The Man With The Golden Gun (1965) (Bond #13) by Ian Fleming. This book is set one year after the events of You Only Live Twice. That story ended with Bond going missing, presumed dead. In fact he was in the hands of the Russians who managed to brainwash him and direct his talents against M himself as depicted in this book. Captured by the secret service and treated by their best brain doctor, it is decided to set him on a no win course.
Either Bond can be set aside for dismal office duties, never to be trusted again until he ultimately resigns, or he can be given a mission he can not succeed at. The latter is deemed the better option for it offers the Service just the dullest glimmer of hope that Bond can be rescued.
The mission is simple: Find and kill an assassin called Scaramanga, the owner of the “Golden Gun”, the world’s best shot and it’s deadliest killer.
Simple.
Unlike the movie version, which was in my opinion very bad, the novel is set in Jamaica, sight of some of Bond’s most thrilling adventures. Mary Goodnight is along for the ride, and where the film had be as a bubble-headed blond, the novel provides a more attractive version of her.
There is a resort being built, but it is failing. Scaramanga heads up a consortium of international evil-doers and he is trying to milk them for more money. There is a meeting held at the uncompleted resort and Bond manages to get himself invited, as you knew he would.
This novel has all the action and adventure you might desire in a Bond novel, the villain is almost too cock-sure, the group around him able to break through Bond’s guise and lay a plan for his death, but Bond has a few helpers come out of hiding to assist. Mr. Fleming’s love of the island is on full display in this outing. And with the release of the latest Bond novel, With A Mind To Kill by Anthony Horowitz, set two weeks after this book, it is imperative that you delve through You Only Live Twice and The man With The Golden Gun to insure you have the events set firmly in your mind.
And if you don’t want to read the new book, you can fully enjoy this shining example of the Bondman view of this little slice of paradise. ( )

Rating: 3* of five

I felt generous. The 1974 film, which is what I'm rating, is more or less a 2-star experience. Oh me oh my...an AMC Hornet, an AMC Matador, Simon Templar....I mean Roger Moore!...wearing loser suits...I mean leisure suits!...and the most horrendously offensive Southern stereotype sheriff in the history of moviemaking adds up to some seriously noxious stuff. Then there's the damnfool idiot chop-socky pandering, and the concomitant "Oriental" stereotypes...ugh.

Maud Adams is GORGEOUS. She's just luminous in or out of her clothes. Tattoo from Fantasy Island is the houseboy to the baddie, resulting in a regrettable lack of hunky blond henchrats for me to ogle. Britt Ekland, Peter Sellers' ex, plays the stupidest secret agent imaginable, who manages to get herself locked in the trunk of the baddies' FLYING AMC MATADOR *oh dear goddesses please keep my dinner down* with the macguffin in her handbag which she hasn't had the common sense to drop...well, it's ridiculous even for a Bond movie.

The ending is...it's...epic. Titanic. So awful, so ridiculous, so completely...I...words do not exist yet for the sensation of revolted, horrified, amused, aesthetically affronted...well.

The title tune is sung by Lulu. I do not know why they chose this singer or this tune. It's just awful. Hideous.

I didn't lke 1974 the first time around, and I don't like it any better this time. Oh wait...Bond's Bangkok hotel room was way cool, turquoise shantung walls and marvelous decorative accessories and wonderful closets...you see where my mind was. The "story" (which doesn't resemble the novel too terrible much) sure as hell wasn't doin' it. ( )