feat

Colonel Sun

When Ian Fleming passed away in August of 1964 after suffering a heart attack, his reported final words — said to the crew of the ambulance that was rushing him to the hospital — were “I am sorry to trouble you chaps. I don’t know how you get along so fast with the traffic on the roads these days.” His untimely passing left in doubt the future of his most enduring creation: James Bond. While the movies had taken on a life of their own, the novels were very much of Ian Fleming, and without him, it didn’t seem like there was any way they would continue. His final book in the series, The Man with the Golden Gun, was published posthumously and against Fleming’s desire. He had just finished the first draft before his death, and he felt the entire thing was rather a mess and wanted to redo it. His publisher, perhaps feeling that any Bond was bankable Bond, insisted that the book was perfectly fine.

It wasn’t. The Man with the Golden Gun was a weak follow-up to what had been a truly epic previous two books, starting with the marriage of James Bond and murder of his wife at the hands of Blofeld in On Her Majesty’s Secret Service and continuing with an unhinged Bond out for revenge in You Only Live Twice. The finale of that book sees a destroyed, amnesic Bond being picked up by Soviet agents who, recognizing the incredible opportunity before them, take Bond back to the Soviet Union, convincing him that he is Communism’s top secret agent. That thrilling cliffhanger ending opened the door for Fleming to continue in the spirit of those two books, which were much more emotionally involved and exciting than even the best of the other Bond books. Unfortunately, that entire premise is dealt with and discarded within the first few pages of The Man with the Golden Gun, and what follows is a thin and unengaging study in padding.

Fleming knew this, and he hated his first draft. Unfortunately, his opinion became moot when he passed away, and even though the book was given to another author for a rewrite, in the end few of that author’s suggestions were taken. The Man with the Golden Gun was published as is, and everyone who read it probably felt pretty bad to have so many negative things to say about Ian Fleming’s final novel. After its publication, two more short stories were published: “Octopussy” and “The Living Daylights.” “The Living Daylights” is a simple but enjoyable Bond short story, and while “Octopussy” pulls a “Quantum of Solace” and has Bond stand around while someone else tells a story, at least the story is a good one and involves mountain climbing and lost Nazi loot instead of a jilted lover.

With the last of Fleming’s contributions in print, and this being before the era of “completed based on the notes of” follow-ups, publisher Glidrose Productions started wondering what to do. If they didn’t get a new Bond product out soon, they would lose the rights to the character. At the same time, the polite but disappointed reaction to The Man with the Golden Gun meant that they couldn’t really just slap something together. Not only would it be disrespectful to the memory of Ian Fleming; it would also, very likely, sink their greatest cash cow of a series. After a bit of consideration, it was settled that a new James Bond book would be written. Initially, the idea was to go the route of a stable of writers, each one contracted to write a different novel. But that didn’t pan out, since only one author agreed to subject himself to such scrutiny as would inevitably befall anyone writing a new James Bond book. The author would be the very man to whom they’d given — then ignored the advice about — The Man with the Golden Gun.

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Kingsley Amis is an author of no small renown, considered by many to be one of the greatest British authors of all time. It is practically a given that one won’t get out of any university level English literature course without reading Amis’ first novel, Lucky Jim, and possibly several others. Known primarily for humor and satire, often aimed at upper-class British academic and intellectual culture, he seems a curious pick to carry on the work of Ian Fleming, a writer whose popularity was indisputable but whose quality of writing was up for debate. But to know Amis only as a sly British satirist is have an incomplete picture of the man. He frequently dabbled in other genres, including science fiction, and his love of James Bond was so great that he’d already written two books about the character. The first, The James Bond Dossier, was an exploration of the books from the viewpoint of a literary studies critic. The second, The Book of Bond or, Every Man His Own 007, Amis wrote under the in-joke pseudonym Lt.-Col. William (“Bill”) Tanner (a character from the Bond novels). It is a joke “manual” to becoming a James Bond-esque international man of mystery, relying on quotes, locations, and brand names from the book. Although something of a lark, it actually ends up being a pretty good guide to such things in the Bond novels.

