The back cover promises some sort of a
Baroness men's adventure action espionage, but I lowered my expectations once I checked the imprint page. Published in 1966, the same year when the last Fleming's Bond hit bookstores, this looked more likely to be another clon jumping on the 007 bandwagon.
It's neither. It's a book with a couple of scenes in which our eponymous heroine is naked and tortured with some nasty medieval devices. The rest of it is rambling that is sometimes funny but more often just astounding in its craziness.
It also feels like something the author would work on for a while, pause, and then resume later without fully remembering everything he has already written. And since Abel Mann is one of John Creasey's pseudonyms, and he used it only for Danger Woman, let's speculate a bit and say that this was his pet sleazy project to which he would occasionally return between his Gideon books. Or maybe our Johhny boy simply had a couple of cognacs too many occasionally and let his creative juices go crazy?
How else could one rationally explain that the captured agent simply drops off the stage after the third chapter? Or what the hell is the story with the mysterious Spanish girl? The bad guys seem to be fanatically devoted to her, and still, she's nowhere to be seen after the first half. The thing with Paul, the agent, is confusing too. Our gal Storm Frend sees him only once (I don't think they even speak to each other), and yet, he's the only man after her dead husband who lights her fire.
And then there's an episode with Bertha, the nurse. She starts complimenting Storm on her beautiful body and talking about "fulfilment," and Storm responds with some cryptic philosophy about "love, carnal knowledge, contact of flesh." Which, let's be honest, is how many lesbian scenes start in porn flicks. But here, a few pages later, it turns out that Bertha is trying to persuade Storm to have a baby and that she cannot have one because Nazis were doing some nasty shit to her womb in Auschwitz. Huh? Why would one bring such depressing shit up since the book has nothing to do with the holocaust (or fertility). Anyway, as abruptly as Bertha appears, she follows the other characters and departs for good.
As confusing and disorienting as all this is, it is still nothing compared to the plot. Since explaining something one cannot understand is impossible, I won't even try. However, you can find a few hints in the "object of desire" section of the facts below.
This is definitely one of those "so bad it's good" books, but unfortunately, it's neither bad nor good enough. Not enough sex (or torture) to be really sleazy. It takes itself way too seriously with all the patriotism and Union Jack-waving shit. And, most importantly, there's zero (intentional) humour in this one. So it is hardly surprising that it remains the sole entry of the eventual Mrs Storm Frend series even though it closes with the usual "knowing that one day he would summon her and that she would go back".
Which is too bad, really. I would definitely check out its sequel. Badass heroines always have potential, and a follow-up could shine with a more coherent plot and some editorial effort.
3/5
Facts:
Hero:
See the back page - paragraphs 1 and 2.
I can add that she is not exactly a modest person:
She was proud of her beauty, too, of the clear skin of her cheeks, the ivory of her forehead, the sculptured lines of her nose and chin. She was the perfect woman. She knew that and had built her life about its truth.
Clear skin of her cheeks? The ivory of her forehead?? And even the almighty ChatGPT cannot make sense of "building a life about its truth".
The bad guy(s):
See the back page - last paragraph.
But in Duke, aka Juan's defence: yes, he is definitely a fanatical patriot (to put it mildly) with sadistic tendencies (I'm not sure about demonic, though), but overall, he's not such a bad guy. If nothing else, he collects rare books and is one hell of a lover. See the "cool lines" section below.
Dames:
See the "hero" section.
Location:
This was her London.
She knew the capitals of the world, from the cavernous cement majesty of New York to the lissome grace of Paris, from the new dwarf city of Berlin to the towers of Madrid, from the steel-spanned beauty of Sydney to the schizophrenic worship of the gods of myth and mammon in Tokyo. None was an echo or an image of London, none had the spread and the fulness, the grandeur and the picturesqueness, the ancient and the modern all cheek-by-jowl - none except London.
