Perhaps the best adjective for this book is 'twee'. James Bond is inherently absurd, and this is a slantwise parody of the gin-soaked, misogynistic, psychopathic genre. Bob Howard has been dispatched to the Caribbean to take down a mad arms dealer auctioning off a DEEP SEVEN weapon (what is dead may never die...) that might destabilize relationships with the Deep Ones, who could wipe up humanity without even noticing. Making matters worse is that the mad CEO has set up a geas such that only one man can foil his plans-one man who doesn't exist, and Bob barely fills his tuxedo and shoulder holster. Not to mention the soul-eating monster he's been partnered with.

But as I mentioned, twee, because despite the whole cosmic horror thing, the best part of this book is the Bondified Smart Car, a tiny two-seater runabout packed full of gadgets, gizmos, and an ejection system. Pretty good as a novel, great as a take-down of the espionage genre, this book is a love letter to a certain kind of silly Britishness.