A review of ‘Doctor Who: Survival;’ the novelisation by Rona Munro and audio-book read by Lisa Bowerman

Where as I’ve never seen Survival, the audio book made a great holiday listen, and if you are a fan of Doctor Who, especially the Classic series, and thrice especially the Target novelisations, this is something of a poignant treat. Poignant because Survival is both the final serial of the 26th season and also the final story of the entire original 26-year run of the Doctor Who. The story was first broadcast in three parts, weekly, from 22 November to 6 December 1989. The story contained a number of finals, the final regular television appearance of Anthony Ainley as the Master, of Sophie Aldred as Ace and the last regular television appearance of Sylvester McCoy as the Seventh Doctor.

The audio book is narrated by Lisa Bowerman, who played Karra, a ‘Cheetah-person’ in the tv Survival story, and has also voiced the New Adventures / Big Finish audio drama favourite Bernice Summerfield.

The book’s settings are, variously, Perivale in West London and a dying Alien world. We begin in West London, where the Doctor brings his companion Ace back to her home, Perivale, to catch up with family and friends. Other than Ace being in a real mood about the whole thing, something is very wrong (as it would be). People are disappearing. And a particularly feral black cat watches from teh sidelines, as does the Doctor’s most implacable foe…
It transpire that people are being chased by horse mounted ‘Cheetah-people’ into another dimension, where they run and hide or are killed by for sport by the same cat creatures. Worse, the planet itself is directing everything with a malign force that seeks to compel an accelerated Darwinian struggle and spread it to new worlds. Turns out the Master is stuck on the planet, and needs the Doctor’s help to escape…

The story has a number of characteristics typical of the show of this time. First, it is an original and pacy story. The show had not strayed into interminable story arc territory at this stage. It combines very domestic and familiar settings (London estates, suburbs, youth clubs, and so on) with alien worlds. It is full of the Seventh Doctor’s particular characteristics, the rolling, r’s, a kind but determined and persistent approach, and the familiarity of a trusted Uncle with vert eccentric habits. And the inter-play with Ace, extreme banter and a real bond.
It also has the casual and violent ends of quite a few minor characters (still a trope) that keeps dramatic tension high. You really don’t know who is going to make it (apart from the Doctor and hos companions. Companion death was still relatively rare.

The Master is a strong component in this story. He is thoroughly evil, some of his actions are wholly irredeemable, and yet darkly witty and engaging. We get some intriguing backstory of the Master and the Doctor’s shared story in this novelisation as well
Lisa Bowerman’s narration is really well done. She is clearly enjoying herself, conjuring the 7th Doctor, Ace and others before our eyes, and that is infectious.

Advertisements

A review of Charles Marsh’s “Strange Glory: A life of Dietrich Bonhoeffer”

This book has been a faithful companion for a few years of my life now. I have taken an absurdly long time over it, because of the busyness of life, and knowing that I’d never abandon it unread, that I’d always pick up where I left off.

It is a remarkable biography of the war-time minister and theologian. It is so rich in detail, so evocative of the times and places of it’s subject, I felt I had actually visited the places in the book, and met some of the people concerned. We begin with Dietrich’s childhood in a wealthy and connected family, and there are different flavours of the provincial and urban life of the time, of the holidays in mountain retreats studying nature and poetry, of the holiday games and rituals. Then there’s is the young man Bonhoeffer, studying and traveling, visiting sumptuous locations such as Barcelona, transported by the Cathedrals and Orthodox Christianity he encounters there, the parades, the music, the sung catechisms. We watch him navigate University life, cut his exceptional theological teeth, and then travel further and mature greatly in his views and theology in New York and with Harlem churches, where he makes strong connections with social action, protest, political idealism and Christianity.

Tangentially through all this there is the growing horror and dread of the growth and spread of the Nazi movement, including in the Churches. Bonhoeffer’s attempts to organise a dissident group of preachers is described, as the oppression and Nazi barbarity gains momentum.
Bonhoeffer meets Eberhard Bethge, with whom he develops an enduring and profound romantic friendship that at times borders on a possessive mania (on Bonhoeffer’s part). This is an important theme in Bonhoeffer’s life, revealing inner conflicts both in his self and in his theology.

Bonhoeffer is involved, even if it is peripherally with one of the plots to assassinate Hitler, and this seals his awful doom of execution in a Nazi concentration camp. Here the power of the writing to put one in the very shoes of Bonhoeffer has a terrifying and oppressive affect. Charles Marsh views Bonhoeffer’s fate without blinking, he offers no distancing philosophising or sermonising, only Bonhoeffer’s own words.

