Free Agent (2009)

They say you shouldn't judge book by its cover, but the sleek, polished, retro UK dust jacket of Jeremy Duns' debut thriller Free Agent perfectly captures the superb novel lying within.

Free Agent's slow-burn opening chapter (which can be read on the publisher's website) is punctuated by a shocker of a twist that sets the tone that this is no ordinary spy thriller. You can leave any preconceptions about glossy, straightforward Bondian escapades at the door; Free Agent is a bold and refreshing take on the familiar spy genre.

Set in 1969, Free Agent is the first in a proposed trilogy of novels featuring Paul Dark, an MI6 agent whose complicated past suddenly returns to haunt him. When a defecting KGB colonel promises to deliver information to the British about a traitor in their ranks, Dark discovers that a career-changing classified mission he undertook during the final days of the second World War was not all that it seemed.

Dark's mission takes him to Nigeria during the height of the Nigerian Civil War, a rich, untapped setting for a spy novel. Duns paints a vivid picture of the brutal conflict, fleshing out his novel with well-researched chunks of history. Each page drips with atmosphere, as Duns transports his readers to Nigeria's seamy sixties underbelly.

The ace in Duns' hand, though, is his central character. Paul Dark is a fascinating, morally ambiguous protagonist, who remains conflicted by his past allegiances, crimes and loves. Free Agent is told in the first person, providing the reader with a natural insight into the character's actions.

To say much more would be spoiling what is a terrific spy thriller built on tight, fast-paced plotting and genuinely surprising twists. Free Agent's quasi-cliffhanger ending points toward another superior spy novel in Free Country. A must-read for fans of the spy genre.

Brokenclaw (1990)

Yes, folks, it's another ho-hum 007 novel by John Gardner. Admittedly, Gardner himself cited Brokenclaw to be possibly his weakest Bond novel, written as the novelist was recovering from major surgery.

It's hard to argue with Gardner's assessment, as Brokenclaw manages to be a pretty forgettable James Bond adventure; it's evident whatever passion the author had for the character during For Special Services, Icebreaker and his other early, more exciting efforts, is on the wane.

Here, Bond comes up against the enigmatic Brokenclaw Lee, who my paperback copy rather lamely describes as "half-Chinese, half-Crow Indian, all evil". Gardner takes a leaf out of Fleming's book (that book, specifically, is Goldfinger) and has our favourite secret agent first encounter the villain purely by chance while on leave in Vancouver.

Brokenclaw gets off to a pretty dark start, as Bond helplessly witnesses the death of an FBI agent at the hands of the villain's henchmen, but it soon slips into more formulaic territory. 007 is teamed with a token girl and the pair go undercover to infiltrate Brokenclaw's mob in a bid to stop him from selling top secret British submarine technology to the Chinese government.

Gardner's Bond is a more two-dimensional character than Fleming's, possibly because of the success of the more simplified film incarnation. Brokenclaw's supporting cast is a decidedly mixed bag. While the title character is one of Gardner's better realised villains (even with his kooky deformity: two right hands), Bond's lady ally Chi-Chi is entirely unmemorable. 007's boisterous American ally Ed Rushia gives the proceedings a shot in the arm, and the novel does benefit from being devoid of any contrived plot twists, a hallmark of the Gardner instalments.

The novel is nearly salvaged by a gruesome final act in which 007 and Brokenclaw withstand horrific torture alongside one another as a test of endurance. While it would be unjust to draw a similar comparison with reading Brokenclaw, it's clear that Gardner's heart just wasn't in this one.

Just When We Are Safest (1996)

A couple of months back, I wrote of how I often associate the book I'm reading with where I obtained it. That I bought Reg Gadney's Just When We Are Safest in a tiny bookstore in a small English town on a typically rainy day is particularly fitting, given the spy novel's grim, British setting.

The first – and apparently, only decent – instalment in Gadney's Alan Rosslyn series, Just When We Are Safest is a far cry from the overblown adventures of 007 and other fantasised spies. Instead, Gadney presents a still-muddied post-Cold War world in which the British secret service is mired in rivalry and corruption.

