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On February 7, 2012 By DDD

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It’s Hurricane Day
#Never Say #Never: One Voter’s Journey (2016 edition)
4 Years Later: The Reagan Test
Film Review: Prometheus (vs. Alien)
Book Review: Jeffery Deaver’s Carte Blanche
Adventures in a Hospital Waiting Room (The Baritone Witness)
So what should I blog about, anyway?

X

Previously …

#Never Say #Never: One Voter’s Journey (2016 edition)

#NeverHillary First (and always), it was #NeverHillary. That was the only certainty for me in the 2016 Presidential election. Beyond being the first female Presidential nominee, Hillary brought nothing new to the table. Another family political dynasty. Another old guard “it’s my turn” candidate in the vein of Bob Dole and John McCain. Four more years of a Democratic party that had taken a hard left, the center no longer even visible in the rear view mirror. And more of that elitist liberal smugness that tells us not why they’re right and we’re wrong politically, but why they’re good and we’re bad, generally. #NeverTrump Then, in the primary, it was also #NeverTrump. Because it seemed like a joke. Because he was a representative of a family business dynasty who decided it was his turn to play Presidential candidate. Because his nomination would bring even more years of a Republican party that had chosen “moderate” candidates instead of being true to their center-right, Reagan conservative base. And that Trump smugness, those nicknames for his opponents that told us not why he was right, but why they were bad. But there was no conflict with my two #Never choices. #NeverTrump was easy because he’d never make it. Clearly, he’d self-destruct well before the Republican primary was over. And so I tried to find my candidate in a cast of characters with no clear lead. There was a strange appeal for me of another Bush v. Clinton. Rubio seemed like an up and comer. There were a few more #Nevers in the field as well (looking at you, Christie). Ultimately, I felt like Ted Cruz was the most genuine conservative, despite his sometimes nerdish awkwardness. #IChoseTed And so I voted for Cruz in my state’s primary. It was the most comfortable choice for my principles. And then, like probably happened in your state’s primary, Trump won. He never self-destructed. He said and did all the things that should have ended him, that would have ended any other candidate. But he never stopped winning. And then it was Republican nominee Trump. It was all over for the primaries, except the shouting continued. Pro-Trump forces continued to childishly attack their former opponents and vice versa. It again seemed as though Trump could only self-destruct as he refused to give up the battle against his own side instead of focusing on the war for the general election. #YouCan’tAlwaysGetWhatYouWant Meanwhile, I had to figure out what I was going to do on election day. I was still #NeverHillary, for all the reasons above and many more. That part was easy. But neither of these candidates reflected what I wanted in a President. I’d never thought or prayed about an election as much as in 2016. Gradually, I saw the bigger picture. This election wasn’t about how the candidates had lived their lives, or how many stupid things they’ve said. It was about how they’ll govern. It was about the America they’ll leave us in 2020 or 2024. It wasn’t about how low anyone had slumped in the past, but about who will rise to the challenge for the future. And so, for better or worse, I voted for Trump. Not voting was the only other choice I could make. #ButIfYouTrySometimesYouMightJustFind On election night I was anxious. Both fearful and certain that Clinton would win. The polls showed it. The conventional wisdom believed it. The TV folks seemed even more certain than I was, talking about the somber mood in the Trump camp and the energy at Clinton HQ. They talked about turnout and exit polls and the limited paths to 270 for Trump. What a journey that night was, watching the results roll in. With every Trump win they talked about how it’s not a surprise, not unexpected, but he still had to “break the blue wall.” Hour after hour, he was still the underdog. It was when FoxNews called Wisconsin for Trump that I knew that another President Clinton was not inevitable. And I found myself genuinely relieved. I continued watching as they talked about the somber mood in the Clinton camp and the energy at Trump HQ. As they began to talk about how the polls were wrong and the paths to 270 were limited for Clinton. I watched it on through Trump’s victory speech, going to bed at 3 a.m. on a work night. #YouGetWhatYouNeed And now? I’m cautiously optimistic. Far more optimistic than I would have been with a President-Elect Hillary to write about. I know that’s not the proper thing to say right now. I know social media tells me I’m supposed to be in mourning, grieving the terrible choice that we’ve made. But of the choices we had I think we did the best that we could, especially in an election where all our paradigms were wrong. Because this election wasn’t about right vs. left, conservative vs. liberal or Republican vs. Democrat. It wasn’t about race, or sex, and it wasn’t decided by racists or sexists. It wasn’t about political correctness or the social issue du jour. This election was decided by folks who aren’t driven by ideology. People who just want to live their lives and maybe vote for somebody who will listen to them, give them some straight talk, and be their advocate. And that’s why Trump won. It seems to me that he convinced the blue-collar folks, purportedly the modern democratic base, that he was their guy. That both parties had forgotten them, but he hadn’t. That he cared about their jobs, and that he would try to help. And I don’t think they cared about all the rest of it. Regardless, one thing was clear. People were demanding change. Voters were going to break through the establishment of both parties, of the very system, to bring that change. Both parties have a lot to learn from what just happened if either of them are going to be successful in the future. But that’s a discussion for …

