(My own photo)

We live in a very neutered age. Everything is very watered down. Everything is fake or feels fake. People walk on eggshells, afraid to offend. Even writers. And writers are supposed to offend. Not because it’s “shocking” or because they are just railing against cancel culture or trying to be alt-right or something. But because writers are supposed to communicate truth. Sometimes that means sharing raw subconsious feelings. Taking what people secretly think and putting it on the page for all to see.

By the way, none of those are reasons for why James Bond’s sexism is refreshing.

No, the reason is because while most male characters in modern literature and media have been effectively castrated in order to please feminist sensibilities, almost all shelf space anymore is devoted to so-called “romantic fantasy,” aka porn, aka masturbatory material for women. There are niches, too. Like the “monsterbait” sub-niche. There’s even a growing Bigfoot sub-niche.

Women read more than men, yes. But most of what they are reading is smut so they can jack off.

Therefore, I posit that if it’s okay for women’s reading demands to fill the shelves of Barnes & Noble with pornographic “literature,” it should be more than okay to feature a handful of books with some lovely male sexism. If I’m to contend with reams of books featuring minotaurs jizzing on college girls, I should be able to read books with male thoughts that men think all the time anyway. Only flabby-armed neckbearded soyjack male feminists will disagree. It should be my right, actually, to not only read it but to write it.

In fact, there should be more male sexism in books these days. We’re at a severe deficit. Scientists whine about a population collapse. I’m here pointing out the much bigger concern of there being inadequate male chauvinism in reading material.

I do try to help with my own books when I can, though even I’m not doing my part to bridge the gap.

I used to work at Barnes & Noble many years ago. One night some conservative asshole came up to me at the “cashwrap” (the check-out counter) and complained because he had come across a book titled “The No Asshole Rule” on display and he was offended. My supervisor happened to be nearby, a cute middle-aged redhead woman who dressed like a carnival fortune teller. She informed him diplomatically that Barnes & Noble did not “censor” any of their books. He huffed and walked away.

So, there you go. Bond can have his license to kill. I want authors to have a license to depict women as cunts whenever they feel like it.

I recently read Casino Royale, Ian Fleming’s inaugural James Bond book. I also watched the movie as well, so I could compare it to the book. I have to say, the movie is far better. I’ve never been a big Bond fan. I remember sort of liking some of the older Sean Connery films as a kid, but being turned off by the cartooniness in the ’90s Pierce Brosnan Bonds. I never watched any of the gritty Daniel Craig ones when they first premiered. But Casino Royale is a very solid action flick.

The first Bond book is an odd thing. Rather than starting off with an explosive narrative to really grab your attention, Fleming opts for something more low-key and subtle. An exclusive card game. It almost feels like it should be the third or fourth book in the series rather than the first. But it’s actually the perfect first book, because you get a good look into Bond’s psyche and understand his desperation as a man and a secret agent.

(By Designed by Empire Design – http://www.dailymail.co.uk/home/moslive/article-2085176/James-Bond-movies-Moonraker-Casino-Royale–choose-favourite-poster.html, Fair use, https://en.wikipedia.org/w/index.php?curid=37453644)

I can see why the movie translated the source material so well, though it begins with a more actiony first act.The main plot is basically the same. Bankrupt Le Chiffre, an accountant for bad guys, in a game of poker (baccarat in the book), to hurt his financiers. In the book it’s the Soviets, while in the movie it’s a complex of arms dealers and tin pot dictators. At stake is $150M, which seems a pitiful sum. There are cryptocurrencies based on Pokemons that have higher market caps. But whatever.

While watching the film, I panicked at the idea that Fleming’s sexism might be expunged from its cinematic counterpart. I was relieved to see Bond still refer to his female love interest Vesper as a bitch. Several times. Just like in the book. It’s actually one of the things that made the book stand out when it was published back in 1953. Fleming also adds some other flourishes, such as this one on Page 34, after Bond discovers he’s to be saddled with a woman assistant during his mission:

“Women were for recreation. On a job they got in the way and fogged things up with sex and hurt feelings and all the emotional baggage they carried around. One had to look out for them and take care of them.”

Love it. Because there isn’t a man alive who hasn’t thought that at some point. Especially when it concerns women in the workforce. I could give story after story, but that’s for another time.

There is also this fine nugget on Page 116 after Vesper is kidnapped by Le Chiffre’s agents.

“These blithering women who thought they could do a man’s work. Why the hell couldn’t they stay at home and mind their pots and pans and stick to their frocks and gossip and leave men’s work to the men.”

After which, Bond refers to Vesper as a “silly bitch.”

What makes this hilarious is that it all preceeds Bond evidently falling in love with Vesper after the conclusion of the mission. But the real subtext of Casino Royale is male virility. Or “mojo” as Austin Powers would put it. After having his testicles lashed during the torture session (which is just as the movie depicts) Bond frets about having lost his potency and being afraid to see Vesper again because he’s worried he won’t be able to get a boner. Well, he doesn’t say it right out like that. Fleming couches it all in as British a manner as one can. But the idea is there.

What follows is like a mini romance sequence, wherein Bond attempts to woo Vesper during their oceanside resort stay. Only to discover he’s chasing fool’s gold, as the silly bitch was a turncoat all along, if a reluctant and blackmailed one. All the same, she was already taken by another man. Even Bond has to deal with the reality that every man first learns in junior high school: There is always a guy who got to her first, and it’s never you.

I may continue with the Bond book series. I was honestly losing interest in it until the very end, after the big reveal about Vesper. It’s like how they say in wintertime you should take Vitamin D pills to compensate for the lack of sunlight. Unfortunately, they don’t manufacture sexism pills to make up for a lack of literary chauvinism. So I’ll have to keep reading. My health depends on it.