by Ian Fleming
1965 • New American Library
183 pages / ISBN 1906772142 (hardcover)
Bond is sent to a mental institution and we don't read a page about what happens. There's a sign that things have gone wrong...
The Man with the Golden Gun was an incomplete and wholly unfortunate way for Ian Fleming to go out. The last novel he worked on before dying in August 1964, Gun only exists in a first draft and it was far from the vibrant tales that were his usual product. Fleming usually wrote a second version with reworkings of the material to improve balance and detail, making his thrillers amongst the greatest in popular literature.
All that exists of Gun is a kind of skeletal novel that Fleming, who was unhappy with the results, would have fleshed out in prior years. Publication of the existing novel was never a certainty; while the manuscript was generally approved by his copy editor William Plomer, publisher Jonathan Cape had reservations and asked critic Kingsley Amis to examine it. Fleming's semi-complete novel was released on April Fool's Day, 1965, to unfavorable but respectful reviews. A loosely-based film version with Roger Moore and Christopher Lee was also screened in 1974, but The Man with the Golden Gun has kept an uneasy relationship with the Bond faithful.Where to start with a book that never really had its chance to succeed? For one thing, The Man with the Golden Gun is not a completely bad novel; though it is pallid compared to Fleming's other work, it has small traces of the energy and dark humor that made his Bond character a great success. The overall problem is that Gun reads exactly like what it is: a novel that was never truly finished. Only 180 to 190 pages depending on its edition (Thunderball, for comparison, runs about 270 pages), Gun feels rushed, underdeveloped, and lacking in the typical Fleming spark.
Gun picks up from Fleming's prior novel, You Only Live Twice, in which Bond rubs elbows with Japanese intelligence while on a diplomatic mission and sets out to kill Ernst Stavro Blofeld. Bond disappeared in action and was assumed dead by the British government. After nearly a year, Bond emerges at the MI6 offices in London and is found to have been brainwashed by the Soviet Union. M. narrowly escapes an assassination attempt and, knowing of Bond's past value, commits him to a mental facility to be 'switched back.'
As mentioned, the de-brainwashing period is not covered by Fleming at all. Time jumps forward between chapters and Bond is suddenly on a redemptive mission to Jamaica, where he must kill Francisco Scaramanga, a gun for hire who has murdered hundreds in Jamaica and Cuba alone. Scaramanga is a lower-grade villain - a gold pistol-wielding Catalan who struts around in modified Western gear. He is known for an accurate shot, thought to have major sexual prowess, and enjoys seeing people eaten by crocodiles.
Bond flies to Jamaica, Fleming's home island in real life, and finds Scaramanga dealing with shady investors on a hotel. This novel is swamped in chance occurrences: Bond happens to meet up with his secretary Mary Goodnight, who has been transferred to the Jamaican branch of MI6; Bond happens to find a real estate auction listed in a Kingston newspaper, eventually meeting Scaramanga at the property; and Bond happens to be employed by Scaramanga as a bodyguard to watch over the deadbeats he's conducting business with. The business meetings, which Bond overhears, contain a lot of dull shop talk and the gangsters' aims are a muddled combination of organized crime and Cold War tactics. There are plans to sabotage the Jamaican sugar and metal industries, introduce gambling to the island, traffic marijuana, and increase dealings between the Mob and Communist intelligence.
Probably the biggest letdowns of this novel are its villains. Compared to Dr. No and Blofeld, Scaramanga is just a deranged gunslinger from the backwoods. He is annoying rather than frightening and doesn't seem to pose any realistic threat to Bond. The group of hoodlums who surround him, complete with sleazy dispositions and tropical shirts, are dummies from a pistol range we're waiting for Bond to punch holes through. The Man with the Golden Gun might've been saved by an effective villain or two, but Fleming completely fails in this respect.
It seems clear from the novel's development that Fleming was a very ill man who would never finish the story. The way Gun lackadaisically moves through its scenes and hobbles to a climax makes tension impossible to build. We are rushed from England to Jamaica and remain there for the length of this novel, almost as if Fleming didn't have the strength to leave his home island again. Most characters are underdeveloped and we don't see into 007's mind often enough.
The hot backdrop gives Fleming a license for sexual innuendos on much cruder and more frequent levels than usual. Some of them are lewd to the point of tastelessness (a cabaret scene comes to mind) and I can't imagine a younger Fleming leaving them in after revisions. Speaking of frequency, there is plenty of repetition to go around in this novel, as the writing has an unusual number of repeated words and turns of phrase. Fleming also continues his habit of making sentences a bit too long to swallow at first reading, which is more forgivable in a better-written story.
The best sections of this novel, believe it or not, feature Bond and Mary Goodnight. Goodnight, who was transferred to the Jamaican wing of MI6 after Bond's assumed death, catches up with her ex-supervisor and is shown to have more than a professional admiration for him. She is only in tight corners of the plot, but their relationship is portrayed in Gun with an unusual amount of sensitivity. The scenes featuring Bond against Scaramanga and the Mob are so underachieving that Goodnight actually has a moment to shine.
Thankfully, the twentieth century's most prolific espionage writer has left behind many superior novels for us to enjoy. The Man with the Golden Gun might have been better off published as a tribute edition - perhaps even a facsimile of the original manuscript - instead of being pushed off as a legitimate entry to the Bond series. It's unlikely this novel will ever have a better reputation and the goofy film version, maligned by many fans, will not help its cause.
The Man with the Golden Gun will remain on bookshelves as a curiosity piece for Bond fans. Other readers will probably be drawn to the novel after seeing its film, but you are best advised to read Fleming's well-written novels - Dr. No, Thunderball, Goldfinger, and On Her Majesty's Secret Service amongst them. The Bond series has been recently marketed by Penguin Books in a handsome edition. The printing I've bought is a used 1965 hardcover by the New American Library. Its dust jacket is missing, which is kind of fitting for a novel that doesn't compare to its predecessors.