Continue reading #Never Say #Never: One Voter’s Journey (2016 edition)
4 Years Later: The Reagan Test

“Next Tuesday is Election Day. Next Tuesday all of you will go to the polls, will stand there in the polling place and make a decision. I think when you make that decision, it might be well if you would ask yourself, are you better off than you were four years ago? Is it easier for you to go and buy things in the stores than it was four years ago? Is there more or less unemployment in the country than there was four years ago? Is America as respected throughout the world as it was? Do you feel that our security is as safe, that we’re as strong as we were four years ago? And if you answer all of those questions yes, why then, I think your choice is very obvious as to whom you will vote for. If you don’t agree, if you don’t think that this course that we’ve been on for the last four years is what you would like to see us follow for the next four, then I could suggest another choice that you have.” – Ronald Reagan, 1980. I’m not running for office. I’m not active in a political party. I’m just a citizen like any other. I vote and I live with the consequences. And as a new election day draws nearer, it’s time to ask myself a question. Am I better off than I was four years ago? Are my loved ones? Is my country? Unlike politicians and talking heads on TV, I don’t have any party talking points to answer that question for me. I can only answer it for myself, muddling through with my own values and experiences. And I can say with absolute certainty that I’m not better off than I was four years ago. The people I love aren’t better off either. And the fact checkers can’t tell you otherwise. Let’s start with my Mom. My Mom needs health care. A lot of it. So you’d think all the talk about affordable and accessible health care would be a good thing. But after 4 years of hearing that the ultimate priority of our government is to help people get health care, the simple fact of the matter is that, for my Mom, health care is harder to come by than ever. Major clinics that she could go to a few short years ago are simply out of reach today as seemingly fewer and fewer physicians accept Medicare (or Medicare assignment, more specifically). It’s gotten worse in four years, not better, and that’s without that $700 billion in cuts. And that makes me wonder. Medicare is government health insurance for our seniors. Medicaid is supposed to be for the poor. But if Medicare isn’t taking care of our seniors, and if Medicaid leaves millions without insurance, how can the answer possibly be adding yet another layer of programs? Why not concentrate on instead fixing those programs already in place for our seniors, our poor and our uninsured? As a citizen, I remain unconvinced that the only answer to provide health insurance for 50 million in need was to change the entire health care system for all 300 million of our nation’s men, women and children. It’s placing a thumbtack with a sledgehammer. It’s the wrong priority. But questionable priorities seem par for the course in the past four years. We’re the “beneficiaries” of a historically controversial health care bill, deemed constitutional only as a tax, but we haven’t seen a Federal budget passed in years. We’ve seen a historically expensive “stimulus” package for “shovel ready” programs come and go, but we went years without a renewal of the highway bill that is instrumental in Federal, State and local infrastructure projects. We talk about the importance of energy independence, but eschew the projects that would make us more independent today in favor of energy ideas that may or may not be important tomorrow. We’re preoccupied with whether or not we should create new versions of marriage for some when we haven’t solved the problems of extended recession and unemployment for all. We spend more money than we have. To address the Reagan questions specifically, and personally, it’s a fact for me that it’s not easier to buy things in the store when a tank of gas for my mid-size car costs $60. It’s a fact for everyone that unemployment is higher than it was four years ago. After four years that included significant apologizing, I don’t know where America stands with the world, but I don’t feel that we’re as secure, as safe or as strong as we were four years ago. That may or may not be a fact, but it’s my opinion as a voter. It’s not all doom and gloom. There are some areas where my life has improved in some small way. But quite frankly, I built those. In any way that relates to this election, I’m not better off than I was four years ago. My loved ones aren’t. This course is not one that I would choose for my country. That’s my answer to the Reagan question. But I can only speak for me. As you stand in the silence of the voting booth, free from talking heads and talking points, I can only hope and pray that you, too, would ask yourself … is your Mom better off than she was four years ago? Your neighbor? Are you? Author’s Note – Just a little context after all this time. These were my thoughts preceding the 2012 Presidential election, and following passage of the Affordable Care Act. Revised October 2026
Adventures in a Hospital Waiting Room (The Baritone Witness)

