In Live and Let Die, James Bond comes to America to investigate the gold-smuggling ring of the African-American crime boss Mr. Big, who also happens to be an agent of SMERSH. Bond is at first interested in the case because of the chance for revenge, but he becomes more invested as he is reunited with his friend, Felix Leiter, and encounters the lovely Solitaire.I might as well deal with the elephant in the room immediately: this book is certainly part spy thriller, but it is also part racial commentary - racial commentary about American blacks by a white British writer, published in 1954. Resultantly, it carries the unpleasant taint of racism and cultural elitism. There is a tension to this racism--Fleming spends plenty of time reflecting on the inherent equality of ability of all the races, the shared humanity of us all, the rise in empowerment of blacks, and all of this is well and good--but it is still racist, in the ghosts 'n' goblins approach to voodoo (and the often not-so-subtle and obviously mistaken underlying belief of the author that blacks tend to be largely superstitious, and that voodoo was a major magical tradition all across the Americas in all black communities, regardless of cultural background); in the animalistic, primeval imagery used to describe the rowdiness of a black nightclub; and in the race-baiting of a black crime boss holding an innocent white girl captive (with the "threat" of interracial sexual relations and marriage on the horizon, oh no!), who must be rescued by a white male protector. On top of all that, most of the black characters are portrayed in an offensively simplistic manner, with a reprehensibly shallow attempt to convey heavily laden jive speak. And, unsurprisingly, there is some usage of the most offensive of racist terms. These are bad things, stereotypes, that cannot be excused simply by the apologist's "it's the way things were" hand-waving defense. But they are not all the novel is, and they are not really the core of what the novel is about, and without excusing it, and while noting these racial tensions, I think there is a lot of good to this thriller read that makes it worth it.To me, Live and Let Die really doesn't get going until the characters are out of the first third of the novel, leaving Harlem and the majority of the heavy stereotyping behind, to hop between St. Petersburg in Florida and Kingston in Jamaica. The book moves along at a good clip -- slower than Casino Royale, but it spends that time on developing setting and character, to its benefit. Bond is more human here, more believable. In fact, his relationship with the young Solitaire almost feels like a reboot over his relationship with Vesper, while obviously retaining the continuity of the past novel (which it directly references). He initially does not trust her, but he reluctantly comes to care for her, to value her, to even seem to love her just a little bit.Solitaire is preferable to Vesper, too, because she is a more strong-willed, independent character with a witty personality, not someone who mopes around as window-dressing. This is actually rather amusing, given that Vesper was actually a double agent and traitor (and therefore quite the individual actor), whereas Solitaire must be rescued and protected. But rather than simply marking her off as a damsel in distress, I saw her as a complex character, and it is that complexity, interwoven into many aspects of the novel, that makes the book as a whole richer than the first.Bond also gets to show his human side through his relationship with returning CIA agent Felix Leiter. Their relationship is so genuine and warm. They trade witty barbs and have a little bit of a competitive streak, but they also express concern and caring. Their initial joy to be reunited and their worry over each other in darker moments is heartfelt. [SOME SPOILERS FOLLOW.] Around the midpoint, Leiter is seriously injured by their opponents when he goes off alone, and Bond later is informed of the following in the last third of the novel, as he prepares for his daring insertion into the criminal base: "[Leiter] insisted on getting this message to you. First thing he thought of when he could think at all. Says he's sorry not to be with you and to tell you not to get your feet wet--or at any rate, not as wet as he did." Bond's response? His "heart was full. He looked out of the window. 'Tell him to get well quickly,' he said abruptly. 'Tell him I miss him.'" And then he switches back to the task at hand. That was probably the defining moment of their relationship to me, and in that moment, my heart was full, too.Finally, the detail of description in Florida and Jamaica is wonderful. As a Floridian, I could relate to his descriptions of overheated, dead lands and swamps contrasting with the glitz, greenery, and beaches of the commercialized, tourist-centered coasts. In many ways, the novel functions as a travelogue, with commentaries on natural beauties, human establishments and customs, and local food and drink. By now, it has become abundantly clear to me that frequent and vivid descriptions of meals and drinks are a defining element of Fleming's writing, just as much as his breakneck pace and lightweight chapters.As an added bonus, Fleming is able to center the book around a theme of death and fate without being nearly as heavy-handed as he was in Casino Royale, when he dealt with loyalty and the nature of good and evil. Here, the