It is six chapters of time-jumping grace fully aware of the Bond and royal context of couples who cannot be together finally doing just that, how paper thin nationalism and jingoistic TV stations and commentators can fan the flames of Capitol Hill insurrections, how entitled politicians self-cut from Victorian cloths are just nasty sheep in nationalistic wolf garb and how dog-whistling bigots and bully boys with social media accounts are now the ones jeopardizing nations like a nuclear missile from a Connery movie. Agent Higson's greatest sleight of hand is not his once 1930s YOUNG BOND Bond now projected into a spring 2023 world of Ukraine, Travelodge quips, Instagram narcissism, Tommy Robinson racists screaming at refugee boats on the Kent coast, Google searches and new fifty pence coins. The most striking and perhaps less familiar quality of Charlie Higson's ON HIS MAJESTY'S SECRET SERVICE is how prescient, current, and right now the book is.
