It’s an intriguingly pulpy idea for a Bond novel. But Scorpius, Gardner’s seventh outing as the official author of the James Bond novels, is not as fun as the premise promises. It marks the beginning of the downturn in Gardner’s novels, as if the author was developing a malaise with the series and was running short of enthusiasm. Scorpius falls between two of Gardner’s most derivative Bonds: No Deals, Mr. Bond, which borrows its finale direct from the classic Richard Condon short story “The Most Dangerous Game,” and Win, Lose or Die, cribbed from Top Gun and Die Hard. Gardner at least gives Bond a more creative work-out here with the religious cult with Scientology-like pretensions and murderous ambitions beneath its “peace, love, and drug-free life” mottos. The plot, however, often wanders around in the first two thirds, promising to pick up the pace at any moment, but never quite getting there. No Deals, Mr. Bond at least moved fast and kept the story rolling along. Scorpius has enough intrigue about the unfolding events to keep readers turning pages in anticipation of the big twists, but not until Bond gets to Scorpius’s Ten Pines Plantation in Chapter 16 does the novel finally advance to the next level. And the only big twist arrives in the final chapter, and by that point most readers will have figured it out—especially those familiar with the way Gardner usually crafts his plots.

The story remains in England for the early chapters. In itself, England isn’t a bad setting for a Bond story. Fleming managed to make a thrilling novel out of Moonraker, which never got farther away from London than the coast of Kent. Bond novels don’t necessarily need the visual exoticism of the movies to sustain interest as long as the story and atmosphere are right. A nuclear missile plant in Southeast England is still a nuclear missile plant. But Scorpius’s action in England consists entirely of Bond dashing from site to site so he can engage in long briefings with M, find the remains of Scorpius’s handiwork, and occasionally get involved in a bloody firefight. When the action finally switches to another spot in the world, it move to the uninteresting coast of South Carolina. At least the swamps around the resort have water moccasins, and Gardner promises a tense scene of Bond having to make his escape from Ten Pines Plantation, but the thrills that result are only minor. As a climax, it’s disappointing. The novel does have a surprising trick up its sleeve for the principal girl of the story, IRS agent Harriet Horner, and it’s not of the usual Gardner “identity switch” predictability. (For those of you who enjoy these gags, don’t fret: there are still a few awaiting you.)

And where, in all this, is our titular character? He’s mentioned plenty of times, but he’s a no-show until Bond jets to South Carolina (and gets to watch Sean Connery in The Untouchables on the in-flight movie—an overly-cute in-joke). When Scorpius does make his obligatory dinner conversation with Bond, he turns out to be an unfocused villain who can’t explain exactly what he hopes to achieve with his schemes. The false wedding he forces on Bond and his gal-pal Harriet Horner is an especially loopy move that has no affect on the plot. Scorpius’s supposedly hypnotic power over people (but not, of course, over a strong-willed man like Bond) a la Charles Manson also isn’t convincing for a character who makes so few appearances.

The most effective character is Bond’s ally, Pearly Pearlham. Gardner’s novels often lack the important male friendships that Ian Fleming made such an important part of his books, but Pearlham is a step in the right direction. His reasons for aiding Bond against Scorpius make him an unusual and suspicious partner. Bond’s constant doubts about Pearly and Harriet’s allegiances, however, gets wearisome. It feels as if the author, aware of the flagging suspense in the middle of the book, tossed in these passages to artificially heighten the tension.

The violence rises to a more graphic level than in Gardner’s previous Bonds, almost as if anticipating the gorier dispatches in Licence to Kill. The carnage left behind in the Puttenham clinic is especially ripe, even if the writing doesn’t make it clear what exactly happened. Bond also gives the villain a nasty, visceral send-off. If only Valdimir Scorpius and his namesake book were worthy of such a grand exit.

Worse books would follow, but Scorpius marks the end of John Gardner’s honeymoon in Bond-land.