The small hospital waiting room was too full. Most sat shoulder to shoulder quietly staring at cell phones, iPads and Kindles, largely ignoring the table of full of magazines. It was one of those rooms where if anyone spoke, everyone heard. That fact didn’t stop a mother and daughter from engaging in a loud, animated conversation of the strengths and weaknesses of the latest crop of American Idol hopefuls. But it was a booming baritone voice that changed the mood of the room for everyone. It was directed at an older man wearing a shirt identifying the 8th Infantry Division. “What did you do with the 8th Infantry?” The voice penetrated every corner of the room, impossible to ignore. “Who wants to know?” said the voice’s target, friendly, but perhaps with a little caution. The conversation that ensued was pleasant enough, two older men with a common point of interest. But then it began. “You know, we all have eternal life, we just have to decide where to spend it. Have you decided?” Apparently the question was unnecessary because indeed, the other man had decided, thank you very much, and was a regular member of a local Catholic church. Uh-oh. The ensuing conversation was an interesting mix of pleasant and confrontational. Of course, the baritone witness had to share his thoughts on where Catholic doctrines had gone wrong. But in the truest spirit of “no offense, but…” he ended his Catholic correction comments with “I’m just giving you a hard time.” Regardless of the flavor of his faith, the baritone witness just wanted to be sure his new friend had the important part down – salvation through Jesus Christ. Of course, the Catholic infantryman had a response. That response began with “You sound like a Baptist…” and went from there, ignoring the fact that the witness had already identified himself as a Methodist. “Have I offended you?” the baritone witness asked at one point. Apparently not, since the conversation continued unabated, shifting eclectically between what seemed to be genuine interest, even camaraderie, and casual annoyance. Throughout the long waiting room wait the baritone witness struck a similarly friendly but confrontational tone with the receptionist, a woman with a similarly strong voice and personality. And eventually he did ask her the same question. “You know, we all have eternal life, we just have to decide where to spend it. Have you decided?” The receptionist had decided as well, as had one or two others in the waiting room. I must have heard that phrase at least half a dozen times that day. Not only did he ask several people, but he recounted at least twice the story of how he came to the realization that that was the important question to ask. “You know, we all have eternal life, we just have to decide where to spend it. Have you decided?” I have decided. I am a Christian, saved by grace. And as a believer, I know that we are told in the Bible to “go into the world and preach the gospel to all creation.” But even though I understand that, in a way, the baritone witness was just following orders, I found myself questioning his approach. In a world increasingly hostile to Christianity, in a room full of people who need medical care, in a tiny waiting room with people talking loudly about each and every American Idol contestant some found the most annoying piece of the puzzle to be… a Christian. Maybe I’m being too harsh, but in my mind, most of those who heard the baritone witness will not remember his message. But they will remember his overbearing approach. When they tell their spouse about their day they won’t recount his message of salvation, but they will comment on the loud Christian who wanted to convert everyone in the room to his way of thinking. That day, I thought the baritone witness should have been aware of that and acted accordingly. After all, shouldn’t we be aware of the conventions of our culture, and the practices of politeness? Isn’t it the example of the love of Jesus, more than words in a waiting room, that ultimately draws those who choose Christianity? You may believe that actions and character speak louder than any words we can share. Or you may know someone where you’re convinced that if you press too hard before they are ready, you will lose the opportunity to share further. And you may be right. So how do we find the right balance? One of the best arguments I’ve heard about why Christians should witness comes from an atheist. Penn Gillette once said “if you believe that there’s a heaven and hell and people could be going to hell … and you think … it’s not really worth telling them this because it would make it socially awkward … how much do you have to hate somebody to not proselytize? How much do you have to hate somebody to believe that everlasting life is possible, and not tell them that?” It’s hard to argue with that. The Bible tells believers to share. Being an example is great, and so is reading the room, or the person. We’re all gifted differently and may share in different ways. But at some point you do have to share. Directly. You have to tell someone what Jesus did for them and what it means. I remember listening to Billy Graham as a young person and thinking there’s just not much to what he said. I wondered how the words I had just heard inspired such a steady stream of people flowing down the aisles to make decisions. But when I listen to Billy Graham as an adult today, I am sometimes struck at the depth and wisdom of what he shared. I believe the lesson there is that God uses his people and his message in different ways at different times in different people. What works for me, …

