Hard on the heels of the news that Ian Fleming’s publishers have “edited” its new edition of the James Bond novels to coincide with the 70th anniversary of Casino Royale (a cracker) to omit some non-current references to race, there arrives a new version of James Bond. On His Majesty’s Secret Service, by Charlie Higson, is Bond as a sensitivity reader might have created him.
As The Spectator reviewer observed, “our hero has somehow become the modern age in arms, a Centrist Dad with a sidearm.” Instead of bad Bond, we get 21st century Bond. Whaddya know? He’s rubbish.
