THRILLER: KEVIN SWEENEYreviews Carte BlancheBy Jeffery Deaver Hodder Stoughton, 436pp. £13.99
WITH CARTE BLANCHE, the popular American crime writer Jeffery Deaver wipes the slate clean on James Bond, who is given a makeover and rebooted to reflect both the anxieties and head-spinning efficiencies of serving on her majesty's post-9/11 secret service.
True, our new Bond still globe-hops to scenic locations (first class, of course). And, true, he still rhapsodises over his cars (an early 1960s Jaguar E-Type and a Bentley Continental GT coupé), and, check, he’s an utter show-off when it comes to fine wine and gourmet food. Deaver dutifully details these musty character traits, which have been part of the Bond iconography since grandad secretly read Ian Fleming’s racy books as a teenager. Likewise, he crams an already busy plot with guest appearances by such series stalwarts as Moneypenny, Felix Leiter (always conveniently around to lend a hand, no matter what the location) and René Mathis.
Otherwise, the new Bond is very much a man of the moment: a non-smoker (no more of that filthy Balkan-Turkish blend), a computer whiz, thoughtful, even introspective at times, though not exactly a load of laughs: Deaver’s 007 definitely doesn’t have a licence to quip.
Most surprisingly, in the most radical rethink of the character, when it comes to women the new Bond is a big softie at heart. Deaver continues the hoary tradition of giving the Bond women daft names, but even here the novel tries to reflect something like real life. Bond’s colleagues, Ophelia (“Philly”) Maidenstone, an intelligence analyst, and his secretary, Mary Goodnight (“good morning, Goodnight”, etc), are brainy and competent as well as, predictably, stunningly beautiful.
The new Bond may fantasise, but he keeps his professional relationships with female colleagues on the up and up. And even when 007 finally gets it on, with a militant anti-poverty campaigner (Felicity Willing), the chaste and tender four-paragraph seduction scene will hardly leave your average Mills & Boon reader shaken or stirred.
Still, some things never change, and, as a double-0, Bond stoically holds a licence to do whatever it takes on foreign soil to protect the realm’s security interests. Bond will conduct illegal surveillance and hacking under the noses of allies, and he will kill in cold blood as required. He may try to take an enemy alive, but only to rendition him or her to a foreign black site for interrogation.
To operate in the UK, however, 007 must put on a pretence of following the rules, co-operating with inept rival services, carrying loaded guns around and so forth. “So, no longer carte blanche, Bond reflected angrily. More carte gris.”
Carte Blanche, the 37th book in the official Bond series that began with Fleming's Casino Royale, in 1953, and led to the films in which Sean Connery and many others have starred, is an improvement on the last one, Sebastian Faulks's cod-1960s-set Devil May Care. Deaver's writing is much like Fleming's – that is to say, functional – but he does have a flair for dialogue and seems to enjoy delving into the minutiae of contemporary British spycraft. The book kept me turning pages.
Blessedly, the novel’s unusual villain is neither one of the monocled megalomaniacs of old, nor a cliched modern Arab terrorist, but a London rag-and-bone man with a hugely successful international rubbish-collection and -recycling operation. Severan Hydt’s wealth and line of work allow him to indulge his true interest: collecting images and artefacts of death and decay.
Abetted by his number-two baddie, a ruthless Belfast-born engineer and master planner, the perverse Hydt has now ratcheted his sick passion up to another level, which won’t be revealed here but provides one of several climaxes to the insanely complicated machinations. Really, if Deaver hadn’t been hired by the Fleming estate to write a James Bond novel, the story’s many twists and turns and double and triple crosses could have been retooled into one of his pacy US crime thrillers.
Kevin Sweeney is an Irish Timesjournalist
