Len Deighton: legendary thriller writer

My first encounter with James Bond came while accompanying Harry Saltzman as we followed in the steps of Ian Fleming through the streets and alleys of Istanbul. I was writing one of the early screenplays for From Russia With Love. The book's climax has James Bond wrestling with Rosa Klebb, who is armed only with her knitting. And Bond gets the worst of it. Even more disturbing for me was the death of James Bond on the final page. I knew Harry would not like that. And I was right.

Kate Grimond: Fleming's neice

Raymond Chandler told Ian Fleming that Diamonds are Forever, the fourth James Bond novel, was not worthy of his talents, that he was capable of higher things. Fleming disabused him: “I am not short-weighting anybody and I have absolutely nothing more up my sleeve. The way you talk, anybody would think that I was a lazy Shakespeare or Raymond Chandler. Not so.” He was aiming, not for the head or for the heart, but for “somewhere between the solar plexus and, well, the upper thigh”.

Simon Kernick: bestselling thriller writer

Fleming did what very few authors have managed down the years: in James Bond he created a character who was absolutely timeless. He might have been quintessentially English, but go anywhere in the world, and they know exactly who Bond is and what he does. The books are well-plotted, fast-paced and with a genuine international flavour that makes them just as exciting to read now as they were when they were written all those years ago.

Charlie Higson: Young Bond author

Amid all the brouhaha surrounding Bond, it's all too easy to forget just what a good writer Fleming was. Writing action is a little like writing sex (which he was pretty good at too); there is a limited vocabulary and a narrow range of things your protagonists can actually get up to. There are only so many ways you can punch someone, or shoot them, or strangle them. Whether he's writing about skin diving, fast cars, naked gypsy wrestling, Fleming's books are vivid and immediate.

Stella Rimington: former head of MI5

In Fleming's day, when spying was for chaps, girls were, like Solitaire, Domino and Tatiana Romanova, gorgeous, expendable and definitely underneath. Managerial roles for women were scarce. To qualify, you had to look like a toad, have pale, moist lips below the sheen of nicotine- stained fur and be a sexual neuter - a Colonel Rosa Klebb in fact. Poor Ian Fleming. Looking down on us on his 100th birthday, how confused he must be. Move over Mr Bond. We're in charge now.

Antony Beevor: eminent historian and schoolboy fan

I cringe when I remember how easily influenced I was at school by Bond novels, not so much by their formula of “sex, sadism and snobbery” but more from a teenager's desperate yearning for sophistication. At the back of a drawer somewhere, I owned a black knitted silk tie, which I had bought because that was what James Bond wore. Years later, my editor at Jonathan Cape told me how at authors' parties Fleming was left standing on one side, longing to be acknowledged but deliberately ignored.

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