When Rosslyn, fresh off the back of the arrest of one of the IRA's most dangerous criminals, witnesses the brutal murder of his lover, Mary Walker, he becomes entangled in a terrorist plot aimed at the very heart of MI5.

Just When We Are Safest's characters are well drawn, with Gadney spending a surprising amount of time fleshing out his key antagonist, Anna McKeague. Rosslyn, meanwhile, is a wonderfully conflicted character, battling a case that's becoming increasingly personal.

It's a largely character-driven story, as Rosslyn treks over the British countryside interrogating suspects on the trail of his lover's killers. Gadney is proficient at capturing the novel's moody, sullen atmosphere; there's virtually no levity here. The book's climax, in which Rosslyn wades through murky sewerage in an attempt to access MI5's Lambeth headquarters undetected, is an apt culmination of this bleak, dark and often brilliant spy thriller.

Da Vinci Code sequel announced

It's hard to believe that it's been nearly six years since The Da Vinci Code first hit bestseller lists worldwide. Probably because during those six years, every living soul on the face of this planet seems to have read the real-time thriller, keeping it at the top of said lists for most of that time. At the height of the book's popularity, airlines may as well have substituted their in-flight magazines with copies of the controversial thriller. A money-raking film adaptation boosted sales even further.

With next month's film adaptation of Angels & Demons set to bring Harvard symbologist Robert Langdon back into the limelight, Brown has today cannily announced the long-awaited follow-up to The Da Vinci Code.

The Lost Symbol will be released this September with US publishers Doubleday giving it a massive five million copy print run. According to the press release, the third Langdon thriller will take place over a 12 hour period, rather than Brown's four previous books, which were all set over 24 hours.

Until today, the novel possessed the working title of "The Solomon Key", which, though evocative of The Da Vinci Code, is a bit less generic than The Lost Symbol. Though the press release announcing the novel's publication doesn't give any clues as to its plot, previous reports suggest the book would see Langdon on US soil for the first time, entangled in a mystery involving the Freemasons.

Variety reports, rather unsurprisingly, that Columbia Pictures is moving forward with a film adaptation of The Lost Symbol set to follow the release of Angels & Demons.

Speaking of which, Columbia have released a sneak peek of Angels & Demons highlighting Hans Zimmer's soundtrack. For me, one of the highlights of the underrated Da Vinci Code adaptation was Zimmer's score, which culminated in the breathtaking "Chevaliers de Sangreal". The Angels & Demons score will take this track and expand upon it as a theme for Langdon. Sounds like it could be one of the soundtracks of the year for this film geek.

The Explosion (1978)

I'm not sure if I'm alone on this, but I always tend to associate (mildly but consciously) the book I'm reading with where I obtained it. While second-hand bookstores are chock-full of tomes, intriguingly from God-knows-where, even brand new books can have a story behind them which will often linger in my mind as I read them. I could probably tell you where each of the novels on my bookshelf have come from (many from the other side of the globe), but Hans Heinrich Ziemann's The Explosion stumps me.

The Explosion has been stuffed away amongst my books for an eternity, its unabashed '70s paperback artwork nestled inconspicuously among novels with far less yellowed pages. While collecting a selection of books to bring with me to Sydney, I stumbled across this forgotten possession and, intrigued, placed it in the box I was packing.

A translation of a German novel, The Explosion is clearly inspired by the disaster film fad that swept through Hollywood during the 1970s. All the clichés are in place. There's a tortured hero in the form of Martin Born, the director of a nuclear power station that's controversially set to open near the West German town of Grenzheim. There's a love interest in Anne Weiss, whose passion for the environment is nearly matched by her new-found (though implausible) love for Born. And there's a misguided but ultimately insane villain, whose plot to create awareness of the fragility of the nuclear station ends up causing an unprecedented catastrophe.

Unfortunately, The Explosion also contains those annoying clichés that often ruin disaster stories. For instance, Weiss spends the bulk of the story attempting to save a busload of schoolchildren, encountering a number of far-fetched obstacles along the way (culminating in a gun-toting, power-crazed mayor). And while the novel doesn't end on an entirely happy note (indeed, it does briefly explore the issue of collateral damage, so brilliantly covered in Watchmen), The Explosion ends with an exciting but far-fetched solution to impending disaster.