It must have been daunting to assume the mantle of keeper of the James Bond novels, something Amis eventually did under the pen name Robert Markham — somewhat pointlessly. Everyone knew he was the author, and his name often appeared on the covers alongside the Robert Markham pseudonym. As a fan of both the Bond series and Kingsley Amis, I was keen on reading the book,but for a long time that proved deuced difficult for a man of limited means. By the time I got around to wanting to read it, Amis’ Bond book — Colonel Sun — was long out of print and commanding a higher price on the used market than I was willing to or able to pay. When Fleming’s books were reissued as beautiful new paperbacks, I assumed it was only a matter of time before the publisher moved on to the post-Fleming novels. But that matter of time was a long time indeed, and it wasn’t until the current era of the ebook that I was finally able to buy and read a copy of Colonel Sun for a normal price.

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The story begins not long after the conclusion of The Man with the Golden Gun (Bond thinks to himself about the wound left by Scaramanga’s bullet; a later reference is made to the events of You Only Live Twice as well), with Bond and his friend Tanner playing a round of golf while Bond worries that he has settled into an easy life of routine that has dulled his edge. This doesn’t last for long, of course, because an entire novel about Bond’s day-to-day at the office would be a bit much. Bond intends to call on M at the boss’ home, where he is convalescing after a prolonged illness. But when Bond arrives, M is gone, his two elderly house servants have been executed, and a group of no-nonsense gunmen are waiting to take Bond prisoner. The wily British agent manages to foil their plot and escape, but he’s still left with a house full of corpses, a kidnapped head of the British secret service, and a single obviously planted clue pointing him toward Athens, Greece.

Walking into a trap is bad enough, but Bond’s seemingly hopeless mission to rescue M is further complicated when he is kidnapped away from his kidnappers. In short order, Bond meets a local girl, Ariadne, who is working with the Athens branch of the Soviet Red Army’s GRU (their counterpart to the KGB), and they discover that this isn’t a case of us versus them — or rather, it is, but everyone forgot there might be more than one them. In a reflection of the thawing of relations between Great Britain/The United States and the Soviet Union, as well as the rising power of communist China (itself a frequent thorn in the side of the USSR despite their shared philosophy of government), Bond discovers that it was the Chinese, not the Russians who were behind M’s kidnapping. And their kidnapping of Bond in Athens was interrupted by the Russians, who wanted to kidnap Bond for the totally unrelated reason of, “James Bond just showed up in Athens, so something crazy is probably about to happen; let’s find out what.”

Bond agrees to team up with the local Soviets in a joint effort to uncover and foil whatever plan it is the Chinese — led by sadistic People’s Liberation Army colonel Sun Liang-tan — are hatching. But Sun’s gunmen put a premature end to the collaboration when they kill the local Soviet bureau chief, leaving just Bond, Ariadne, and a tough old Greek partisan named Niko Litsas to save M, track down Sun, and spoil the Chinese plot to frame England for the murder of a bunch of world leaders at a secret meeting with the Soviets on a remote Greek isle.

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Colonel Sun reads very much like Kinglsey Amis partially imitating Ian Fleming, but not in a bad way. Overall, it’s a close approximation to Fleming’s style when he was firing on all cylinders, as he was for Thunderball, On Her Majesty’s Secret Service, and You Only Live Twice. At the same time, there is a richer weaving of the story than was customary in Fleming’s writing, which could at times have a youthful energy about them that resulted in some slapdash writing, so anxious to get to the action was Fleming. But there is also the undeniable hint of Amis the satirist lurking just beneath the surface. Sometimes it’s a good-natured ribbing of Ian Fleming’s books, as when Amis prominently mentions the warm, dry handshake of a couple of people whom Bond befriends (it was frequently joked about that Fleming frequently described friends and allies of Bond as having a warm, dry handshake). Sadly, no joke about Pinaud Elixir. I guess Kingsley Amis didn’t think that reference was as funny as I do. Other times, Amis is poking fun at the Bond movies, as when Bond reflects on the utter useless in the end of all the gadgets and clever tricks given to him by Q branch before the mission (a mission Bond completes, ultimately, with nothing but a knife). Most of Amis’ jokes are subtle though, and none of them distract from the overall story in the service of a chuckle.

