Solo by William Boyd is not that book.
Seriously? What I wanted was Daniel Craig. Smart, stylish, strong. What I got was a middle-aged lecherous drunk in khaki pants and an Aertex shirt, who has to be absolutely enormous given that all he ever does is eat and drink.
Bond has a drink while thinking about what he’d like to eat. Then he eats while choosing his next drink. Then he has a few drinks on the way to the office, where he’s given an assignment and a toilet bag. No car. No gun. No gadgets. A toilet bag. Then it’s off to a café for a bite, a few more drinks at a hotel where he ogles a woman, feels “a little animalistic quiver of desire low in his gut and his loins” – his gut AND his loins! – then settles his nerves with another nip at the bar.
Finally Bond is off to Africa, where – shocker – the field agent is an impossibly young and beautiful woman, and – spoiler alert! – he shags her.
I can’t take another word. Not that I need some navel-gazing literary tosh, mind you. Just a light read with a hero that does more than eat, drink and be leery. Any recommendations?