Bond is sent to the snowbound reaches of Finland to team up with operatives from the CIA, Mossad, and the KGB in order to prevent weapons from reaching the hands of a socialist terror group looking to bring about a new world order. But wait! There's a double agent on the team who might be working with the terrorists! But wait! There could be another double agent on the team who might be working with the terrorists! But wait! There could be a triple agent on the team who only wants you to think that they're a double agent who might be working with the terrorists! But wait! The whole fucking team might be double agents who might be working with the terrorists! Ah, to hell with it, here's a snow plough chase scene! Da-da-DA-DA!
Here it is, ladies and gentlemen: the Icebreaker drinking game: take a shot every time John Gardner uses the word 'acid' or 'acidly' to describe someone speaking. Take a shot every time John Gardner uses the word 'slewed' to describe a vehicle in motion. Try not to die of alcohol poisoning.
I seem to remember enjoying this book many years ago when I originally read it (or at least regarding it as one of the better Gardner Bonds I'd read), but upon reaching the third novel in my amazing John Gardner 007 re-reading marathon, I found myself turning the pages of a rather ho-hum spy novel with little in the way of thrills or excitement.
I enjoyed seeing Bond in an arctic setting for a change of pace and it's evident John Gardner actually visited some of these spots in Finland for added descriptive flair, but just about everything else in Icebreaker is a big miss for me. The main baddies being a bunch of neo-Nazis trying to install a new wannabe Hitler as supreme leader had to be a tired trope even in the 80's when this thing was written, and the amount of ridiculous double and triple crosses from the secondary characters is enough to make a Mission: Impossible film blush.
Bond himself is less like the maturing spy Gardner tried to establish in his first two novels and turns into a bit of a boob, stumbling from the clutches of one double crosser to the next and seldom in control of anything. Here he's like Michael Caine's Harry Palmer character without any of the wit and he only escapes or saves the day because of happenstance instead of using his spycraft, combat prowess, or any of his detective skills. There's a torture sequence that is quite (pardon the Mr. Freeze style puns) chilling, but the impact is undercut and horribly unrealistic to have Bond wake up and be good as new a few pages later without suffering any long-term frostbite injuries. The poor bastard's balls would have fallen off, is what I'm saying here.
I will also point out the amount of space dedicated to the Saab Turbo and all the various bells and whistles the vehicle possesses makes me believe Gardner was definitely receiving some kind of annual stipend from Saab themselves. There's no way the author believed this grandad car was genuinely appropriate for what is supposed to be a suave gentleman spy like James Bond.
The first dud in the Gardner Bond series.
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