Ian Fleming Talking…1964—and James Bond gets his 13th assignment
by John Cruesemann (Daily Express, Jan. 2, 1964)
In Who’s Who he lists his output as “various novels of suspense,” which might mean anything. Until you come to look at his name again: Ian Fleming, creator of the most enviable hero of our day—James Bond.
In two weeks’ time Fleming flies off to Jamaica to start on Novel No. 13. And last night he talked easily about Bond and himself for, unlike many writers who have become bored with their creations, Fleming still likes Bond a lot.
“I’ve written for 12 years now,” he said. “Of course, one is getting rather old for blondes and guns.” (Fleming is 55.) “The trouble with my kind of writing is that action must be constant. And that requires invention.”
How was Bond invented in the first place?
“He just came out of thin air. There he was: a compound of secret agents and commando types I had met during the war.” From 1939 to 1945 Ian Fleming was Personal Assistant to the Director of Naval Intelligence, rising to Commander R.N.V.R.
“The odd thing about Bond is that I didn’t think of him as a ‘character’ at all. I didn’t mean him to have any characteristics except to be a blunt instrument in the hands of Government. But over the years he has become a character largely exaggerated in the public mind.
“The paradox is I made him rather anonymous. Quite deliberately. This has enabled people to identify themselves with him.
“People have simply put their own overcoats on James Bond and built him into what they admire. In my books I don’t actually describe him at all.
“There are all sorts of popular notions. Bond is a gourmet. In fact he just happens to have a good meal now and then, like most of us enjoyed for two days last week.
“He very seldom drinks wine, an occasional glass of very good champagne. That doesn’t make him a wine snob though. Basically he is a hard liquor man.”
His clothes
Fleming lit another cigarette—“I would like to smoke less, I’ve got a box that holds only 10 cigarettes. The answer I found was to refill it rapidly”—then he went on—
“There is this business about Bond being fastidious over clothes. His shoes, for instance. In fact I’ve never mentioned them, except to say he doesn’t like laces. Any more than he likes buttons. He’s fond of black silk knitted ties, I agree. But there is no snobbery about his clothes.”
His shirts
I pointed out that two Bond films have stamped an image—Sean Connery. Is he as Fleming conceived the character?
“Yes. I believe he is. He’s good, you know. One thing I put my foot down about when they planned the first film was to choose an unknown actor who wasn’t yet typed.”
Was there anything of Bond in himself? “Nothing. Except that we both happen to like short-sleeved shirts. And I’ve been to all the places he has—so that I can describe them.
“And during the war I got mixed up in a lot of light hearted things.” Which sounds a typical bit of English under-statement, until Fleming smartly pointed out: “Bond is Scottish. On both sides, as I shall explain in my next book.”
Where actually did he get his name?
“Well, there again, I wanted the flattest name possible. One of my ‘bibles’ in Jamaica is a book called Birds of the West Indies by James Bond. That sounded all right to me.
“Two years ago the real Mrs. James Bond wrote to me rather pulling my leg. Her husband is a distinguished American ornithologist, a splendid chap, I believe.”
Fleming continued: “I take a lot from life—plots I mean. They are bizarre, but they are made up of real things.
“Espionage is like an iceberg. So much more is hidden beneath the waves. The trouble is espionage always goes one better than a plot I can think up myself.”
Bond’s attitude towards his girl friends has been criticised as unchivalrous.
“Oh, nonsense,” was the loyal reply. “Everybody complains he leaves the girl behind in some place like Mexico. But he has to get back to headquarter in London, you see. After all he is on a job.”
His future
Now in reverse Fleming is off to his head-quarters in the West Indies. “I can’t put Bond into retirement. Oh, it’s all been a tremendous lark. I never look back on the past: I have no regrets. I am happily married.”
He paused thoughtfully: “It’s just a question of knowing what Bond does next.”
Note: So what on earth did Fleming mean when he said “Bond is Scottish. On both sides, as I shall explain in my next book.” How could he explain this, since in the previous book he gave Bond a Swiss mother? Did he have a brain fart and temporarily forget that? As for TMWTGG, Bond ironically calls himself a Scottish peasant, but that’s it. What Fleming meant shall forever remain a mystery.
The penultimate paragraph of this interview contains two lies by the way. The first is Fleming’s claim to be “happily married.” In reality his marriage to Ann was under horrible strain. “I fear that since the rise of James Bond you do not care for a personality that in any way can compete with yours,” she wrote to him. “If you were well and we were both younger our marriage would be over; but I love you and want to look after you, and grind my teeth when you smoke, and am pleased when you refrain from the deadly gin after whisky, and because of these things I think it would be worth your while to put yourself out a little to do things with me and for me.”
He responded “But for my love for you and Caspar I would welcome the freedom which you threaten me with. It has all been getting worse and worse…Either we survive it or we don’t. There is no one else in my life. There is a whole cohort in yours. I am lonely, jealous and ill. Leave me my pleasures as I leave you yours. Above all, have compassion.”
Fleming’s second lie was “I can’t put Bond into retirement." As Fleming’s letters made clear, he intended TMWTGG to be the final Bond book. He had often toyed with the idea of dropping Bond before, but now—thanks to ill health and a decreasing interest in reading or writing fiction—his threats rang true. As he wrote to his close friend and unofficial editor William Plomer: “I feel totally ‘remis’ though not yet up to correcting my stupid book—or rather the last 3rd of it, but I shall get down to it next week and then you & I will plan whether to publish in 1965 or give it another year’s working over so that we can go out with a bang instead of a whimper.”