On 16 August 1952, Ian Fleming wrote to his wife, Ann, "My love, This is only a tiny letter to try out my new typewriter and to see if it will write golden words since it is made of gold." And he did write golden words: 14 bestselling James Bond books, and an equally energetic flow of letters to his wife, publisher, editors, fans, friends, and critics, charting 007's progress with correspondence that ranged from badgering Jonathan Cape about his quota of free copies—a coin was tossed; Fleming lost—to apologising for having mistaken a certain brand of perfume and for equipping Bond with the wrong kind of gun.