Amis also brings considerably more political machination into the plot than was common under Ian Fleming, a reflection perhaps of the changing times. Published in 1968, Colonel Sun came out at a time when the West and the USSR were getting along (more or less) and the perceived threat to freedom and peace had moved on to Asia and the terrorist cells of the Middle East and Europe. Underneath it all, however, is the classic Bond plot of an unexpected third party trying to frame England or the Soviets for a crime against the other. Despite that familiarity — from our vantage point in 2013, that has been the plot of the movies You Only Live Twice and The Spy Who Loved MeColonel Sun moves quickly along, with interesting twists and plenty of action. Bond has typically good local support in the form of beautiful Adriadne and crusty old Litsas, and while Colonel Sun is perhaps a bit underused, he’s still a satisfying slimy villain without going too far afield into the realm of Fu Manchu-esque Yellow Perilism (though no one would claim his portrayal is without typical racist overtones). The only weak character is M, though as an older man, recently infirm and then drugged and dragged around, it’s perhaps understandable. Also, Amis is on record as having stated that he never did like M, so this is also the author’s chance to kick the cantankerous spymaster around a little.

Ariadne is a fairly good female character for a Bond novel, tough and competent and not in need of Bond saving her (well, he does, but only after he himself has been saved by a different woman, so I think that cancels out). Of course, this is still a Bond novel written in the 1960s by a man, so there are certain attitudes about sexual assault that are predictably problematic. After Sun has captured everyone, he offers Ariadne up for rape by his minions. Afterward, when she has escaped and Bond asks her how she is, she shrugs it all off as if rape is really no different from being socked in the jaw. To the book’s “credit,” at least it doesn’t rape and kill her as some motivating factor for Bond, but that still doesn’t mean the entire idea isn’t handled with a bit more shrugging than perhaps it deserves. If I am not mistaken, other than in The Spy Who Loved Me, where the young, female point-of-view character written by old British guy muses at one point that all women like to be semi-raped, this is the first explicit case of sexual assault in a Bond story. It’s largely a pointless indulgence in bad taste — the rape motivates neither Bond nor Ariadne nor adds anything to her character. It is performed by minor characters, so it doesn’t even have the cheap point of making us hate the main villain more. It’s an altogether mean little aside.

Perhaps not coincidentally, Colonel Sun has the most explicit descriptions of Bond’s amorous liaisons yet written. Fleming may have lived like Bond, but he was still too polite to get overly descriptive with sex. Amis, always keen to kick a taboo around, isn’t writing porn here, but he certainly takes James Bond farther into the realm of, say, a Nick Carter spy novel than the series has previously dared venture. It’s some consolation that, in the end, Bond’s sweet love doesn’t result in Ariadne abandoning her Communist beliefs or begging to come with him to experience the freedom and sexy secret agents of the West. She remains true to her cause. All things considered, she is a fair enough female character, and she ‘s not plagued by the thing where writers of spy thrillers will describe a female agent as tough and competent, then write page after page of her crying, being terrified, or messing up the job.

Bond himself is familiar and seems more or less like the Bond who would emerge from the emotional wringer of OHMSS and YOLT, with time to recover down in Jamaica. He’s a bit more haunted, and perhaps his feelings about killing and about his job are a bit more complex and conflicted (multiple times he goes out of his way not to kill someone, even when that person is identifiably an enemy). When Colonel Sun was initially published, the reviews were mixed, and many of the negative ones focused on Amis’ writing of the Bond character, which they saw as not being in line with the character as written by Ian Fleming. Personally, I think many of these critics were thinking of Sean Connery more than Ian Fleming’s James Bond, as the Bond of the novels has always been a complicated storm of emotions — doubt, cunning, ruthlessness, uncertainty, charm, and vulnerability. In terms of character evolution, Colonel Sun is a much more fitting follow-up to You Only Live Twice than was The Man with the Golden Gun.

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It was probably inevitable that Amis’ entry in the Bond canon would be a lightning rod. Some of the criticism is not without merit — the plot is labored in places, and Bond depends on the luck of a last-second rescue a bt more than I would like. But claims that the plot eschews the realism of Fleming’s novels and enters the preposterous realm of the films are entirely unjust, in my eyes — or did these critics forget that You Only Live Twice disguised Bond as a Japanese man chasing after Blofeld, who has sequestered himself away in a poisonous suicide garden while frequently strolling about in full samurai armor? The plot of Colonel Sun is fairly straightforward, the action fairly grounded in reality, and the ultimate goal of Colonel Sun and his crew not outside the realm of believability, at least by the standards of the espionage novel. Although it was a bit shaky in the initial pages (Amis has a tendency to refer to James Bond frequently by his full name, a quirk that is, thankfully, abandoned once the story really gets rolling), Amis hits his stride once the action moves to Greece, and rather than this being a “pale imitation” of Fleming or a weak example of Amis, I found it to be a satisfying adventure fully deserving of the James Bond name.

