I noticed a few things as I was transcribing a letter from Ian
Fleming to William Plomer, who served as Fleming's editor and sounding board
for many of the James Bond novels. This was one of the last letters in the
collection and was postmarked June 27th, 1964. Fleming died shortly after, on
August 12th, 1964.
The letter reads:
My poor Wm,
Any moment now, the great animal cow-pat, warm from the anu mondi (grammar
right?) will plop upon your back. There will come the grunt of pain that only
the elite among dung beetles is capable of exnding[?], the limbs will bend like
so many angle-pose lamps (Ink II) x then slowly, courageously straighten
mensdoes[?] to take the extra loed x the brave beetle, cursing as only dung
beetles can curse, will be on his way again down the camel track under the hot
sun, extending petulant sheets of green paper.
Right?
Right.
Now, because I am not at the helm, this pat comes to you uncorrected, so be an
angel x write "Uncorrected Typescript" boldly on the front. Secundo,
expect many small errors such as 'scout' instead of 'secret' (!) on p. 28.
And I really dont want any other than you x Michael to see it in its present
form as I feel it needs much improvement.
I would personally like to take it back to Jamaica x paint the lily next year,
thus skipping a year which will do no harm, halving Cape's profits for 1965,
which they probably deserve, x giving myself about the right-ized stint for my
next semester.
For this is is, alas, the last Bond and again alas!, I mean it. for I really
have run out of both puff x zest and I would not like to short-weight my
faithful readers on the dernier service. But we will talk about that.
Anyway, read it him, x dont
mince the words. There is no point in doing so.
I am here for another good 10 days. In bed, dammit!! But promised an outing to
the X Ray monster tomorrow!! These ship-codas have really got me on my knees.
But I have a darling nurse with whom I hold deliciously infantile
conversations. "That is the West Pier[?]. It is very pleasant to walk upon
piers" "Yes I will walk upon the West Pier this afternoon."
"You might play bingo on the pier. It is an amusing game.' 'Yes, it would
be fun to play bingo on the pier" etc. etc.
Quite a change from the rich babalum I am used to with Annie who comes tomorrow.
The contrast is so sharp that the last time she came down for lunch she put my
pulse up to 120!
Amis was excellent. Just wading through an II class exhibit by a chap called
O.F. Snelling, published by Spearman. Even Shakespeare never had it so good!
Much love
Ian
PS. Congrats on 'The Curfew" - but not enough about you in the Dreupts[?]!
Furthermore, on the envelope, there is another postscript that
reads: "PS. Only you x Michael to read 'the Man' please until we have talked. Ok?"
Three days later, on June 30, 1964, the final letter reads:
My dear Wm,
You have calmed my temperature x blood pressure, reduced the albumen in my
wrine[?] x sent my spirits soaring.
But I would still like to tinker with the book x skip a year. We will discuss,
but bless you as usual.
Ian.
Despite Fleming's plans to skip a year and his seeming
displeasure with the novel, The
Man with the Golden Gun was
published after Fleming's death. In an earlier letter, he also says "
The things that I have been mulling over is the fact that we could
be reading a text that Fleming was dissatisfied with and the ramifications of
that. It doesn't seem from the letters that Fleming intended for his readers to
see this draft. I felt this also tied into our discussion about Virginia Woolf
and Mrs. Dalloway, considering her edits and the
resulting versions of the novel. Which are we, the readers, supposed to see?
But also, on a different note, would the James Bond franchise have
been nearly as successful if there was a definitive end-point in the
series?
Just a quick preliminary comment: "Reduced the albumin in my urine," I would guess.
ReplyDeleteVery interesting letter, though--as is the question of audience (and of end-points).