Continue reading Adventures in a Hospital Waiting Room (The Baritone Witness)
Film Review: Prometheus (vs. Alien)

“Big things have small beginnings.” It’s a memorable line from a film that should have heeded its own advice. Ostensibly the beginning of the Alien franchise, Prometheus is anything but small. It’s a bloated affair, crammed as full of b-movie clichés as it is of Big Ideas, and weighed down by both. It begins with no less than the origin of life on Earth, set in motion by a mysterious alien. The story continues 77 years in our future, with a husband and wife archeological team finding clues that seemingly point mankind to the stars. After two years of space travel, they awaken from cryo-sleep on board the Prometheus, part of a crew sent to accept the alien invitation. As they are briefed on their mission by a representative of the Weyland Company, it becomes clear that the crew has largely never met each other, and several have no idea of the mission to which they’ve committed years of their lives. If this makes you question their intelligence or behavior, get used to it. And if the whole opening sequence feels a little familiar to long-time Alien series fans, it might be because Alien vs. Predator began with almost exactly the same elements, including aliens entwined with humanity’s past, archeologists finding common threads across civilizations, and a shipboard Weyland briefing. Ironically, continuity links with Alien hurt instead of helping. Sure, it’s neat to see the “space jockey” again, even if he seems much smaller now. But the Big Questions that the movie asks about these “engineers” are far removed from the questions fans have been asking for 30 years. The movie would also have been stronger without any references to the classic alien creature. The final reveal of the alien in its most familiar form should have been the stuff of fanboy goosebumps, but instead felt shoehorned in, and gave us the worst looking CG of the movie. But Prometheus doesn’t just borrow from its own franchise. There are ghosts of Contact, with a female scientist searching for God after losing her father. Some of the creature moments are surprisingly reminiscent of John Carpenter’s creature style. And these casts of misfit characters as blue-collar scientists and heroes are always reminiscent of movies like Twister, Armageddon and a dozen other films. Fortunately for the cliché mill, they’ve all taken Horror 101, which teaches them exactly when to wander off alone, and when to sleep together with disastrous plot-furthering results. Even so, the movie holds together up to a certain point. Director Ridley Scott delivers great visuals as well as a compelling, atmospheric buildup. In the first hour, it’s still possible to believe that you’re watching a good movie. But somewhere along the way, Prometheus falls apart. As a stand-alone film, Prometheus is a messy mix of concepts, half-baked characters and questionable plot choices. As part of a series, it fails as a companion to the minimalist masterpiece that is Alien. Director Ridley Scott has said this movie has the same DNA as Alien, but apparently none of that shared DNA was on the writing team. For all its A-list ambition and production values, Prometheus ultimately continues the b-movie missteps of a series that lost its way 20 years ago.
So what should I blog about, anyway?

