making this up. Drugs have been pouring into Britain unchecked, mysterious sea creatures have been spotted in the Middle East region, airplanes have disappeared, the U.S. is in the middle of Vietnam, a Cold War looms on the horizon with Russia, and Bond knows that a man named Julius Gorner has something to do.

The story sounds so very Bond, but does it read that way? Bond novels, especially those written by Ian Fleming, can almost be called the work of a minimalist. Little of the story is given to description allowing the reader’s mind to fill in the blanks. This allows for a quicker and strangely more satisfying read. Faulks attempts to emulate this style, but he gives himself away by reveling in a little more description, especially within the decadent scenes involving Bond’s eating and bed habits.

It works in a sense, as Bond novels are comparable to supermarket romance novels. These works are not meant to change our lives as more as they are meant to escape them. We scoff at the idea of a man whose job is to kill and mindlessly indulge in life’s taboo pleasures, but yet we crave that decadence. We want to ignore realities such as four-dollar gas prices and the proper rules of sexual engagement. We want to expend the gas. We want to submit to lust. We want to escape the responsibilities of our lives. Faulks gives us the keys to that vehicle.

At times Devil May Care cheaply plays off our current ideologies and allegiances. The war on drugs and the Middle East angles seem to be thrown in there to cash in our current social crises. However, the book makes up for it by paying homage to past Fleming works, mentioning and bringing back old heroes and villains from the past.
Overall, Devil May Care is a devilish pleasure that both new and old Bond fans should enjoy without tentativeness. It stays true to the Bond of old and puts 007 on a whole new path. Go ahead: indulge. We’re American, after all.

Accept the mission and pick up a copy of Devil May Care at any local bookery. The hardcover is on sale now for $24.95.