Cumming Rides a Strong Wind

For London-based fans of espionage fiction, it’s been an exciting last few weeks. First, of course, we had all that media ballyhoo about the launch of Sebastian Faulks’ new James Bond novel, Devil May Care, which was released on the 100th anniversary of Bond creator Ian Fleming’s birth. And then, on top of that came the figurative passing of John le Carré’s torch to a younger entrant in the spy-fiction field, Charles Cumming, author of the blistering new Typhoon.

I first encountered Cumming last summer in New York City, during ThrillerFest. He was a guest at the St. Martin’s Press party, since that U.S. publisher was just then introducing his work to American audiences. Since that time, though, I seem to be bumping into Cumming with some frequency. Not long ago, we faced off over a chess board (to our mutual enjoyment, even though I must grudgingly admit he’s a better play than me). And then earlier this month, we both showed up at CrimeFest in Bristol. I was pleased to learn during the latter get-together that his editor at St. Martin’s is the legendary Keith Kahla, who also works with Joe Finder and Gayle Lynds.

Just recently I attended the launch party for Typhoon, which was held at independent Daunt Books just off Holland Park in North-West London. (If you ever find yourself in that area of the British capital, by the way, don’t miss dropping by this quintessential Edwardian bookshop staffed by knowledgeable bibliophiles. It’s a real treat.) Pleased to accept Cumming’s invitation, I drove in to London on the appointed day, checked in at a hotel near the bookstore, and after meeting up with my colleagues Mike Stotter and Ayo Onatade, headed off to the party.

As the three of us entered Daunt Books, we were taken slightly aback by the remarkable turnout of guests. Among the celebrating throng were heavyweight critic and author Barry Forshaw and his wife, Judith, along with Cumming’s British editor, Rowland White. I chatted for a while with White, partly about the success of his own runaway bestseller, Vulcan 607, but mostly about Faulks’ new Bond novel. Before long, we were joined by Cumming, who had only just reviewed Devil May Care for The Spectator--not altogether positively:

What Devil May Care lacks is a sprinkling of magic. There has probably never been a more erratic writer than Ian Fleming. On a bad day, he was very, very bad, but on top form he was capable of matching such giants of the literary thriller as Eric Ambler and Graham Greene. Nothing in Devil May Care, for example, comes close to Fleming’s description of Rosa Klebb in From Russia With Love, with her ‘wet trap of a mouth, that went on opening and shutting as if it was operated by wires under the chin’. Casino Royale, in particular, contains many passages of what Faulks might deign to call ‘complex symphonic music’, but he has proved incapable of repeating them.

Nevertheless, Ian Fleming Publications will be delighted that the centrepiece of the centenary year has been met with such widespread critical and commercial acclaim. Launched on the back of a global publicity campaign only fractionally less expensive than the cost of sending Sir Hugo Drax to the moon, Devil May Care could hardly have failed. In fact, in recent weeks I have begun to feel rather sorry for the many writers whose books have been left floundering in the wake of the Faulks juggernaut.

As Cumming was called off to greet more guests, I had a chance to speak with the author’s father, who turned out be delightful chap and was (not surprisingly) overjoyed with his son’s success as an espionage novelist.

Then Cumming was asked to address the assemblage. He gave a very passionate, moving, and witty speech, which was basically a thank-you to the many people who had helped him--not all of whom he had time to name (though they’re acknowledged in Typhoon). In an aside that made Stotter, Forshaw, and I blush, he also credited the support he’s received from The Rap Sheet, Crime Time, and Shots. Red faces were then shared around the room as he remarked with charming modesty on the generous critical reaction Typhoon has won from critics, especially from his fellow novelist William Boyd (Restless). Cumming went on to note how topical Typhoon has turned out to be, what with all the political unrest in China, leading up to this summer’s Olympic Games in Beijing--a subject he previously addressed in The Guardian.

After Cumming had finished speaking and the applause had died down, I noticed a few strange people lurking in the back of the bookstore. They weren’t obviously journalists, reviewers, or Cumming’s friends and family. There was something about the manner in which their eyes swayed over the attendees that alerted me to their presence. I was particularly aware of their taking stock of anyone who looked Middle Eastern or Asian. As I seemed to be the only person in that room who fitted both those categories, they were watching me carefully. Typhoon, if you’re familiar with its plot, is a book bound to court controversy. And I assume that these folks were from Britain’s Secret Intelligence Service (aka MI6), keeping a low profile but showing up just to be sure there were no “problems.” I smiled at one of the SIS people, and she gave me a small smile back before alerting one of her male colleagues, who’d been surreptitiously browsing the Erotica section near the front of the store. They realized then that they’d been identified. Presently, they checked on their watches and decided to leave Daunt’s, passing close enough by me to give me a chill. Remember, under recently approved anti-terror laws a person in Britain can be detained for up to 42 days without a charge being levied against him or her, and without the suspects being allowed access to a lawyer. George Orwell would have recognized this as the beginning of a slippery slope.

Following that brush with the SIS, Stotter, Onatade, and I joined the others for this book launch’s celebratory dinner, which was heavily biased toward the alcoholic in my case. (Nothing like a little real-life espionage to put one on edge.) Then, after saying my good-byes to my friends and hosts, I staggered back to my hotel, keeping watch behind me the whole while. I didn’t spot any followers on the walk back along Holland Park, but Harry Lime’s theme from The Third Man did keep spooling through my brain.

It wasn’t long after that party, that I rang up Charles Cumming to congratulate him on the wonderful review he’d received from The Times’ Peter Millar. In his write-up, Millar compared Typhoon favorably with John le Carré’s oeuvre:

Not since The Honourable Schoolboy has there been a satisfactory spy novel about Britain’s relations with China: the global power of the 19th century tussling with that of the 21st, all the time complicated by that still bolshie 20th-century giant, America.

The obvious fulcrum is Hong Kong. In John le Carré’s book--perhaps the most underrated of all his prodigious output--the ogre offstage is the Soviet Union, but it is the one-sided “special relationship” that provides the sweet-and-sour flavour. ...

[Cumming’s novel] is narrated by a third party bit-player, ostensibly a journalist on the SIS payroll, with the full benefit of hindsight, which gives it a further le Carré-esque touch: that all-knowing, mildly wistful feeling of an inquest.

The comparison is a heavy one for a young author, but Typhoon, with its deep plotting, flawed characters, climactic conclusion and undercurrent of mistrust is another step in the footprints of the master.

Reviews don’t come much more enthusiastic than that one.

If you haven’t read Cumming’s work yet, it’s definitely time to pick up one of his still few novels. Click here to learn more about the author’s covert world, and here to read Mike Stotter’s review of Typhoon, which I’m convinced will be remembered as a classic work of espionage fiction. Oh, and should you wish to see a photo montage of the Typhoon launch party, simply click here. Can you spot the SIS agents for yourself?

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By the way, Penguin Books UK and Charles Cumming have organized an exclusive competition for Rap Sheet readers. The first-prize winner will receive a signed copy of the hardcover of Typhoon, while the runner-up will be sent a signed copy of the paperback version of Cumming’s 2006 novel, The Spanish Game. All you have to do to enter is answer this question:

In the opening of Typhoon a professor from China crosses the border into Hong Kong. Can you name the professor?

(If you need a clue, Chapter One of Cumming’s brand-new novel can be found here.)

Simply e-mail your answer (plus your name and mailing address) to jpwrites@sprynet.com by midnight on Friday, June 27. And in the subject line, type “Cumming Contest.” We’ll pick two names out of a hat and alert the winners.

This contest is open to all readers, not just those in the UK.

What are you waiting for?