STEVE CARROLL WRITES

I have   long been a fan of all things espionage-related, but especially the various   book series that flourished in the wake of the popularity of the Bond   movies in   the 60s. I’m not talking A-listers like Matt Helm , Quiller , Modesty Blaise , or   Sam Durrel l here. I’m talking about the books that sincerely   aspired to be   also-rans, decent copies of the original that could be churned out quickly   while the iron was hot to satisfy a marketplace hungry for spy-fi   hijinks. They   had their cinematic equivalents in the realm of cinema as well, with countless   Euro-spy movies made on minuscule budgets with mostly   unknown actors doing   their best 007 impersonations. As with all fads, they ran their course and   mostly fell out of favor, although the best of them were   able to hang around   for a while into the 70s and 80s. I say all of this to highlight how unique it was to have   someone with a clear and genuine love for those 60s spy-fi movies and books to   write a love

This review requires a bit of context and backstory. Apologies for my long- windedness as this unexpectedly turned into an essay on my love affair with   Ian   Fleming’s gift to espionage fiction literature. If you prefer, scroll down f or the review proper without enjoying my trip down memory   lane. It's marked where to start reading... I was raised on James Bond and I don’t mean that in a loose, metaphorical   sense. My father was a bona fide 007 aficionado who went out of his way to   proselytize   me into the ranks while still a very young boy. I’m told I was taken to the theater   to see Thunderball on its first theatrical run at the age of 3; I   have zero   memory of this, of course. I have a slight memory of seeing You Only Live Twice   as a 5-year old. However, seeing a double-feature rerelease   of those two films   as a 6-year old is vividly in my memory, as is a double-feature of Dr. No and   From Russia With Love the next year. But seeing On Her   Majesty’s Secret