The Man with the Golden Typewriter

by Bloomsbury Publishing

  My contribution to The Book Collector was to save it from extinction and pay the costs of its foundation as a company and I have never pretended to be of more use to the company than as an occasional host.

  You say that Percy also agrees that I should pay the auditors’ fee. If that is so, which I have yet to hear from him, I shall at once reconsider my position vis-à-vis The Book Collector and arrange by one means or another to sever any connection with it.

  But these are strong words and I hope you will agree that the periodical can continue on its way in its previous cheerful, if rather happy-go-lucky, fashion.

  To which Hayward replied, ‘You say that you were “rather surprised” – you bet I was rather surprised too! I innocently supposed that you would jump at the opportunity of lending a hand.’ He also pointed out that contributors were never paid, except when they were in the direst of financial positions. And so it all went on.

  FROM WILLIAM PLOMER

  12th April, 1959

  Dear I,

  I’ve greatly enjoyed The Hildebrand Rarity. “Whacko!”3 seems the best comment. I found Liz a little underdone at first, but she certainly redeemed herself in the end. A few stray comments: [. . .]

  The ending is excellent – tantalizing. I hope Bond got the Corrector as a souvenir – and managed to remember to collect the tail of the sting-ray he killed before embarking for Chagrin. (I’m not quite happy about the single palm tree – I feel it would have collapsed under so many boobies, &c. Could there perhaps be a ruined “installation” of some sort left over from the War? It would lend atmosphere. Otherwise Chagrin suggests slightly one of those comic desert islands so hackneyed of caricaturists. Or do I fuss & quibble too much?) The story has been much enjoyed by your g.r. (gentle reader).

  i)

  Shall I keep the manuscript until further notice?

  ii)

  pass it on to anybody else at 30 Bedford Square?

  iii)

  try & post it or have it posted to you, in spite of the 3-inch bolts that hold it together?

  iv)

  or what

  TO WILLIAM PLOMER

  14th April, 1959

  Thank you a thousand times for the encouraging and hilarious examination of “The Hildebrand Rarity”. You really are marvellously prompt at doing my homework for me and I shall, of course, slavishly obey your instructions and amend accordingly.

  Michael Howard wants to read it, so could you please pass it on to him and I will, in due course, send a lorry to collect it.

  The Spectator has sent back my piece about Chandler saying it is too long for them. I dare say Shakespeare used to run into this sort of trouble, but I shall now send it on to Encounter as quick as I can before the whole subject goes stale.

  I am in the grips of the most ghastly series of tele-folk and I have two meetings at Capes with these people this afternoon. I suppose one day I shall have to accept the basket of golden coconuts they persist in offering me, or at any rate saying that perhaps they might offer me in certain circumstances. Ah me!

  FROM WILLIAM PLOMER

  Next came ‘From a View to a Kill’.

  18th April, 1959

  My dear I,

  Terribly exciting! How do you do it? Brilliant opening – excellent Bond’s-eye-view of Paris (which was overdue) – a nice plain name for the girl for a change – tension well maintained – Excellent climax. Very few quibbles but . . . [Amongst Plomer’s points, which mostly concerned Fleming’s erroneous descriptions of flowers was: ‘Brown squirrels are generally, I think, called red squirrels.’]

  I take off my crash-helmet to you. I can’t wait for the next story – at least, I can – I must – because I’m about to make a little sortie to Bavaria, & expect to be back by mid-May. By then you will have written several more, I hope.

  Unless told to the contrary I’ll pass the typescript on to Michael Howard before I go.

  TO WILLIAM PLOMER

  ‘Risico’, which was perhaps the story with which Fleming felt least happy, followed.

  12th May, 1959

  Following the straight left I delivered about two weeks ago and which will be waiting for you on your return, here comes a nasty right hook in the shape of the fourth short story of the bunch of five.

  My suggestion is that we should put these four together in a book with the fifth, “Quantum of Solace”, in the middle of them, and call it:

  THE ROUGH WITH THE SMOOTH.

  Five Secret Exploits

  of

  James Bond.