Despite mixed critical reviews, the book was a success, and all signs pointed to Kingsley Amis writing a follow-up. He even had a plot in mind, with Bond on a train through Mexico (Colonel Sun was based in Greece because Amis had recently been there on holiday; the prospective Mexico setting was for the same reason), that would allow Amis to express his own personal distaste for Acapulco. It was even rumored that the next book would feature the death of Bond and an end to the series as a whole. Amis himself even joked (one assumes) that Bond was to be killed by a bazooka-wielding bartender. But a bit of confusion here, a bit of complication there, and in the end no second Bond adventure from Amis was ever to be. A shame, as I think Colonel Sun was a pretty entertaining first stab at it — spiritually in tune with Fleming’s novels but an evolution of that style, and certainly more than an imitation.

In time, Colonel Sun was mostly forgotten, allowed to go out of print and chalked up by many as a curiosity, the George Lazenby of the Bond literary world. Its disappearance was not total, however. The movie For Your Eyes Only, though ostensibly based on the short story of the same name as well as another of Fleming’s short Bond stories, Risico, features action partially set in Greece and an ally (Topol’s Milos Columbo) whose background is very much that of Colonel Sun‘s Niko Litsas. In 2002’s dreadful Die Another Day, the plan was initially to use Colonel Sun as the main villain, albeit with a nationality swap from Chinese to North Korean. Since that would have necessitated paying additional royalties for use of the character, however, in the end the film just made up its own guy and petulantly named him Colonel Moon.

Despite these little nods, Colonel Sun the novel lapsed into relative obscurity until it was recently released on ebook, allowing Bond fans to once again evaluate this first attempt at carrying on the franchise in the wake of Ian Fleming’s death. This carrying on of the series, however, never materialized. In fact, excepting a couple of novelizations of the movies, the entire Bond literary franchise went into hibernation for the whole of the 1970s. It would be over a dozen years before someone put ink to paper and wrote a new James Bond novel. That writer was John Gardner (not to be confused with John Gardner, the American author who wrote Grendel), and the novel was 1981’s License Renewed.

But that is another story.

6 thoughts on “Colonel Sun”

  1. I haven’t read this for years, but when I did, I came away from it with the feeling that there was something very nasty and mean-spirited about it. This was before I knew that Amis had a reputation as a misogynist prick (and long before i read ‘Take A Girl like You’, which made me think he was a classist and regionalist prick as well.), and before I knew anything about Yellow Peril bullshit either.

    I don’t even think it was all the Sade references, or the ‘rape is just like a locker-room hazing, really’ that left me with the I-need-Listerene taste in my mouth. It was the feeling that Amis is taking the piss out of Fleming, Bond, M (there’s a vile bit about M’s incontinence, if I remember), and the overall impression that Amis was sneering at stupid James Bond fans: ‘look how stupid this stuff is, look how easily I can fool you all’, becuase he’s, you know, a proper author. You know, in the end, the superweapon turns out to be a lightweight field mortar. It’s the point where satire just turns into open nastiness and mocking, and where I lose patience.

    Then, years after that, I read ‘The Rachel Papers’ and learned how mean-spirited and nastily misogynistic fiction can actually be. “Philosophy in the Boudoir” doesn’t even come close.

  2. I’m actually very interested to read your take on ‘Licence Renewed’, because I think it might have been the very first Bond book I read, bought from W.H.Smith in Manchester airport, with the foil-embossed cover. (I suppose so that it could sit next to respectable company like Jackie Collins and Harold Robins in an airport bookshop.) I think it was the first time I ever heard of breasts being referred to as ‘impertinent’, which was funny because the day before, I’d had a bashing in P.E. and been called an ‘impertinent boy’. I had yet to realise that Fleming had more adjectives for breasts than Lovecraft had for gambrel roofs.

