First in a series of reviews. Next: Casino Royale

I was curious about this book for two reasons. First: Bond, at least in the movies, is a man of mystery. The ultimate action hero, he’s ever-resourceful, unencumbered by friends or family and perpetually peripatetic. Perhaps there’s more backstory in the original books, but I must confess that I haven’t ventured much into Fleming since being sorely disappointed by Moonraker as a child (where were the lasers?). The making of James Bond sounded like a better pitch than a typical “authorised by the estate” cash-in.

Second, Silverfin is written by Charlie Higson, better known to Brits as “that one off the Fast Show”, lesser known as a member of of minor Norwich rockers The Higsons, and less known still as an occasional thriller writer. I read with irritation that he’d got the Young Bond gig, assuming this to be the literary equivalent of the stunt casting that’s led to comedy actors colonising half the straight roles in British drama. That suggested a Mooreish romp – and one tempered by the need to avoid disturbing “kidult” sensibilities, at that.

So it was with mixed expectations that I picked up a cheap but untarnished copy of Silverfin in a charity shop: hoping for a cultish thrill, but confident of mild schadenfreude if it failed to deliver. But in fact (and as I’d have known if I’d paid more attention to the reviews) – it does a pretty good job of delivering junior-grade thrills and a fresh (re)introduction to the character.

Once past the surprisingly chilling prologue, we join Bond as he arrives as a new bug at Eton, following him as he struggles to find his niche. Higson sidesteps another pitfall here: although he plays up to a few school-story conventions, most of the words are spent on getting to know our young hero and his between-the-wars milieu, rather than furnishing him with crowd-pleasing triumphs. James may be raw as yet – though he picks up a few tips and tricks along the way – but he’s recognizably Bond: determined, capable and decisive.

Part two sees James decamp to Scotland, where we’re introduced to maiden aunt Charmian and elderly uncle Max. Both characters – extrapolated from the minimal backstory provided by Fleming – contribute to the skills and strengths that will ultimately transform the nervy young Bond into the super-confident 007. This is perhaps the thinnest section of the book, but despite its longueurs it nonetheless solidifies our understanding of James. He’s still something of a cipher, but we do get more of a feeling for his internal life, and of rare affection for his aunt and uncle.

The pace picks up as the second section draws to a close and barrels into the more obvious Bondage of the third part, in which James confronts his would-be nemesis, Lord Randolph Hellebore, and begins acting like an indomitable hero rather than an uncertain schoolboy. Hellebore, eel-obsessed and power-mad, is a kind of proto-Blofeld; the other supporting characters are also of familiar types. Cockney sparrer Red Kelly shapes up as a handy sidekick and there’s a suitably feisty (but thankfully low-key) romantic interest in the form of Wilder Lawless.

Wilder’s name is one of the few explicit references to the adult Bond, but Higson generally steers well clear of the knowingness that has tripped up other efforts to (literally) rejuvenate popular characters. He resists the temptation to wink at the reader, with very few cutesy references to the Bond to come. Young James isn’t aided and abetted by contraptions assembled by the school geek; nor is he forced to face off against kids with deadly braces, prosthetic limbs or lethally-customised school uniforms.

Nor is Higson’s treatment anachronistic: James isn’t a cocky twenty-first century teen transplanted to the Thirties, his training is remarkably plausible and Hellebore’s plot is futuristic in a strictly retro way. But Higson does allow himself to skirt the fantastic edges of the spy genre; one understated riff suggests a point of origin for the later Bond’s superhuman strength and endurance – although apparently unintentionally.

But on the whole, this, like the rest of the book, comes across as a restrained and respectful furthering of the Bond mythos, and one that eschews flashiness in favour of solid, well-paced entertainment. This formerly skeptical reader is looking forward to reading more of the young Bond’s adventures … and returning to those of his older counterpart.