  I suggest starting with “From A View To A Kill” then “Man’s Work”, then “Quantum of Solace”, “Risiko”[sic] and finishing with “The Hildebrand Rarity”.

  I have heard nothing from Michael on the first two you shunted on to him but you might care to suggest to him that we could discuss the whole project when I get back from Venice, where I am taking Anne on Thursday, around June 1st.

  Sorry to shovel these two heavy spadefuls on to the old beetle’s back but that definitely completes your stint for this year.

  FROM WILLIAM PLOMER

  13th May, 1959

  My dear I,

  I placed “Risico” on the top of the mounds of typescript awaiting me, & read it with my usual keen curiosity to see what you have written. The Italian setting makes a nice change & the sandy purlieus of the Lido are nicely touched in. The business of the Grundig chair is adroit – I think Bond ought to have noticed it, & smelt a rat if not a grundig. A nice moment when the pursuer is blown up – another when the central harpooner is seen to be Colombo. Perhaps because Colombo turns out to be so cosy & cordial, the tension is much relaxed, and the climax is (to me) less exciting than it ought to be. In fact, I think it the least exciting of the collection of short stories so far. Would it perhaps be possible to keep the reader in suspense a bit longer by making Colombo keep Bond in suspense a bit longer? But I don’t suppose you want to alter or revise what you have written, & perhaps I am being too fussy. But in spite of the new setting (which I’m all in favour of) I feel that perhaps this story is a little too close to formula and not quite rich enough in those little sardonic or mondain inventions or details you use so well.

  I’ll pass the typescript on to Michael Howard. [. . .]

  I enclose a little bunch of quibbles wh. I hope will be useful.

  p. 6, l. 4 up – “wry sense of humour”? The word “wry” is terribly overworked by fictionists at present, & is commonly attached to a smile, laugh, or grin. I don’t like it any better attached to a sense of humour. I think what you mean is that M. was ironically conscious of his obsessions, or that he could regard them with a half-humoured detachment. Yes? Please not “wry” [. . .]

  p. 54, l. 4–6 “sickening thud.” The most worn of all trite expressions. Even “horrible thump” would be better. “Spread-eagled” seems also a bit worn, antique and heraldic. Why not say “and lay in a grotesque heap, with one dislocated leg protruding”? Or something of that sort.

  Now I think you must check your Italian spelling [. . .]

  FROM WILLIAM PLOMER

  17th May, 1959

  My dear Ian,

  Man’s Work is most exciting, & I’ve much enjoyed it. I enclose a few comments.

  I am passing the story on to Michael together with your plan for the book & your suggestion about discussing the project when you return. I like the order in which you have arranged the contents. The title is not, I think, electrifying.

  I hope you’re both enjoying yourselves very much. Don’t step on any land-mines in the purlieus of the Lido, and if you can think of a better title . . . You could perhaps use Man’s Work as the title, keeping the sub-title about Five Secret Exploits.

  TO MISS NOELA MONEYPENNY, 83 Strong Avenue, Graceville, Brisbane

  25th June, 1959

  Your letter has finally caught up with me here and I am very amused by your query.

  I really can’t remember how I came to give M.’s secretary your name. It seemed to me
a pretty and unusual one and I expect that was the only reason.

  I have just had a look in the London telephone directory where I find there are three Moneypenny’s, all apparently male. I expect, if you looked into the matter, you would find that it is a very old Anglo-Saxon name.

  Anyway, thank you for your charming letter and I am sorry I can’t give you any more interesting or romantic reason for borrowing your name.

  TO WREN HOWARD

  In the hope of giving the firm a much-needed injection of vigour, Cape’s board had appointed an American editor named Robert Knittel. His tenure was short-lived, but he lasted long enough to persuade Fleming to put his film interests in the hands of a professional agent, rather than relying on his own haphazard efforts.

  2nd July, 1959

  Dear Bob,

  Encouraged by Robert Knittel and pestiferated by conflicting interests and bids, I have now placed all my film, television and dramatic rights in the hands of M.C.A. Mr. Laurence Evans of their office here is the man who has taken me under his wing and if and when you get any of these maddening letters from independent producers and other fly-by-nights, would you please pass them straight on to him.

