One of life's ironies is that the post-Cold War orgy of political correctness is doing more to emasculate our individuality than the Soviets ever did to their own...
LONDON, 1955 - "Blades is not as aristocratic as it was, the redistribution of wealth has seen to that, but it is still the most exclusive club. The food and wine are the best, and no bills are presented.
"The half-dozen waitresses in the dining room are of such a high standard of beauty that some of the younger members have been known to smuggle them undetected into debutante balls, and if, at night, one or another of the girls is persuaded to stray into one of the 12 members' bedrooms at the back of the club, that is regarded as the member's private concern."
This was Ian Fleming's world for James Bond, a world where high style and noblesse oblige dovetailed with international espionage.
In reality, England at the time was entering the end of its era as a world power.
The USA and USSR had taken over those roles in the wake of World War II. The occupation of the colonies was no longer profitable. India, the jewel of the empire, now ruled herself. The descendants of the haemophiliac hag of the House of Windsor were seeing the first signs of their crumbling social structure.
But popular fictional heroes are never supposed to be the stuff of reality. They are supposed to be larger than life, escapist, an alternative to the drudgery of daily existence.
So Fleming's hero lives in a world where he is a law unto himself, abandoning social conventions of civilisation, charity and chastity in favour of chauvinism, extravagance and sexual abandon.
Bond is sexist, jingoist, smokes, drinks excessively, drives illegally modified vehicles at illegal speeds, takes drugs, is wildly promiscuous, and enjoys it all.
I enjoy Fleming, along with the works of Edgar Rice Burroughs, Rider Haggard, Rudyard Kipling, PG Wodehouse, and the inimitable George MacDonald Fraser.
All of these writers have a lot to say that is pretty repulsive. Haggard's hero of King Solomon's Mines says: "... at any rate, I've never stolen, though I once cheated a Kafir out of a herd of cattle."
Fraser's Flashman says: "I bought her from a merchant whose livestock consisted of wenches for the British officers and civilian residents in Calcutta. She cost me about 500 rupees. I suppose she was about sixteen. Like most other Indian dancing girls, she was shaped like an hour-glass, with a waist that I could span with my two hands, fat breasts like melons, and a wobbling backside ..."
But these politically incorrect attitudes were reflections of the norms of the writers' societies. One cannot remove the societal structure that shaped these characters without destroying them. Tarzan, Mowgli, Psmith, Flashman, and Bond think their way out of trouble. They have grace under pressure and courage under fire, which makes for good inspirational reading.
I saw Pierce Brosnan in Goldeneye this week. Gone is the cigarette, the Vodka martini with a large slice of lemon peel, the seductive charm. Brosnan's Bond seems to have been inspired by John Wayne Bobbitt. He is a caricature of Fleming's hero, constantly lectured on political correctness, derided by the Russians, taunted by his boss, laughed at by his ally in the CIA, and even the simple "gentlemanly" act of holding a door open for Moneypenny is treated with scorn.
A hero for the nineties, a sensitive new age guy and company man given a licence to kill but not to exceed the speed limit.
The same was done with Superman a few years ago. They reduced his strength, removed his ability to fly to other planets, and made him a loyal servant of the US government.
The modern entertainment world does not want heroes who walk their own path. Today's heroes like Schwarzenegger, Van Damme, Lundgren, and now Brosnan's Bond, follow a formula of unthinking obedience to authority coupled with gratuitous violence.
Bond is not allowed to light a cigarette or make a pass at Moneypenny. Bond is allowed to indiscriminately launch a stinger missile or drive a tank over civilian rush-hour traffic and through random inhabited buildings. These are theoretically supposed to be role models for today's audiences. They constantly remind us to kill, but not to think. And I compare today's Bond with Wodehouse's Psmith and ask, is this progress?