The Explosion is essentially a real-time novel, akin to the 24-hour format of Dan Brown's novels. And like Brown's books, The Explosion is told via a series of short, punchy chapters, reminiscent of scenes from a movie. Ziemann's well-researched thriller spends its first half examining the pros and cons for nuclear power, while the second part dissects the gruesome effects a nuclear explosion would have upon society. The Explosion's setting of Cold War Germany adds an extra dimension to the novel once the disaster strikes and Ziemann explores its political repercussions.

There are some pacing issues; while the first half builds a suitable amount of tension over the disaster promised on the book's cover, the disaster itself seems curiously underdeveloped. There's also the strange decision to shift the focus away from the characters developed in The Explosion's first half during its second. It almost feels like a 500-page novel stripped down to under 300 pages (most of which feels lost from the second half), or, perhaps more accurately, the novelisation of an unmade film.

Truth be told, The Explosion was probably an artefact I picked up from a used bookstore while on holiday somewhere. Ultimately, it's a solid if unremarkable page-turner that may well have been what that occasion demanded.

Win, Lose or Die (1989)

For readers who aren't hardcore James Bond geeks like me, let me preface this post with a brief explanation of the literary 007 canon.

After James Bond creator Ian Fleming died, his estate commissioned Kingsley Amis to write a new 007 novel under the pseudonym of Robert Markham; the book was to be the first of a series of continuation novels written by different authors but published under the same alias.

Ultimately, the idea stalled after the release of Amis' Colonel Sun in 1968, and aside from a fictional biography exploring Bond's life and a couple of Roger Moore film novelisations, the literary 007 lay dormant until the 1980s when British novelist John Gardner was brought on board.

By far the most prolific continuation novelist, Gardner authored 14 original books, plus two film novelisations. Over the past year or so, I've been slowly making my way through these titles and have just finished his eighth original story: 1989's Win, Lose or Die.

In Bond fandom, Gardner is looked upon as the Roger Moore of the literary Bond: both are seen to have dragged 007 away from his roots, and both are considered to have clung to the character for longer than they should have. But while Moore – who remains a legend among 007 fans – still considers himself an ambassador for the character, the late Gardner expressed a dislike for Bond, even during his tenure.

Gardner did deliver a few excellent Bond novels early in his run, including Icebreaker, Nobody Lives For Ever and Scorpius. By contrast, Win, Lose or Die is Gardner at his most pedestrian. The book sees 007 returned to active duty in the Royal Navy after MI6 gets word that a terrorist organisation has planted moles aboard the HMS Invincible in the lead-up to a top-secret onboard summit between the British Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher, US President George Bush and Russian Premier Mikhail Gorbachev.

Win, Lose or Die's conceit, which sees the bulk of the story take place onboard the vessel, is both its attraction and its weakness. It's great to see Bond in the navy, a throwback to a section of his life that's largely unexplored, but stuck with the limited canvas of a naval ship, Gardner reduces 007 to the role of detective for far too much of the book.

The absence of some of the Bond staples aren't missed, but Fleming's colourful touch is. Gone are the sweeping descriptions of exotic locations, while Win, Lose or Die's villain – and his organisation – are utterly forgettable; where some of Fleming's best work came from the verbal sparring between Bond and his enemies, here Gardner has the villain exchange a mere two sentences with 007 before he's killed in the book's penultimate chapter.

Win, Lose or Die is also bogged down by some of Gardner's trademark narrative devices; most damagingly, an over-reliance on crosses, double-crosses and triple-crosses. And while Gardner clearly relishes the technical facts in his story, which are fleshed out in complex detail, it's all fairly soulless and mechanical. At times, Win, Lose or Die reads a bit like an instruction manual for a product you never bought.

There's also Gardner's decision to make the three world leaders minor characters in the story, something which doesn't sit right with me. It's a bit too cute. (Nevermind that the last time Margaret Thatcher crossed paths with Bond was during the cringe-worthy final moments of the film For Your Eyes Only.)

