Dennis Wheatley

All this study will be the death of me; to this end I've been hiding from its evil clutches by escaping into some Dennis Wheatley. An almost shameful thing to say in this day and age, I know - however I've always found the 'Roger Brook' series to be good value, and whilst I won't even apologise or try to excuse some of the rascist language and ideology present in Wheatley's books, I can't quite bring myself to condem out of hand such good adventure writing. At the moment I'm re-reading 'The Man Who Killed the King' and I find it a pleasant diversion to read through the through the final days of the Ancien Regime and the rise of the great trerror preceeding the Napoleanic era.

It's interesting to compare the Roger Brook / James Bond canons. Both characters are only children, spys, of vaguely Scottish extraction, have a single master that they (usually) defer to, both are ready to give their all for King/Queen and country and both are to be found in roughly 12 volumes a-piece. Although Roger Brook at least has had the good fortune of dying. Both authors, Wheatley and Fleming, were upper middle class sorts, both men's writing contains rascist content and to some extent both authors believed that 'evil' people can easily be recognised as such through their physical characteristics (or Europeaness). Both authors served as British officers engaged in WW2 'Intelligence' related areas. Probably the biggest difference between the two authors lies in their styles of writing. Fleming has been widely praised for his 'dash' and elan, for the exciting flow of his books and for his sharp eye for (then current) period detail. Fleming has also been noted for his (if not with praise) tendency towards sado-masochism. Wheatley also presents a certain amount of sado-masochistic content, however his work is often seen as being much more dull in its style, but nonetheless, historically accurate; a good yard type of writer comparable with the likes of Bulldog Drummond et al (as has Fleming been compared also). Sounds terrible really. I wonder why I bother to read it all?

Probably for prose such as this:

The scent and smoke and sweat of a casino are nauseating at three in the morning. Then the soul-erosion produced by high gambling - a compost of greed and fear and nervous tension - becomes unbearable and the senses awake and revolt from it (Fleming, Casino Royale, 1953: 1).

Roger's fists clenched spasmodically and his teeth closed with a vicious snap. It was all he could do to restrain himself from striding after de Batz, boxing his ears and kicking him into the road ... No doubt he would meet de Batz again in due course on the continent, and he could then spit this French turkey-cock on a yard of good Toledo steel without fear of legal repercussions (Wheatley, The Man Who Killed the King, 1951: 448).

Ye Ha! (With apologies to the French)