The scent and smoke and sweat of a casino are nauseating at three in the morning.
The very first paragraph set a promising precedent for Fleming's first entry in what would become the James Bond juggernaut: Picking up the Casino Royale book, I knew that this Bond would be very different to the Bond I knew, and I was correct. Later I adopted the modern, rose-tinted lens through which most of us see James Bond but without having any contact with the franchise other than the Goldeneye Nintendo 64 game and Craig's movies. The 2006 Casino Royale film wasn't even about poker to my young eyes: it was about explosions, car chases, machine guns with bottomless magazines, tailored suits and product placement for cars that would only look at home parked ostentatiously on a driveway at a summer house. He had more literary credibility and maturity than a John McClane, but the romantic, suave, gentlemanly James Bond of old wasn't the image I had until much later. In my young mind James Bond was unreasonably handsome and effortlessly cool, but at his core was an action hero. Daniel Craig's James Bond was the first Bond I properly got to know.
