Other preceding popular thrillers featured what E. Like the perfect martini, all the right ingredients are here.īefore James Bond, the archetypal spy in fiction was an amateur and often a gentleman, two characteristics that spackled Victorian distaste for spying with a sheen of respectability, seen with different inflections in early incarnations like Rudyard Kipling’s Kim (1901) and Robert Erskine Childer’s The Riddle of the Sands (1903), and continuing in Baroness Orczy’s The Scar let Pimpernel (1905) and John Buchan’s Richard Hannay trilogy (1915–19). James Bond might have been conceived partly as escapism, and has indeed given countless readers the joy of escape since 1953, but even more than this, Casino Royale would, as Fleming promised, become the spy story to reinvent spy fiction forever. That same year, Fleming told a friend: ‘I am going to write the spy story to end all spy stories.’ Eight years on, Fleming hammered out two thousand words a day between dawn and the first cocktail at his villa GoldenEye in Jamaica (a creative process I can only hope to emulate). In 1944, as a commander-Bond’s later rank-Fleming created the intelligence-gathering 30 Commando Assault Unit, which he dubbed ‘Red Indians’, that would assist in the invasion of Normandy.

When World War Two broke out, Ian Fleming went from a career of exciting journalism, and then boredom as a banker, to joining naval intelligence.

Seeking distraction from his upcoming wedding, Ian Fleming sat down at his Royal portable typewriter in Jamaica and wrote what-after a few amendments-would become an immortal line in literature, and my favourite opening of any novel: ‘The scent and smoke and sweat of a casino are nauseating at three in the morning.’ The authority of this sentence hints at the other, earlier origin for James Bond, more than a distraction from impending married life. One starts on a February morning in 1952.

The casino royal graphic novel