Carte Blanche

Carte Blanche – Jeffery Deaver

I want to start this review by stating that I’ve read every James Bond novel by Ian Fleming, John Gardner, and Raymond Benson. I’ve also read about 25 Jeffery Deaver novels. I state this because this will be a rather lukewarm review, and I didn’t want readers to think I’m either a James Bond snob who doesn’t think Deaver is up to the task, or a Deaver diehard who can’t stand James Bond.  I will say, though, that I find this pairing a peculiar match.

James Bond, as everyone knows, is the world’s most famous fictitious spy. Jeffery Deaver, on the other hand, is known mainly for crime-solving detective novels that usually involve an element of creepiness. I wasn’t surprised to also find out that, for whatever reason, the marriage between Deaver and Bond only lasted for this one novel.

Lovers of James Bond books know that the literary hero doesn’t really have that much in common with his cinematic counterpart. The brains and grit are definitely there, but the grandiose spectacle of exotic locations and voluptuous women everywhere is somewhat tamed down.  In this book, those elements are tamed down a bit too much, and we read a book that makes us feel as though we want to take a bath every time we take a break from reading.

One of the key villains in our tale is Severan Hydt, who is a garbage/recycle mogul. That alone should make the curious scratch their head.  Why would such an occupation play a key role in a James Bond novel?  It doesn’t really help that the guy is obsessed with death and decay. Now, an obsession with death maybe a cliché when talking about villains, but decay?  This guy likes to watch dead people decompose. His mistress is even an older lady that he will not allow to wear any makeup or lipstick.  Every new wrinkle on her skin that she accumulates is a massive turn on for this odd character with a bizarre fetish.  Give Deaver at least some credit for originality. I guess.

For obvious reasons, the time period for this book is fast forwarded to the present, with Bond being in his young thirties. We hear references to his parents being killed in a mountain climbing accident “back in the 80s”. Familiar characters from the books are also present – M, Moneypenny (‘Penny’), Goodnight, and Leiter amongst a few others.

Missing from the Deaver specialties is the ‘a-ha’ plot twist that’s so prevalent in his books. I kept waiting for a massive plot turn near the end, but there wasn’t one to be found. Maybe there was one, but if it occurred, I may have missed it because I was somewhat disconnected by that point.

If you’re a diehard James Bond fan that grew up with Ian Fleming, don’t write this author off. He really does tell a good story. I would recommend some of the early Lincoln Rhyme novels.  Overall, this is not really a bad book, but it’s not really a good one either. My instincts were correct when I finished this book – Bond and Deaver together left me stirred, but not particularly shaken.