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“You Only Live Twice” (1964) was published the year of Ian Fleming’s death, and, as with its predecessor, the respectable “On Her Majesty’s Secret Service,” it is suffused with doom and death. It is unlike any of the other Bond books, with a pervasive gloominess that was as mighty the result of Fleming’s speedy declining health and unhappiness with the world around him as it was the result of Bond’s clinical depression after the tragedy that finished the last book.
Bond, recovering from the death of his wife, is falling to pieces. Taking the advice of a friend, M sends him on a necessary mission to Japan, which he hopes will restore Bond’s spirits. What seems at first to be a rather placid visit soons turns risky as Bond agrees to acquire secrets about the Russians in exchange for carrying out a lovely mission for the Japanese government. What he encounters is the culmination of the previous two Bond novels, and the last half of the unique is virtually unputdownable.
This is the best writing of Fleming’s career, and his descriptions of Bond’s disintegration are surprisingly spicy. The final hundred pages or so are horrifying and gripping; never before had Fleming demonstrated such mastery of his craft or technical skill at setting up a denouement. The tension becomes almost unbearable.
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“You Only Live Twice” is not an uplifting book, but it is a important book in the Bond series, and mighty better than its successor, the pale and posthumously published “Man With the Golden Gun.” Those expecting slam-bang action will have to wait until the middle and final chapters, but the rewards are worth the patience. This is a beautiful unusual, but I wouldn’t launch here if I were fair discovering Fleming’s Bond novels.
Taking spot nine months after the tragic ending of On Her Majesty’s Secret Service, You Only Live Twice was the last of Ian Fleming’s truly completed Bond books. (The Man With The Golden Gun, released after Fleming’s untimely death, is considered by many to be only a first draft.) It also served as the conclusion to the trilogy, beginning in Thunderball and continuing through OHMSS, that detailed James Bond’s memoir battle against Ernest Stavro Blofeld, founder of SPECTRE and essentially the anti-Bond. (Blofeld, we are reminded, refrains from almost all excessive behavior — even being described as a virgin in Thunderball though he later somehow contracted syphillis in the later books. Of course, while he doesn’t smoke or drink, he does seem to utilize a lot of time thinking up ways to blow up the world.) While Fleming’s prose is better than ever in this original (showing his uncanny ability to mix sophisticated urbanity with hardboiled cynicism), its smooth somewhat of a disappointing extinguish to the trilogy.
The state does inaugurate out quite promisingly. Nine months following the death of his wife, James Bond has sunk into an alcoholic wave of depression. M, rather frosty hearted in this book after being humanized in OHMSS, comes finish to terminating his service but instead, gives Bond a mission designed to respark his admire of espionage. Bond is sent to Japan to try to convince the head of the Japanese secret service — Tiger Tanaka — to ally himself with the English. These sections of the book are very strong. Bond’s mission is believable, the set (which is quite cynical while detailing how even allies like America and England are actually rivals when it comes to espionage) is compelling, and Tiger Tanaka is one of Fleming’s strongest connections. The scenes in which Bond learns about Japanese culture (while containing the well-meaning condascension that of which Fleming — like most writers of that era regardless of genre or nationality — was often guilty) are well-written and actually quite captivating. Quite slack in the book, Tanaka recruits Bond to investigate the Suicide Gardens of the mysterious Dr. Shatterhand (again, a very promising premise — Shatterhand basically has constructed a garden of poisonous plants designed to serve visitors to commit suicide) . This investigation leads to Bond’s final battle with Blofeld and it is here that the book, unfortunately, disappoints. Blofeld feels like a tacked-on addition and, unlike the previous books, his spot makes absolutely no sense. (Fleming even admits this when Bond concludes that Blofeld’s gone insane — however, his device is so ludicrous that it actually detracts from his residence as a salubrious antagonist to Bond.) Whereas the previous books made Blofeld as inviting a character as Bond, in this book both of them feel a petite bit bland and as a result, their final battle doesn’t carry the emotional wallop one might have hoped for.
However, in Fleming’s defense, it should be eminent that he was quite ill when he wrote this book and it is a testament to his often maligned talents that, even while ailing, he smooth managed to make a book that — while uneven as a whole — aloof contained some fantastically strong early scenes and a character as bright as Tiger Tanaka. No, this book is not perfect or even one of the best Bond novels but it will peaceful be enoyed by fans of the unique Fleming novels.
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