William Boyd, who reviews Henning Mankell’s latest novel in this issue, was a teenager when he first read Ian Fleming’s James Bond novels. “The thrill of reading them was almost illicit — they seemed so glamorous and daring,” he told me in an e-mail interview. “The feeling I experienced was that you were being given access to a world known and enjoyed by a very, very few. The ‘members only’ sign had been removed.”
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