  Bob Knittel said that if I got married to M.C.A. he would write a letter to Jules Stein requesting a red, or at least a pale pink carpet treatment for me, and it would be very kind indeed of Bob if he could do this so that M.C.A. from the top to bottom knows that I have powerful friends and that they have acquired a potential diamond mine!

  Sorry to bother you with all this shilly-shallying but it is a great relief to me to have rid myself of this mink-coated incubus.

  If Mr. Winnick re-appears on the scene, which I think improbable, would you please refer him also to Mr. Evans.

  TO WREN HOWARD

  As early as July 1959 Fleming was getting himself in a tangle over film rights, the question being whether or not in a previous agreement with the Rank Organisation he had signed away Bond in his entirety along with the rights to Moonraker. On 1 July he wrote to Wren Howard, ‘It does seem to me that there is a nasty delayed action bomb ticking away beneath my chair so far as future film and television rights in “James Bond” are concerned’. The matter was eventually clarified, but not before Fleming sent a sharp note to Cape.

  15th July, 1959

  Dear Bob,

  I am rather appalled by the contents of your letter of July 14th and I am very surprised that the strongly adverse opinion of [law firm] Rubin stein Nash about the “Moonraker” contract was not reported to me way back in April and May.

  It was quite by chance that I myself checked on the “Moonraker” contract and raised just the points of Rubinstein Nash in my letter of July 1st.

  In the meantime, and before signing up with M.C.A., I have sold a one-time television spectacular in “From Russia With Love” to Hubbell Robinson Associates [an offshoot of CBS] and I have also sold the rights to a full length feature film of James Bond of which I am now doing the script. This was sold to Xanadu Productions, an independent producer belonging to a friend of mine.

  I regard this as a very serious matter indeed unless we can find some way out of the mess. What do you advise?

  There seems to me to be two possibilities:

  a) Either go ahead and hope that Rank won’t notice but, in this case, am I being fair to the two recent purchasers and shall I not be placing myself as well as them in a position of considerable jeopardy?

  b) Would it be best to write a nonchalant letter to Miss Joyce Briggs along the lines of the enclosed?

  I must say that, with the best will in the world, I am surprised that this contract with Ranks was not more carefully negotiated by Jonathan Capes and that I was not informed earlier of the serious situation revealed in April and May of this year, despite the fact that we had considerable correspondence about similar doubts in the case of the “Casino Royale” contract.

  TO M. HOWARD

  1st October, 1959

  Dear Michael,

  I have thought over the question of a title and I rather like ‘FOR YOUR EYES ONLY’. This used to be stamped on secret papers in the early days of the war and is still occasionally in use.

  If you like this, it could perhaps go on the jacket above a really splendid colour photograph extended to the borders of a fine rule human eye (with a grey iris – this is James Bond’s). The pinkish surround could then be bled upwards and downwards into, say, a pale grey, on which the lettering could be superimposed.

  I think this could be made handsome and startling.

  If you like this idea, perhaps we could re-title ‘Man’s Work’ accordingly and start the book with it. If you could let me have that story back I could write in an appropriate sentence or two embodying the title.

  TO M. HOWARD

  26th October, 1959

  Dear Michael,

  Here is Dicky Chopping’s proof which I discussed with you on the telephone. Personally, I think it is absolutely splendid and I’m so glad you are inclined to agree, even without seeing it.

  I also enclose Dicky Chopping’s comments for your professional eye. Will you please take it all on from here with Dicky, as I have got to be away for the whole of November?

  My only immediate comments, with which I think Dicky agrees, are that the colours should be as bold as he can possibly make them and I’m prepared to sacrifice the grey-blue of James Bond’s eyes for a brighter blue if Dicky would prefer it.

  I explained to Dicky that logically “For Your Eyes Only” should be stamped on a portion of a document – at the top of it and not interfering with the text – and I enclose a draft of how this might look on a real document and with words which would, in fact, be appropriate to my story. The title should be red and perhaps, if it amused Dicky, rather fuzzy as if it really were a rubber stamp.

