I don't imagine Fleming wrote a better 007 novel. Three volumes in, he's now comfortable enough with the formula to deviate from it in inspired ways. Here, he shows a "typical" working week for Bond. He also stretches himself in his ultra-romantic depiction of espionage. He's still conflating sex with torture, indulging in monographs on high-stakes gambling and automobiles, & staging violent scenes of derring-do. But he also hints at the real dullness of spycraft (Bond spends Mondays going over govt. memos). And for the first time, he includes the truly absurd plots that the movies have propagated.
(Thankfully, Moonraker bears no resemblance to the 1979 film, which is arguably the worst in the series.)
The book begins with the humdrum office work, but quickly moves beyond. M asks Bond to bust Britain's top rocket expert for card cheating at his gentleman's club. Fleming loves cardplay, but this book's game of bridge isn't nearly as much of a knucklebiter as Casino Royale's baccarat. The plot revs up though, when Bond is tasked with investigating a murder that ties in with the prototype rocket itself. Turns out, the project is a front for unreformed Nazis, funded by Commies, who plan to nuke London!
So the book climaxes in a farfetched, highly entertaining bit of action, as well as the rescue of yet another comely ingenue. It all happens within a week in southern England; the novel benefits from this concision and unity. The arc from mundane to fantastical is tight, thrilling, &, given the genre, plausible
writer: Ian Fleming