As a semi-serious James Bond fan of both the books and the films, when I found that this book existed, I could barely contain myself. What better work for the classicist-cum-Bond enthusiast to review could there be? The author Adam Muckle has his own credentials: a classicist and barrister by training, he now tutors the ancient languages as well as following the twists and turns of the quintessential British spy hero of the original books by Ian Fleming, the sequels by an assortment of modern authors, and the films. Self-published in 2024, A Bond Odyssey is pretty much up to date as far as Bond Studies go (yes – there is an online journal dedicated to this as well, at https://jamesbondstudies.ac.uk/ for those who want to see) and, as its title suggests, seeks to show how Bond reflects the classical themes of heroism, love, and violence. Readers of the book (a slightly tongue-in-cheek but reverent study) will be shaken, if not stirred, by an afternoon’s fun in reading up on Bond’s many adventures and see each one in perhaps a new light using Muckle’s many pointers and allusions to the classical world within them.

The first part of the book features the ways in which the Bond series reflects classical themes: heroism, violence, love, and death. Bond as a Classical Hero sets the scene, with Muckle alluding to the classical trope of the tragic hero, with rather too much self-assurance to make him truly likeable, and thus more intriguing with his many flaws – something which makes the character more believable and, importantly, commercially long-lasting. In East and West, Muckle compares the Classical authors’ representations of the world divided between barbaric East and democratic West with Bond’s world frequently divided between the tyrannies of Russia and Eastern Europe and the democratic values of Western Europe and the USA (with plucky little Britain standing up for the ‘free world’). In Greece and Rome, the author’s attention is drawn to specific references to the geography of the ancient world. Muckle notes that Fleming’s Bond barely touched the shores of Italy (in For Your Eyes Only (1981)), let alone Greece – places in which he was not interested. It was apparently left to Kingsley Amis in the book sequel Colonel Sun (1968) for ancient Greece to come more fully into view, with a plot and character names echoing the myth of Theseus and the Minotaur. Similarly, Raymond Benson’s sequel The Facts of Death (1998), set in Cyprus, heavily, if not ploddingly, bases its plot on defeating the classically named Romanos. He’s the brilliant mathematician and millionaire author who is the leader of a cult (the New Pythagorean Society, no less) and believes the gods of ancient Greece speak directly to him. The myths of Theseus and the Minotaur (again) and the Agamemnon are conveniently described to Bond by Greek agent Niki Mirakos, suitably named for being on the winning side. It is possible that these books will derive a certain extra ‘entertainment’ if read by someone aware of the classical past – for Muckle, these re-tellings almost place Bond as ‘a modern-day equivalent of these epic heroes’ (p. 30). They also serve as a ‘didactic element’ (p. 30). To a Classicist, Benson’s Bond outing may suggest nothing more than a need to up the word count, as demanded by his publisher.

The many other Bond books in the series, by writers such as John Gardner, Sebastian Faulks, Anthony Horwitz and others, are not included in this survey.

Muckle now turns to further chapters on Identity and Disguise (perhaps the most far-fetched in the section) in which he draws comparisons between the ancient Greek Dionysus (the god of rebirth) and Odysseus (master of disguise on his return to Ithaca) and Bond’s numerous disguises, his frequent close escapes from death (and many fake deaths), and his return to his ancestral home in Skyfall (2012) and to his spiritual home in MI5. Next up is Xenia. Here Muckle briefly starts an investigation into the role of hospitality in Bond films and novels, drawing attention to the common occurrence of dining with villains (such as Dr No in his subterranean cave-cum-fishtank), after which Bond is often shown either the best room in the house or else escorted to a heavily-guarded cell from which he (inevitably) escapes. Xenia Onatopp, the risibly-named villainess from Goldeneye (1995), gets a special spot of her own here, even though her personal calling card goes against all the customs of Greek hospitality. Moving on to Fleming’s bleak and dark You Only Live Twice (1964), in Life and Death Muckle seems to lose contact with the ancient world momentarily, with musings upon Bond’s various near-death experiences, his killings, and the deaths of those around him. Tragedy and Trilogy considers whether the Bond film franchise, like its ancient Greek theatrical forebears, subconsciously fits each new Bond actor into a three-part mini-series – with each actor reaching peak performance in the third ‘act’, but requiring refreshing afterwards with a new actor or a plot change (such as a satyr play after three tragedies). Man and Myth looks at the film No Time to Die (2021), in which Bond, infected with the virus Heracles (yes!), seemingly dies at the end of twenty-five films in the EON series. The comparison of the virus in Bond’s veins echoes the death of Heracles himself, poisoned by the centaur’s love potion given by Deianara, and similarly apotheosized (though not by inter-continental ballistic missile, as was Daniel Craig’s Bond).

These introductory chapters are a little uneven, but they open up some fun ways to rethink the novels and the films.

The second part of the book is a film-by-film set of ‘miscellaneous musings on the classical allusions in Bond’ (p., 67). Each one of the twenty-five EON films are given their due, with short 1-5 page chapters, starting with Dr No (1962) and going through to No Time to Die (2021). The non-EON films, Casino Royale (1967) and Never Say Never Again (1983) are not included in this survey. It’s clear that for some of these films, there is little to say, and the allusions Muckle makes to the ancient world often stretch credibility. Nevertheless, these snippets are fun to read and may spark interesting perspectives for the reader, reminding them, for example, that Auric Goldfinger’s name in the eponymous film is related to the Latinate chemical symbol for gold, and the tyre-cutters on Bond’s Aston Martin are a throwback to those on Messala’s chariot wheels in the Hollywood epic Ben Hur.

In all, this book is a fun and accessible read, suitable for the Classicist James Bond fan in all of us. While it may not have obvious classroom use, a teacher might find it entertaining to draw on the themes, especially when (as they regularly do) a new film in the Bond franchise is released. For a certain sort of student (probably people like me – though I have met other Bond obsessives in my time!) this book is entertaining reading. In the right hands, it might even provide stimulus for an Extended Project Qualification.