In it’s description and analysis of Dietrich Bonhoeffer’s writings and thought, the book presents these ideas in all their freshness and excitement. That is, the excitement of a faith that is there to change the world, to challenge evil and turn established orders on their head; so the last, the brutalised, poor and oppressed come first in a theology of service and sacrifice, and the first, that is the preening leaders and Churchmen so quick to yoke their faith to the Nazi machine, come truly last as the abominations that they are.

A remarkable work, detailing a remarkable life.

A review of Greg Garrett’s “Living with the Living Dead: the Wisdom of the Zombie Apocalypse.”

In this exciting, fun and informative work, Greg Garrett, Professor of English at Baylor University, and a theologian and Church leader, takes on our culture’s obsession with the undead.
Why have they exploded in public consciousness, invading film, tv, books, art, comics and more. Why is the term ‘zombie’ appearing at all levels of our discourse, including economics and politics?

The writer explains that at times when humanity feels itself under attack and in crisis, facing an existential threat, it turns to personified figures of death, including the zombie, to help it work things through and deal.
And so in the middle ages, at the time of the Black Death, we get death personified, the skeletal, cowled and scythed figure. During world war one death personified again appeared in poetry and art. During Vietnam we got Romero’s Night of the Living Dead. And, following the November 11th Twin Tower attacks, we got an explosion of the zombie through our media and culture.

Referencing a wide range of stories, TV shows, books, movies, comics and art, most frequently Cormac McCarthy’s “the Road,” (yes the baddies are not strictly zombies, but they are predatory cannibals in apocalyptic setting that have disavowed their humanity. The important difference is…..?), “the Walking Dead,” Game of Thrones,” and the films of George A Romero, Mr Garret shows how the undead narrative can teach is much about community, ethics, and whether we face the end with nihilism or hope. As important as the monsters is the setting of the cataclysm or apocalypse that unleashes them. He writes eloquently of the history of the apocalypse, it’s secular and religious understandings, and why it is a context that so haunts us.
His references and quotes are always well judged, entertaining and illuminating. He also draws on a number of less well known sources such as the comic “Afterlife with Archie,” a story called “Escape from the Mall,” the movie “Pride and Prejudice and Zombies” and more.
His arguments are profound and wise; by naming our deepest fears and horrors, sharing them, showing how good always remains a choice even in the darkest times, we gain strength and inner resources to deal with the threats we face individually and as communities every day.
It is up to us whether we become a snarling opportunist or someone who “carries the fire” to light up the darkness.
The writing is clear, accessible, warm, engaging and hopeful.

Thoroughly recommended

A review of C.S.Lewis’s “The Chronicles of Narnia: The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe.”

For many years now our family has enjoyed the most wonderful Summer holidays in Cornwall.  And it’s at this time that my tradition is to read a book by C.S.Lewis.

Having exhausted his science fiction trilogy, and his essays and works on the Christian faith, I have now turned to the Chronicles of Narnia.  Last year it was “the Magician’s Nephew,” this year “the Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe.”

One of the best known and loved of Lewis’s works, the out-line of the story will be known to most.  Children are playing hide and seek in an Uncle’s large house.  One child, Lucy, bolts into a wardrobe and into another world, populated by Fauns. talking animals, and an evil witch who has cast the land in a perpetual Winter, and cancelled Christmas.  Lucy is shortly followed by Edmund, who meets said Queen and is turned to the dark side by a box of Turkish delight.  Then enter the rest of the gang, older children Peter and Susan.

They are befriended by Mr and Mrs Beaver, and taken to meet the land’s power for Good, Aslan.  An epic confrontation between good and evil follows.  What is also well known is how this is modelled on the Christian Gospel, with its vicarious sacrifice to pay the price for evil and treachery, and resurrection and the defeat of evil.

For my money Lewis does this without distorting or spoiling the story.  It is, above all, an engaging, fast paced, imaginative and moving story.  And I think you would feel that with no knowledge of Christianity.  For those of and sympathetic to the Christian faith it offers another level of meaning, and it is skilful how the events do parallel those in the Gospel.  As well as the main notes, we get the torment and persecution of Aslan by monsters echoing the torture and taunting of Christ, and the women watching the tomb and tending to the slain Christ are echoed by Lucy and Susan in this story in their ministering to Aslan at the stone table.  But the foundation to all this, I have to stress, is a really good story.  None of it would work if it wasn’t.

I love also the black and white illustrations by Pauline Baynes, sketches that capture the magic and wonder of the story.

