'Come in, 007" said M. "It's good to see you back."
Indeed.
James Bond has been on a bit of a sabbatical in Sebastian Faulks' superb new rendering of Ian Fleming's iconic British spy.
For fans, though, it's been considerably longer than a few sensual months of R&R in Jamaica. Try 44 years -- since Fleming died of heart failure in 1964, at 56.
Oh, there have been attempts in the interregnum to resuscitate Bond, and fairly good ones at that: Kingsley Amis and John Gardner come to mind. But they didn't quite, um, get it.
James Bond, as his fans understand, was the alter ego of his creator -- fast cars, faster women, impeccable taste, exquisite manners, understated hauteur, cunning, lethality and unquestioning patriotism. Fail to understand Fleming and your protagonist is little more than a Bond manqué, of which the libraries are full.
Faulks gets it. Fans of his exceptional novels ("Songbird" and "Charlotte Gray," most notably) probably were surprised when he accepted the challenge of reintroducing Bond on the 100th anniversary of Fleming's birth. No one, however, was more surprised than Faulks himself, who quipped incredulously, "I do inner lives, not underwater explosions."
Yet it's Faulks' expertise at crafting inner lives that gives his Bond the character and persona we know and love. The story line is equally well-turned, a nicely calibrated distillation of Fleming's oeuvre -- clever, quickly paced and pedal-to-the-metal entertainment.