That's long past, replaced by a deeper knowledge of this odd, awkward and comprehensively broken character. I've read these books, in a loose counterpoint to the passing years, since I was close enough to the full flush of puberty for them to hold a furtive, almost transgressive pleasure. James Bond, a literary creation 60 years old, has thus six years on me, his avid - though now slightly jaundiced and bemused - lifetime re-reader. It's a dry, dark, suspenseful novel and one of the best of the Bond books, a story in which 007 is still a work in imaginative progress, a slightly ill-defined sketch of the spy who would go on to fill 13 other books by Ian Fleming, an oeuvre that would completely overshadow Chitty Chitty Bang Bang.
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