On "Goldfinger" by Ian Fleming **

I have never liked James Bond movies, so it shouldn't have come to a surprise that I wouldn't like one of the books on which such movies are based. I chose this one for my spy fiction reading list in part because I'd confused it with Dr. No, the first James Bond movie and the only one film I've seen in the series that was at least palatable. But part of me was wary of reading the same book rather than one from a film I hadn't seen, so I'm sort of glad I got confused. The other reason I'd chosen this book was the first sentence, which seemed so incredibly absurd and in line with the Bond mystique that this seemed like a novel that would be emblematic of the series. That opening sentence essentially has Bond sitting in an airport lobby drinking whisky, smoking, and thinking about all the men he's had to kill and how he doesn't enjoy doing it. Oh yeah!

The tale itself is an unsurprising riff on Bond versus an arch nemesis--this time, Goldfinger, a man who likes to collect, um, gold. He has his heart of cornering the market. For this, he's come up with a plan to steal the gold from Fort Knox. But Bond, who sleeps with not one but two gals (and seemed like he might get a little from a third--alas, he never broke her) over the course of the novel, comes to know Goldfinger before then. First, he helps an acquaintance on a side job find out how it is that Goldfinger always wins at cards (he cheats, of course), which is how Bond meets the first gal, Goldfinger's aid in the crime. The second time, Bond is on a mission to enter Goldfinger's world to get a handle on his growing gold empire: this time, Bond plays golf with Goldfinger, who again cheats, which means that Bond has to come up with his own cheat to win. The third time Bond comes into contact, Goldfinger knows Bond is not completely on the up-and-up with him, and so it is that Bond is captured, tortured, and nearly killed, except, well, Goldfinger decides to use him in his Fort Knox scheme. That is, alas, Goldfinger's downfall, and it is also something that makes little sense, given Bond's untrustworthiness.

Goldfinger pulls in several of the top underworld criminal figures to help him. There is a long passage in which each figure is described--just as there are long passages describing the golf game. They grow cumbersome at times. Fleming is a master at physical descriptions of people. It's how he paints his world. But in that is also his failing, because there seems to be little beneath the surface. This is men's fiction, with bravado and adventure. Bond raises fast cars, drinks, kills, sleeps around; every gal he meets is a hottie to bed, and most take to him immediately because of his stunning good looks. What does anyone really want? Goldfinger wants gold. Bond seems happy chasing tail, drinking (even at times that require utmost focus), and going on adventures. Goldfinger has lots of assistants, who are loyal to him for . . . money, I guess? The women, I guess, they just want a hot guy? One doesn't read a Bond novel for penetrating character studies.