My brother-in-law's assertion that this book is better than the movies based upon it cannot be evaluated here, insofar as I have never seen the movies in question. What seems certain, however, is that it is wildly different from any spy movie I have ever seen--the Bond movies included. In the cinematic versions, the hero prevails through almost inhuman skill and cunning. He is aware at all times of his surroundings, and knows from experience and instinct the best way to succeed. He then applies his perfect marksmanship, well-honed body, and sexual prowess to ensure that outcome. He is the alpha male ideal of mastery, in and out of bed.
The Bond in this book is nothing of the sort. His only talent seems to be a high threshhold for pain, and he is consistently taken by surprise, caught flat-footed, and the victim of higher machinations. In fact, were it not for consistent intervention by his more competent team and, ultimately, a deus ex machina, he would not have made it past the first chapter. This is, of course, a more realistic picture of life. The only thing we can hope for is that our iron will can get us through the perils of existence. It is not, however, edifying. The endorphins released by the alpha male fantasy remain unreleased, and one is left only with the accurate, but unsatisfying realization that neither we nor any other man are golden, and ultimately all that awaits us is pain and betrayal.
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