  3. After dwelling on it a bit, I see your points and agree mostly with them, though I would offer that Amis might not have even been consciously taking the piss out of Bond to the degree he did; it may just be his character and seep into everything. Other than Lucky Jim, I’ve never read much by him.

    The sadism of Colonel Sun (the book, not just the character) is probably dulled for me a bit by too many Nick Carter books (which this is actually pretty similar to in many ways). I just read one immediately before Colonel Sun that features a female agent who has been gang raped in the past and, as a result, cross-dresses as a man and fears intimacy. Needless to say, Nick Carter brings her out of it and helps her feel a woman again — and then on the third to last page int he book, the story kills her off for no reason other than so the book can be an asshole. I think Carter has dulled my senses.

    Final thought, regarding the rape Ariadne, is this the first explicit sexual assault in a Bond story? Certainly The Spy Who Loves Me mentions the subject, but I think this is the first time it actually happens. I’m not as offended, in the end, by it here in 1968 as I am by the fact that in 2013, almost every author of action books, movies, comics, and game can’t think of a way to give a female character depth or conflict other than making sure her backstory includes being raped. A bit of a head-shaker to think that Amis is actually a step down from Fleming when it comes to women. At least Fleming gave us Gala Brant and Tiffany Case.

    I’m a little over 60 pages into License Renewed, but it’s hard to form much of an opinion, since Bond has pretty much just been hanging around the house and the office. I was pleased that he got in two warm, dry handshakes by page 26, but I am less pleased that he drives a Saab. I always ascribe a certain 80s preppy douchebagginess to Saabs, based on personal experience.

  4. Since one can burn through spy novels pretty quickly, I finished three in the past week. I have heard breasts described as proud (in all three books), firm, insistent, and my favorite, defiant.

    All said, though, I still understand what that all means more than I understand things like “He had a warm, but cruel, smile.”

  5. Gardner was slightly sponsored by Scania, which is why Bond has a Saab-900. It’s funny: Saabs were always thought of as ‘Geography Teachers Cars’ when I were a lad. I tried out a 2.0li 900 one time, and they are a WICKED drive. Threw that thing round tight corners at 60, and never lost confidence once. Just wished I could have afforded it! I guess our semiotics differ on this one!

    I think “warm but cruel smile” means “a bit like Clark Gable”.

    And now, I want to know what ‘insistent’ breasts are like.

    Next bit: Honey Rider got raped in her backstory, but I’d actually redeem this as a bash at British Colonialism, since it’s the Plant Overseer who does it, and naturally treats women as slaves and property. And of course, Honey knows the correct application for starving, pregnant black widow spiders (which is a pretty potent feminist image in its own right.). So it’s not like ‘…but she loved it really’. There is a very explicit line in ‘Casino Royale’ during Vesper’s debriefing that she was not sexually molested by Le Chiffre’s thugs.

    I suppose Solitaire is being kept as a future sex slave for Mr. B.I.G, but even then you have the line ‘she refuses to have anything to do with men’. Given how respectful Fleming is to Big, I suppose we’re meant to assume that she will capitulate to his manliness in time. No rape there.

    Oh, and the bit that critics love to dig up, Pussy Galore is a lesbian because she ‘couldnt run faster than her uncle’, which is a whole other jar o’ gender politics and I’ll chalk up as an insensitive mistake on Fleming’s part rather than outright dickishness. But Amis is supposed to know better, which is why he gets less slack from me.

  6. Sorry. Footnote. I dont mind rolling around in sleaze (for heavens sake, I own a copy of ‘Make them die slowly’) if its done with what Brian Clemens described as “…and then all the actors get up and go home and get paid….”. It’s the sneering and piss-taking in Colonel Sun that really gets to me. Like, Amis is ‘much too good’ to have a sleazy good time and go home; he has to look down on his own audience for it. I think Keith put it best once, when he said something about how Classical authors used to write porn and gore, and then tag on an ending where ‘…and then all the perverts died, so this is really a moral parable. Consider yourselves chastened, proles.’

    (or, if you like, a John Wilie painting with “Don’t let this happen to you! Learn Ju-jitsu, the art of self defence!” underneath, which is right, big-hearted way to do it)

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