Disclaimer: I will try lay down my thoughts as clearly as possible without dreadfully tarnishing a magnificent piece of literature. I apologize ahead of time for saying both too much and yet too little.
Question: What do most of them have in common?
Answer: A complete lack of reality!
That being said, today I found myself completely captivated by one of my all time favorite love stories ever - On Her Majesty's Secret Service by Ian Fleming. I even caught myself entirely believing the half baked plot and the proposed possibility of happily ever after.
First off, just to be superfluous I should hope everyone knows of James Bond, the dashing British Secret Service Agent who is known as much for his deadly aim as he is for his womanizing, the man who is responsible for saving the world many times over and breaking as many hearts.
That being said, the story that Ian weaves is one of death defying action, with classic cloak and dagger one would expect from a Bond Novel.
The twist is that in the background of the entire story, there is this girl that as is seems would be absolutely perfect for James. But not like so many of the other girls James has been involved with, Tracy possesses a believable personality, mixed with an unbelievable past. The type of past that would trap James’s intellect and desires, but with no malice pretence.
Their courtship was both fanciful and somehow still traditional. Spending time both strolling through gardens and being chased by mad gunmen.
As you read the story with all the twists and turns, you slowly forget that they are going to be together forever and at that point that idea does not seem all that unrealistic. Then as you read, James saves the day and you are stuck thinking in the back of your mind, “wait this can’t be - James Bond is going to get married to a woman he really loves?”
Then you gasp as he does, scrunching up in the fetal position waiting for the once perfect novel to bite the dust. But then Ian surprises you yet again with that damn last page. First your lip begins to quiver as your body melts in the chair. Your heart actually begins to bleed for James. You empathize for a man who, by all rights has been through more than any man should.
That’s when it hit me! Ian Fleming made me believe in love stories again!
Damn it – now I will have to go back and read The Notebook by Nicholas Sparks all over again.