  I really do think Dicky is a most ingenious chap. If he were wise he would put himself entirely in our hands and we could keep him constantly supplied with exciting work.

  Over to you.

  P.S. Having dictated a draft scrap for Dicky, I think I had better leave it to you and him how and where it, or part of it, is used in his design.

  TO D. N. DAVIES, ESQ., Messrs. Lentheric, 17 Old Bond Street, W.1.

  D. N. Davies, of the toiletry specialists Lentheric, wrote to congratulate Fleming for mentioning his firm’s products and enclosed a sample for his delectation. En passant, he mentioned that his wife had worked with Fleming in Naval Intelligence during the war.

  10th December, 1959

  Thank you very much indeed for your kind letter of December 2nd and for the fine Lentheric travelling kit you were kind enough to send me. I am glad to see that the case leaves plenty of room for a Beretta!

  As a matter of fact, it is not James Bond who uses your, or any other, shaving lotions. I am ashamed to say that it is very often a subsidiary character or occasionally a villain. But we must assume that, even with Lentheric, all your customers can’t be heroes!

  I do indeed remember your wife. Patricia Trehearne was by far the prettiest girl in the whole of Naval Intelligence and she brought a light of varying intensity into all our eyes. It is only right that she should have entered into such a fragrant union with the head man at Lentheric. Please give her my warmest regards.

  Again with many thanks for your kindly inspiration.

  11

  The Chandler Letters

  ‘Not many people knew Chandler, so I will not apologise for the triviality of our correspondence. It fitted in with our relationship – the half-amused, ragging relationship of two writers working the same thin, almost-extinct literary seam, who like each other’s work.’

  Ian Fleming, London Magazine, December 1959

  When Raymond Chandler published his first story in 1933 it was a defining moment in his career. ‘After that,’ he wrote, ‘I never looked back, although I had a good many uneasy periods looking forward.’ Much the same could have been said of Fleming, and indeed their lives followed strangely paral
lel courses. Born in Chicago, 1888, Chandler was educated in Britain at Dulwich College – even took British citizenship – and worked in a variety of jobs that included journalism and a spell at the Admiralty, before finding his true metier. By the time the two men met, in 1955, Chandler was famous for his punchy crime books starring private eye Philip Marlowe, the most recent of which (appropriately titled The Long Goodbye) had come out in 1953. But, at the age of sixty-six, he was in decline. Plagued throughout his life by alcoholism and depression, he reached a nadir following the death of his wife in December 1954. After a botched suicide attempt in February 1955 he sold his home in La Jolla, California, and returned to Britain.

  It was in May 1955, at a lunch given by the poet Stephen Spender and his wife Natasha, that the two authors’ paths crossed. Fleming admired Chandler for his naked display of bereavement but at the same time was fascinated by the picture of decaying genius that he presented. ‘He must have been a very good-looking man,’ he recorded, ‘but the good, square face was puffy and unkempt with drink. In talking he never ceased making ugly, Hapsburg lip grimaces while his head stretched away from you, looking along his right or left shoulder as if you had bad breath. When he did look at you he saw everything and remembered days later to criticise the tie or shirt you had been wearing. Everything he said had authority . . .’

  They had much in common: they enjoyed the same writers, patronised the same bookseller, Mr Francis of Prince’s Arcade, and were prone to the same moments of self-doubt. When Fleming lent him a copy of Moonraker Chandler rang a few days later to say how much he had liked it and to ask if a few words of praise would help. For Fleming, who was undergoing a crisis of confidence, it was just the boost he needed. ‘Rather unattractively’, he wrote, ‘I took him up on this suggestion . . .’

  TO CHANDLER

  26th May, 1955

  Your elegant writing paper makes you sound very much at home, and I shall call you up next week and see if you would like to walk round the corner and pay us a visit.

  Incidentally a good restaurant in your neighbourhood is Overton’s, directly opposite Victoria station. Book a table and go upstairs where you will find an enchanting Victorian interior and the best pâté maison in London.