And for no other reason I can think of but to do some 007 mandatory globetrotting, there's a brief episode that takes place in Nice in some fancy hotel.
Body count:
3 + one guard dog guarding the wrong place at the wrong time
The object of desire:
See the back page - paragraph 3
But those "fantastic schemes" are really hard to understand. They involve Juan spreading hatred and dissatisfaction among Commonwealth nations in the UN, stirring up troubles and making the work of the peacemakers difficult—not unlike what Communists used to do.
Confused? So it's our Storm:
"Storm, understand what I am about to say absolutely."
"I will if it can be understood."
"We must find out from Arago why he is doing what he is, and for whom he is doing it."
But it does get cleared at the end:
When the fighting is over and the nuclear war is done, there will be nothing left of the Great Powers, but there will still be Spain. And Spain will become great again, without knowing that her greatness came from me.
Blackouts:
The first one comes when they spin her around on something called "The Pirouette", and the pain is apparently so intense that:
She did not lose consciousness, yet she was not fully conscious.
Huh? Go figure... But at the end of the chapter, it is unquestionable. She barely reaches the getaway vehicle among the bullets storm, and...
It was then that she fainted.
The second one takes place in Nice, right after she checks into the aforementioned fancy hotel:
She was drugged, of course; this she now knew. What she didn't know was whether she would ever come round again once she lost consciousness.
Title:
See the "hero" section.
Edition:
Pocket Book #50298, 1st printing, September 1966
Cover:
Love everything about it, even though it is not the most anatomically accurate. Surely her left hand is not that long?
Cool lines:
It has to be said that the whole thing is pretty dull until it reaches its climax in the last two chapters. Since my glass of wine is still almost full, and I'll write a condensed summary:
He came in.
In all her years as a spy, and as a woman, she had never known fear as she knew it now.
...
Pale, soft-looking hands, beautifully manicured.
She knew how such hands could hurt.
...
She smiled into his eyes.
She knew what effect such a smile could have.
...
He could see her face, her lips, curving so gently, a glimpse of her teeth, her shoulders, the fullness of her breasts.
...
"Nothing is worth such a waste," she said softly.
He did not answer.
"Nothing could justify your despoiling me. It would be sacrilege."
...
"Nothing could justify it," she repeated.
...
"There is so much more to do with my body," she said. "More than you have ever dreamed." Her voice dropped to a whisper, and the whisper was like a caress. "Untie me. Then you can find out whether I am telling the truth."
He neither moved nor spoke.
...
"Untie me," she said again. She almost pleaded.
"You know I cannot," he replied.
"I know you can."
"Storm, what makes this silence so important to you?"
"What makes my words so important to you?"
"I have - a duty."
"I have - a body."
"Storm."
"Untie me."
...
"Don't waste me," Storm said. "Untie me."
...
"No one can save you, no one can spare you."
"You can," she said.
"You are fooling yourself."
"You are denying yourself."
...
"Juan," she whispered. "Untie my legs."
Nearer.
"Just my legs." She could hardly hear her own voice. "I cannot harm you if my hands are tied. And you will have proved yourself."
...
"Juan," she said, "if you must, you must. But why not - afterward?"
Afterward.
"Untie my legs," she pleaded, and in the pleading there was promise.
...
She lay smiling at him, her eyes glowing, and the radiance was not forced, for she was warmed in the prospect of life.
...
"Now," he said, "prove that there is no other woman like you."
...
He was not simply a male. He was a man of deep experience, as great a lover as she had ever known.
Slowly she slid into a kind of oblivion, oblivion of the world outside, as if there were only the two of them alive, and because of that they were as one, not only for passion's sake but for the sake of tomorrow's world.
...
The time came when there were two bodies where there had been one.
...
"Juan," she said. "Did I prove my boast?"
"You proved it."
And that's it, I'm outta here. You are welcome. Not only for passion's sake but for the sake of tomorrow's world
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