To blog or not to blog? More to the point, what to blog about? After which comes the question of how not to create the one-millionth abandoned blog, born of a flurry of entries in the first month or two, and resting in endless silence thereafter. For most, a blog is more about self-expression and social media than it is about having a web site. It’s not professional media – there’s no requirement to blog in timely, commercially viable, column length pieces weighing in on the latest water cooler news story. The blogosphere doesn’t sink or swim on market research, sponsors, or Nielsons, but on passions and interests. When the passions of a writer and the interests of readers meet, then, hey, you’ve got a blog. But even without readers, bloggers are still there, writing about their passions. Or maybe it’s just that writing is their passion. So if the heart of a blog is found in the heart of the blogger, then the blogger faces a question. What do I want to write about enough that I’ll do it whether or not anyone even wants to read about it? Friends & Family? Politics? Movies? Music? What is it that matters enough to make it worth spending those precious minutes it takes to put words to screen? Perhaps the answer, writ large, is all of the above. Maybe in the long run, it’s a matter of sitting down at the keyboard to see what happens. But in the short term, to get started, the answer is more simplistic. If a blogger wrote only one entry, communicated only one thing to a potential reader, then what would that thing be? If a person’s very life could communicate only one thing to all of humanity, then what should that thing be? Few questions are as simply answered. There is only one thing that matters, really matters, in this life. Ultimately there is no legacy to be carried on. There is no history to be repeated. All that is this world only matters while this world still is. And the only question that really, truly needs to be answered in the heart of every man and woman was the one asked of a man named Paul by a Roman jailer. “What must I do to be saved?” The answer isn’t much more complicated than the question. The Bible may be 66 books long, but we can get to the message of salvation in just a few verses: “For all have sinned, and come short of the glory of God” (Romans 3:23) “For the wages of sin is death, but the gift of God is eternal life through Jesus Christ our Lord. ” (Romans 6:23) “For God so loved the world, that he gave His only begotten Son, that whosoever believes in him, shall not perish, but have everlasting life.” (John 3:16) “But Christ indeed has been raised from the dead…” (1 Corinthians 15:20) “For by grace you have been saved through faith; and that not of yourselves, it is the gift of God; not as a result of works…” (Ephesians 2:8 & 9) Christianity in a nutshell, then, is simply this: We are all, without exception, separated from God by sin. We’ve all sinned, meaning no one who has ever lived has obeyed God perfectly. And the price of sin is death. Not just the physical death of this world, but the eternal death (and eternal hell) of separation from God. God sent Jesus to die in our place, and rise again, in order to pay the price for us to save us from our sin. That salvation doesn’t save us from physical death, but it does ensure our eternal life with God in heaven. We cannot, of our own works, or of our own goodness, earn salvation. But to be saved, we only need to choose to believe or accept these things, and to confess this belief to God in prayer. But those are just my inadequate words of summary. Here’s a simple explanation from the folks over at the Billy Graham Evangelistic Association: Billy Graham – Steps to Peace (PDF) So if there could be only one blog post, or even only one thing that I communicate to anyone in my life, it would need to be this. And if this blog does soon join the ranks of false starts and blogs abandoned, at least it will have said something that matters. – revised October, 2026
It’s Hurricane Day

There are many unique things about the American south, especially the southeast. Food. Culture. Florida. But today I’m thinking mostly about hurricanes. And it’s the southern, often southeastern, states in the U.S. that generally handle them. When it comes to hurricanes, we’re your huckleberry, if I may paraphrase. And as I write, hurricane Isaias has made landfall on the gulf coast. As a lifelong resident of gulf coast states here in the U.S., hurricane day is a familiar feeling. More than familiar. It’s also a fascinating process to watch. Don’t get me wrong. We do take it seriously. Most of us. We take precautions, we stay informed and we pray for safekeeping. But the hours leading into and through the storm are a fascinating experience. At least to me. Maybe I’m just weird. But think about it. A lightning strike occurs in an instant. A sudden torrential downpour may happen unexpectedly (that’s my Florida experience talking). Even something as major as an earthquake can happen relatively without warning. And you folks in California are welcome to handle those for the rest of us. But there’s just something about how a hurricane announces it’s on the way. It has its own life cycle, from discussion of a possible pregnancy to ultrasounds as it develops, on through the naming, birth and then straight to the destruction caused by an uncontrollable giant whirling toddler, wobbling up the coast leaving everything in its path at least wet, if not broken. We watch it and talk about it as it approaches, with constant reminders of how to prepare, and when we should just get out of the way. From my childhood days in Florida I remember preparation including a full bathtub of water, just in case. I remember the power outages. I remember the overcast skies and early, gentle rains as a storm got closer. As Hurricane Andrew approached Miami, I remember watching the water in a bay on the gulf coast of Florida drop to a point that you could have just walked out into the bay on the mud. I remember the names. Hurricane David seemed like a good name to me, for no apparent reason. Not sure about Hurricane Isaias, but it is fun to watch all the weather people confidently pronounce it slightly differently from one another. An irony of growing up in Florida was that we never actually had hurricane damage. Until I moved to Alabama. Roughly four times further from salt water than it was even possible to get in Florida, Hurricane Opal brought the longest power outage of our lives and the first time I can remember there being rationed drinking water made available locally after a storm. We also had a tree from our yard topple into a neighbor’s yard, which is always a great way to get to know someone. That homeowner, I might mention, was an athlete of some renown in powerlifting and strength competition circles. Secretly, I might’ve been a little disappointed that he didn’t just show up and move the tree himself. Later, Hurricane Ivan was also more impactful locally than I had experienced in Florida, but didn’t affect me outside of a partial day off and an hours-long power outage. I remember spending a good bit of that day reading by window light in that special flavor of quiet that’s not possible when the AC is spun up or the TV is on. It’s a good memory. In more recent years, technology allows you to monitor a storm system as frequently, even continuously, as you want. Phone apps and multi-hour livestreams supplement or replace traditional media storm coverage. And never mind the brave souls subjecting themselves to the wind and rain for an on the scene report. Now we can just watch the storm roll in on beachfront webcams. But it’s still the same ritual. The same wait. Watching the inevitable rolling in, however impactful (or not) it may become on the way. There are many different flavors to southern hurricane culture, where waiting for the storm is a relatively frequent affair. There are the folks that refuse to evacuate against all odds and wisdom. There are the folks who have hurricane parties, whether to celebrate, commiserate or just help clear the fridge. There are storm chasers hoping to see the best of the worst, and illicit surfers rooting for those storm surge waves. Some shelter in place, perhaps even reasonably. Some of those decide they won’t be doing that again (I have those friends). Others just get quietly nervous about the whole affair. And some have seen the worst, or at least close to it. My own mother, with a very young child (my sister), once had to get in a boat from a second-floor window to evacuate during Hurricane Betsy, only to spend time on top of a school waiting for the national guard to save their group. But I think they’re still as fascinated with the process of watching and anticipating as I am. So maybe it’s a personality thing. A curiosity thing. But hurricane day in the south is definitely a unique thing. And as I post this it’s a tonight thing, with plenty of southerners still in for a night of wind and rain at best and hundreds of thousands without power over several states. God bless and stay safe out there.
Book Review: Jeffery Deaver’s Carte Blanche

