I do not care for Mr. Bond. I do not care for him at all. In this I am at variance with Mr. Amis, who in The James Bond Dossier convicts me and all like me of being perishing little snivelers [see excerpt below], nearsighted 20th-century weaklings whose sexual inadequacies lead us, twisted little devils that we are, to condemn a fully committed man who does things his way and only his way. Priggish Puritan prude snipes at never-bend stout English oak. Red glare gleams in eye—Mr. Amis points out that all Bond-villains have a red glare in their eyes—as cheapmake Everyman says bad things about keen hero.

With the lines drawn, and with only a wistful thought about the jokes that could be made concerning Mr. Amis' first name, let us look at The Man With The Golden Gun, the last book to come from...