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London, March 2009
Cold Blood by James Fleming
from The Times review by Giles Whittell:
"......extraordinary use of plot and pace and language ........ - this book is a must." read more
Introduction
My uncle was Ian Fleming. His fictional hero was James Bond, a politically incorrect spy who battled the cold war Reds. My fictional hero is Charlie Doig, a politically incorrect naturalist who is half Russian and battles the revolutionary Reds. And there the similarity between Ian and myself ends, except for a shared taste for beautiful women, strong drink and coloured socks.
When my editor told friends he was working with the nephew of the great Ian, I knew his audience would immediately picture me as a Sean Connery figure, a man with an easy way with a Walther PPK, who had a light touch on the accelerator of a DB5 and was adept at sensitively cupping a 34B. When they met me they saw a nervous first-time author in his fifties suffering from a bad attack of introspection.
I soon realised this would get me nowhere. Now I am my own man, with my own style and my own reputation. And with Charlie Doig as my alter ego, I no longer need to suffer comparisons with yesterday’s celluloid hero. When my editor next trots me out, his audience will expect to see a tall, blue-eyed Ruski with a 42-inch chest, a passionate hatred of Marxism and skills with weaponry that would shame the SAS.