Retrospective… In 1955, James Bond could see the end of the road ahead. Sensing the possibility of death was, in fact, the very reason for his extravagant appetites in life: “On these things he spent all his money and it was his ambition to have as little as possible in his banking account when he was killed, as, when he was depressed, he knew he would be, before the statutory age of forty-five. Eight years to go before he was automatically taken off the 00 list and given a staff job at Headquarters. At least eight tough assignments. Probably sixteen. Perhaps twenty-four. Too many.” This pensive moment for James Bond comes in 1955’s Moonraker, the third of fourteen Ian Fleming Bond novels. But Bond needn’t have been depressed about his future. 56 years, 5 authors and 36 novels later, Jeffery Deaver’s James Bond is just getting started. Rebirth… But Deaver’s Bond isn’t the same thirty-something World War II vet that Ian Fleming introduced into the modern mythology of western culture. Unlike previous continuation authors, Jeffery Deaver makes a clean break with the fact of Fleming’s Bond, while keeping alive the spirit of Fleming’s creation in a modern world. In so doing, Deaver recreates Bond in the 21st century as an Afghanistan veteran in his early thirties. Bond’s “license to kill” is replaced with the fact that he has “carte blanche” to do whatever is necessary to protect British interests on foreign soil. This 007 works in a familiar setting: a fictional British intelligence agency that works closely with its real world counterparts. Bond’s head of section is still code-named M, he gets his gadgets in the form of high-tech phone apps from the Q branch, and he has a familiar support network, from Moneypenny in the home office to Felix Leiter in the field. Deaver also supplies a foe that Fleming might have appreciated, with relatively practical goals but a strange, in this case perverse, twist to his character. And so with the eye for detail typical of the best thriller writers, Deaver re-establishes the world of James Bond for 2011, appropriately fresh and new while staying comfortably familiar. Thrillers are, of necessity, plot driven, but Deaver gives us at least a glimpse at this Bond’s character through his internal dialogue and the way he handles the typical Bond tropes. A reader’s reaction… All of these Bond characteristics are woven into Deaver’s plot, which finds Bond working to discover the mystery behind a cryptic threat of terrorist violence. Deaver melds the sensibilities of a Bond tale and his own style, with Bond in a race against time through exotic locales across the globe, all taking place in mere days and with the reader’s expectations contorted by multiple twists and turns. These types of novels are often characterized as “page-turners,” but for me the experience may not have been as compelling as the cliché would imply. I enjoyed the novel, but I never found it a difficult book to close at night. I also had trouble with a few moments, such as the stereotypical desperate moment when all is lost and our hero is helpless in the cross-hairs, only to be saved by the arrival of allies at exactly the right moment. That being said, Deaver brings us a worthy Bond novel measured within the post-Fleming canon, and fans will likely be pleased with this rebirth of the literary Bond for a new generation. Should Ian Fleming productions contract Deaver for further books, there’s certainly space on my bookshelf. Editorial Notes: This review was featured on the September 19, 2011 episode of the “Being James Bond” podcast, available at beingjamesbond.com According to thebookbond.com, Jeffrey Deaver turned down a second Bond book due to financial and creative considerations, making this reboot a one-shot in the Bond literary canon. Revised October, 2026

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