Ian Fleming, by Andrew Lycett (Turner, 486 pp., $24.95)
JAMES Bond holds an indisputable place in the pantheon of mythical archetypes, along with Sherlock Holmes, Tarzan, Jeeves, and Charlie Chan. Indeed, so familiar has he become that it’s hard to convey the impact that Ian Fleming’s books originally had; an impact reinforced, if not quite authentically, by the first two or three movies—before they degenerated into mechanized farce. What now seems routine was startling then.




Comments