With Bond’s gizmos now at Chicago's MSI, a pause to remember Ian Fleming
CHICAGO -- It started in January 1952, when a hard-drinking, chain-smoking 43-year-old man sat down at a typewriter in his house in Jamaica and at a frenetic 2,000 words a day, banged out a novel that began, “The scent and smoke and sweat of a casino are nauseating at three in the morning. Then the soul-erosion produced by high gambling — a compost of greed and fear and nervous tension — becomes unbearable and the senses awake and revolt from it.”
The next paragraph