It's not a total write-off. Bond's intense relationship with Beatrice Maria da Ricci, the book's heroine, is surprisingly well-handled. There's also some interesting tension between the UK and US and the Russians, as a result of Gorbachev's policy of glasnost; it's an aspect of the story that warranted further exploration. Gardner's choice of location for the book's climactic battle, the tunnels beneath Gibraltar, is a terrific one, but the confrontation itself is perfunctory.

If you're not familiar with the original Bond novels, read Fleming. And if you are familiar with them, re-read Fleming. Gardner's probably only worth a look if you're a die-hard fan like me. Which is why I'll keep reading them until I'm done. As a fan, it's my obligation; win, lose or die.

Watchmen (1986-1987)

I don't read comics.

I don't know how to read comics. Do I look at the text first? The picture? How long do I spend looking at the artwork? Am I overanalysing it? Probably.

I don't really know the point of comics. The written word is amazing – the English language contains more words than any other. I find myself unable to accept that pictures, despite their apparent value of 1,000 words, are a valid substitute – or supplement – to such varied and vast tools for description as the written word. Am I being narrow-minded? Probably.

I don't read comics. And Watchmen, by Alan Moore and Dave Gibbons, is the exception that proves the rule.

Like most people outside hardcore comic fans, I had never heard of Watchmen prior to the upcoming film adaptation entering production. After hearing how acclaimed the book is, I examined a copy in a bookstore a few months back only to find myself sold by, of all things, the quotes on the back cover.

"A work of ruthless psychological realism, it's a landmark in the graphic novel medium" – one of Time Magazine's 100 Best English-Language Novels since 1923

"Watchmen is peerless." – Rolling Stone

"Remarkable... The would-be heroes of Watchmen have staggeringly complex psychological profiles." – New York Times Book Review

"Groundbreaking..." – USA Today

"A masterwork representing the apex of artistry." – Entertainment Weekly

Very convincing praise from a number of respectable sources, but it was actually this quote from Damon Lindelof, co-creator of possibly my favourite television series of all time, Lost, that sold me on Watchmen: "The greatest piece of popular fiction ever produced."

Lindelof's claim is a strong, but curious one; if Watchmen is so monumentally brilliant, why had I – and, I'm assuming, many others – never heard of it? Having reached its final page, I can safely say that Watchmen's very brilliance is precisely what makes it so inaccessible.

Watchmen is not an easy read. Firstly, it's bleak. Very bleak. Set in an alternate version of the 1980s, in which the Cold War is not thawing and the world is on the brink of unprecedented nuclear conflict, Watchmen is populated by jaded washed-up heroes, who were once inspired by comic book characters to dress up in costumes and fight crime. Briefly famous, the heroes were forced to give up their alter-egos when an act was passed outlawing vigilante activity. Some obliged and hung up their costumes, while others – such as Rorschach, the masked hero whose grim, noir-esque opening narration perfectly sets Watchmen's tone – refused to quit.

Watchmen, originally published as 12 separate editions, possesses a rich, layered narrative. Like Lost, which has clearly sought inspiration from this graphic novel, Watchmen demands a high level of attention to fully appreciate its array of pop culture references, profound musings and parallel storylines. One standout is the story-within-a-story, an instalment from the fictional comic series "Tales of the Black Freighter" called "Marooned", a mirthless tale about a man who becomes shipwrecked on an island, but remains determined to return to his hometown to warn of the impending arrival of the title vessel. It's a captivating story in its own right, but it's also a great parallel to certain parts of Watchmen's story.

I've deliberately not mentioned much of the plot as I found my enjoyment of Watchmen was greatly enhanced by the fact I knew next to nothing about it. Needless to say, it's not your typical superhero story, nor, I imagine, your typical comic book. I'm not quite sold on the ending, thought-provoking as it was, but I may grow to accept it in time. Nevertheless, Watchmen remains a bleak, bloody and utterly brilliant story, rich in subtext and subversion.

But how did I reconcile Watchmen's greatness with my inability to appreciate comics? Quite simply, Watchmen's post-modern genre-bending would not have worked in any other literary format. I'm keen to see whether director Zack Snyder, who appears to have faithfully adapted Watchmen, plays on the conventions of comic book films as much as Watchmen plays on the conventions of comic books themselves.

