Solo by William Boyd was a Scribd read for me and I was thrilled with the promise of a new James Bond novel. I grow up reading, no make that devouring, James Bond novels. So it was with great joy and anticipation that I loaded up the book and settled in for a good read.
Imagine my utter surprise then when not only I couldn’t read the book but didn’t finish the book. This is the first time I’ve ever hated James Bond utterly and completely. None of his characteristic charm and intelligence was on display, instead he was a creepy stalker that made my skin crawl. I know I haven’t out grown James Bond books, I can reread them countless times and enjoy them. This book felt like some horrible version of Bond as written by an author that hated his subject matter and character.
I admit I’m not a fan of these types of books. It is impossible to recapture the magic and love the original author has for his characters. It always reads like a hired gun trying to recapture the magic, better than fan fiction written by a teenager but it isn’t high quality fiction. I keep trying but I have yet to find one of these books that is successful and enjoyable for me.
One star out of five stars, it would be even lower if possible to rate it lower on Goodreads. I didn’t finish the book, I didn’t make it past page fifty to be honest.