contrasting nature of life and death, and yet their simultaneously interlocking, cyclical nature, appear to constantly be on Fleming's mind, exhibited for example in the role of zombies in voodoo, the description of the alternating island Doctor's Wind and Undertaker's Wind, Leiter's near-death experience, and the use of the ocean ecosystem as a way for the villains to eliminate threats all play on this theme. Bond is also more concerned and wary. He shows fear at times, and he often worries that he may die soon. He is constantly on edge. When his plane is violently shaken by turbulence, the theme of fate becomes a firmly established element, and Bond's acknowledgment of his stars, his supplication to and battle with them, becomes a constant refrain in the final half of the novel. All of this leaves more room for reader reflection and interpretation, rather than the potential resistance to the ham-handed lectures of Casino Royale.Torture also plays a role here. Fleming almost seems fascinated with torture. It is as though he enjoys taking the stern, domineering character of Bond and tearing him down as much as possible, bleeding him out, casting him once more into the flames to see what remains. And Bond keeps adapting and adjusting, rather than becoming stagnant and inflexible with the accumulation of scars both psychological and physical. It is not as pronounced a torture in this novel as in Casino Royale, but that element of contorting Bond under great pressure is certainly present.I would recommend Live and Let Die, with the firm warning that it is a book with uncomfortable descriptions of race and race relations from almost sixty years ago. Part of Fleming's success seems to be in his willingness to play off popular fears (tying concerns about trade unions and racial minorities into larger Western worries about Communism). But he is just as successful because he knows how to write a thrilling and yet thoughtful novel, and he can often write well. This is not a book for everyone, but anyone who enjoys an action thriller should probably at least consider leafing through this title.
”He held the tip between finger and thumb and very deliberately started to bend it back, giggling inanely to himself.Bond rolled and heaved, trying to upset the chair, but Tee-Hee put his other hand on the chair-back and held it there. The sweat poured off Bond’s face. His teeth started to bare in an involuntary rictus. The finger stood upright, away from the hand. Started to bend slowly backwards towards his wrist. Suddenly it gave. There was a sharp crack.‘That will do,’ said Mr. Big.Tee-Hee released the mangled finger with reluctance. Bond uttered a soft animal groan and fainted.” Roger Moore is BOND in the movie version of Live and Let DieWait!...what? He fainted? Me...you...nearly every other person on the planet we are screaming and pissing ourselves wishing we could faint faster, but BOND, JAMES BOND? The James Bond of the books feels more pain, is at times guided by fear, and makes more mistakes which I found frankly very interesting. There is no sex in this book. I KNOW I’m still in shock about that myself. He comes close:”Bond cursed the broken hand that prevented him exploring her body, taking her. He freed his right hand and put it between their bodies, feeling her hard breasts, each with its pointed stigma of desire. He slipped it down her back until it came to the cleft at the base of her spine and he let it rest there, holding the centre of her body hard against him until they had kissed enough.She took her arms away from round his neck and pushed him away.‘I hoped I would one day kiss a man like that,’ she said. ‘And when I first saw you, I knew it would be you.’Her arms were down by her sides and her body stood there, open to him, ready for him.‘You’re very beautiful,’ said Bond. ‘You kiss more wonderfully than any girl I have ever known.’ He looked down at the bandages on his left hand. ‘Curse this arm.’ he said. ‘I can’t hold you properly or make love to you. It hurts too much. That’s something else that Mr. Big’s got to pay for.’” Jane Seymour is Solitaire in the movie.Are you kidding me! There is a bit of daytime soap writing in this segment which made me laugh, and left me wondering if Fleming was avoiding writing the grand Bond sex scene although with all the “pointed stigma of desire” and such he was certainly delivering on a little titillation. Mr. Big is the whole reason that Bond has flown to America. Gold coins, Rose Noble of Edward IV, have been surfacing from the pirate Henry “Bloody” Morgan’s treasure that was never found and by rights belongs to the British government. They have traced it to Mr. Big’s operation and agents have disappeared so it is time for 007 to be sent to find the pipeline for the treasure and if need be put a kibosh on Mr. Big’s organization. Fleming takes us from London, to NY, to Florida, and for the final meeting between Mr. Big and Bond to the island of Jamaica. Mr. Big sees himself as a trailblazer and it wouldn’t be a Bond if the villain didn’t give a speech. Yaphet Kotto is Mr Big in the movie”In the history of negro emancipation,’ Mr. Big continued in an easy conversational tone, ‘there have already appeared great athletes, great musicians, great writers, great doctors and scientists. In due course, as in the developing history of other races, there will appear negroes great and famous in every other walk of life.’ He paused. ‘It is unfortunate for you, Mister Bond, and for this girl, that you have encountered the first of the great negro criminals. I use a vulgar word, Mister Bond, because it is the one you, as a form of policeman, would yourself use. But I prefer to regard myself as one who had the ability and the mental and nervous equipment to make his own laws and act according to them rather than accept the laws that suit the lowest common denominator of the people.” The book is rampant with racism, a time capsule of the way people felt in 1954, and from a quick glance through some of the reviews this aspect has certainly shadowed the enjoyment of other readers. I guess I just sort of flew over the top of those segments, not wanting to become bogged down in outdated thinking. Voodoo plays a role in this book. In fact, Mr Big has a heart ailment that gives his black skin a gray tinge giving him the look of a Voodoo Zombie further enhanced by the fact that he participates in Voodoo practices. Bond spends hours reading and researching on Voodoo. Fleming gets points for mentioning The Travellers Tree by Patrick Leigh Fermor, a writer I happen to really like. In that book Fermor talks about the Voodoo religion/cult. I first came to Bond through watching The Saint episodes late at night. My Dad in an effort to get more than three channels on our TV, one of which flipped every few seconds, built this antenna the size of a small Cessna and hoisted it on a pole that soared high above the tallest trees. He connected a remote to it that would rotate the antenna allowing us to fine tune certain channels. We could now get seven channels, sort of. One of the channels put on The Saint and there was Roger Moore, young, dashing, and boy did I want to be him when I grew up. The first Bond I went to in the theater, which for the life of me I’m not sure which one, but it starred Roger Moore. So for me RM was BOND. I couldn’t say Moore was my favorite Bond or the best Bond, but like a first kiss it is hard not to be biased by that first experience. Ian Fleming
Do You like book Live And Let Die (2003)?
Okay, I'd known that Ian Fleming is on record as having been a racist and sexist bastard, but somehow I had managed to not really notice that much the first time I'd taken a spin through the Bond novels. And there were a couple of bits I took issue with in my recent re-read of Casino Royale, sure, though they were few and far between.But Live and Let Die? Wow, chock full of extremely blatant racism. Enough that it actively interfered with my ability to enjoy the story at all, and made it difficult for me to even want to finish it. About the only good thing I can say about the racial attitudes expressed in this novel is that Bond, out of all the white characters in the book, was surprisingly the least racist of all of them. M has some particularly annoying ever-so-superior commentary that made me grit my teeth when I read it, and extremely glad that we've got the divine Dame Judi Dench playing an infinitely cooler M.There were one or two good bits--the part towards the end where Bond's sneaking underwater up on the bad guy's boat has some suitably suspenseful bits. The few good bits, though, weren't enough to make up for the blatant racism. One star.
—Angela
Still working my way through the excellent celebrity narrated audiobooks of Ian Fleming's classic James Bond adventures. Here Bond is well-read by Rory Kinnear. What I like about these books now, having read them all first in the 1960s, is how they reflect another time and other places. I suppose younger readers would find them dated, but I love all the references to that era with Cold War politics and no cell phones. I also like that the books lack all the advanced technology and explosions that have become de rigueur in movie versions. Here, in his second outing, Bond battles Mr. Big, who has found pirate treasure and is flooding the market with gold coins. We follow Bond from London to jazz clubs in Harlem to Jamaica, where he has to battle sharks and barracudas as well as his human nemesis. Not a bad read.
—Joyce
I was a student at Dartmouth College when I first saw Sean Connery in Dr. No (1962). The film hit me right between the eyes, as if it had been fired at me from 007’s Beretta. Here was a guy with the ultimate cool: He was a bon vivant, handsome to women, and pitted against enemies who were the ultimate in evil. In Live and Let Die (1954), the second novel in the series after Casino Royale, Bond came up against the massive Mr. Big, a gargantuan Negro with not only pretensions to Voodoo (as Baron Samedi himself), but an operative of SMERSH, short for Смерть шпионам, “Death to Spies,” a Soviet counter-intelligence agency named by Joseph Stalin during World War Two.The second part is dangled before us, but we don’t see any real Soviet spy business; and its role in the novel is negligible and could have omitted entirely. As with most of the Bond novels, it’s pretty easy to see what’s going to happen: The plot twists are well telegraphed. When 007 is preparing an underwater incursion on Mr. Big’s Jamaican hideaway and we are told that it would take 48 hours for the shark and barracuda repellent to arrive from the States, well we all know what is about to happen: Underwater feeding frenzy!I must have read most of the Bond thrillers during my college years. It was candy for the mind and great adolescent wish-fulfillment. I guess that, into each life, some froth must fall.
—Jim