With The Dark Knight's billion-dollar success proving that Joe Public can handle a comic book film with depth, I'm looking forward to seeing how well Watchmen translates to the big screen, and how well moviegoers will accept it. I was fortunate enough to score tickets to an exclusive midnight screening of Watchmen starting in just a few hours, so expect my thoughts on the adaptation tomorrow.

The Swarm (2004)

"It's plain to see that humanity is going down the drain. We used to be at the centre of the universe until Copernicus moved it. We were at the pinnacle of creation until Darwin pushed us off. Then Freud claimed that our reason is in thrall to the unconscious. At least we were still the only civilised species on the planet – but now the yrr are trying to kill us."

It was a photo finish, but I've finally completed Frank Schätzing's sci-fi epic, The Swarm... just two days before I leave Canada for Australia (I refused to lug this weighty tome across continents).

The bestselling German novel sees humanity face-to-face with an alien force called the yrr, which has been lying hidden at the bottom of the ocean for millions of years. Fed up with humanity's shoddy treatment of the world's oceans, the yrr manipulate the planet's marine creatures to launch a relentless assault on mankind.

The Swarm may well be one of the best holiday reads I've ever picked up – my only advice is that, at almost 900 pages, it better be a long holiday. That said, rarely does The Swarm feel unworthy of its length. It's an eco-thriller rich in scientific detail, enjoyable character development and thought-provoking musings on numerous topics, including evolution, technology, politics and religion. At times, the discussions within the book are so profound that, even if they merely serve as diversions so that the author can explore a particular topic, the reader remains nevertheless compelled.

Schätzing's ability to seamlessly mix educational exchanges, vivid action sequences and detailed technological descriptions are part of the reason why this Michael Crichton-esque thriller works so well. Amid some epic scenes of destruction (the pages-long natural disaster that closes The Swarm's first part is brilliantly topped by a single sentence detailing further devastation), the author juggles the development of over 12 main characters with ease. One hopes that the makers of the upcoming film adaptation are equally deft.

Schätzing is unafraid to put forward his views on these topics explored within The Swarm (there's a fascinating, but thinly-veiled exploration of the effects the yrr's discovery has on religious groups, while the US government's actions are a transparent take on George W. Bush's politics), but the author's views shouldn't be too much of a deterrence, particularly if they don't run contrary to your own.

Most successful is the slow, suspenseful establishing events, which capture a genuinely scary sense of what lies beneath the world's oceans, somewhere we know little about. The Swarm's climax might be a bit action-heavy (its worthy political intrigue ultimately gives way to some pretty incredulous character motivations), but Schätzing admirably avoids anything approaching a complete explanation of the mysterious phenomenon that wreaks havoc on the world's coasts.

A highly-recommended read for fans of environmental thrillers.

The Swarm (2004)

For the past week or so, I've been paddling through Frank Schätzing's behemoth marine-based eco-thriller, The Swarm. It's actually a German novel that made a splash when it hit the bestseller lists and stayed afloat there for over two years. The Swarm has been beached on my bookshelf for some time now, so it's been great to finally dive in. Enough aquatic puns? Good.

Anyway, The Swarm is long. Very long. My girlfriend joked that I wouldn't be permitted to take my hardcover copy on the airplane with me because it was a) overweight luggage; and b) a potentially dangerous weapon. Both are fair points. It's massive.

Having passed the 300-page mark (approximately one-third of the book), the book is beginning to gather pace. That's not to say the first third was uninteresting; Schätzing goes to great lengths to flesh out his characters, illustrate his locations (much of the book has so far been set in British Columbia) and establish the seemingly unconnected incidents that spell out a potential global catastrophe.

The book's two main characters who, at present, are yet to meet, are well-drawn human roles; each has their own personal demons with which they're coming to grips as they attempt to nut out the truth behind the mysterious phenomenon that's causing whales to attack ships at sea, jellyfish to descend on beaches in plague proportions and oceanic worms to bring about the collapse of the North Sea shelf.

There's still 600-odd pages to go, but The Swarm is, thus far, swimming with potential. Sorry.