Lewis’s gender politics are dated and have been a problem for many, and hotly debated.  That they were the norm when he wrote does not mean that they do not grate.  There is a line here that made me wince about battles being uglier if women fight.  No, war is ugly whoever fights, and World War One destroyed the notion of wars fought by poetic, chivalrous combat.

It is a problem, but not one in my view that should spoil the story.  We have to be sympathetic to the fact that he was writing in and of his time, and his female characters, Queen included, are so epic.  Lucy and Susan drive the action as much as if not more that their male counterparts.

A wonderful story, well written by a master story-teller.  Young or old, this is here to be enjoyed.

A review of Harold Bloom’s “Lear: the great image of authority.”

Harold Bloom’s literary criticism does not lack ambition. He credits the character of John Falstaff, for example, of inventing what it means to be human. He describes Hamlet Prince of Denmark for taking us past the limits of thought, and King Lear past the limits of feeling, describing them almost as God-like beings that we cannot approach directly, hence the need for characters who mediate for us, such as Horatio in Hamlet and Kent in Lear.
Your capacity for the scope and scale of Bloom’s assertions will largely determine as to whether you are able to finish his books.
I myself admire the ambition but am not always convinced by it. There is a sense of Shakespeare’s characters being overloaded with more freight than they can carry. Shakespeare has been loved through the years because his characters are all too real, all too like you and me in thoughts and feelings and vulnerabilities. But that does not make them beyond our reach in terms of what we can comprehend. What we lack in power with some of these characters, we keep pace with in frailties, mortality and capacity for moral choice.
What I enjoyed about this shorter work on Lear, part of a series by Bloom on Shakespeare’s characters are the range of sources and influences and works that have been influenced, that he brings to bear. For example, we see how Lear echoes the Bible at certain points, especially the language of the Geneva Bible, the translation that would have been predominant when Shakespeare wrote. We find lesser known poems such the anonymous Tom O’Bedlam song here reproduced in its entirety, from a common-place book of around 1620. It’s a fascinating and rich poem and it’s good that Bloom is giving it a wider readership. We also see how the play influenced Browning (“Childe Roland to the Dark Tower came”) and others.
Bloom’s contention is that although Lear references Christianity, which he describes as “addicted to hope,” Lear’s universe is so dark and nihilistic that it negates hope. He argues that Edgar’s journey is from betrayed brother to outcast to avenging nemesis to a ruler who realises the hopelessness of life. Bloom argues that the play offers no consolation or hope, good actions being admirable but otherwise futile on the treacherous “great stage of fools.” Lear is a tough play, and it does take us into the abyss. But I would argue that it mirrors the cataclysm of evil in our own world but does not negate goodness. When goodness if defeated, as it appears to be in Lear, it may be a lost battle, but it takes place in a wider war. And the goodness of Edgar, Cordelia, Kent and others, is truly exemplary and inspirational, in turn helping us to achieve good actions in our lives. The play also spotlights the hypocrisy, banality and self-defeating nature of evil. The play may end in a cataclysm, but the evil characters are also consumed, either by their own hand or by those of the play’s heroes such as Edgar. It is the good that is left standing.
And so, Bloom’s book is an engaging read and the writing is wonderful. But Bloom’s massive, meta claims on Shakespeare’s heroes, together with a bleak and nihilistic world view, means that much seems missed, and some arguments seem to be supported by nothing more than bloom’s conceit.
A good read, though, and some genuine insights.

A review of Seamus Perry’s “The Connell Guide to T.S.Eliot’s ‘The Wasteland.’ “

This slim volume is a powerhouse of literary criticism, energetically unlocking understanding to one of the richest, most challenging poems of the twentieth century,
‘The Wasteland’ shows T.S.Eliot getting exploring fracturing identities, individual, societal, national and international after the first great war. Humanity is left dislocated and locked in self defined prisons of individualism, longing for love but unable to make the surrender to reach it. The poem references classical literature, mythology, Shakespeare, Tennyson, and other poets, writers and anthropologists, merging their voices, then fracturing them, then re-casting them into hybrid narrators. The reader must use the footnotes Eliot provided and do their own digging, the poem becoming a terrifying vision, a case to solve and a gateway to literature and ideas all in one.
The Cornell Guide, written by Seamus Perry with admirable clarity at 121 pages, is a fantastic key to the enigmas of the Wasteland. It follows the acts of the poem and gives themed explorations, looking at what the poem is about, the importance of the references and use of other languages and what they mean, who the different characters are or represent, and whether or not we can consider it a pessimistic poem (the writer finds grounds for hope and some, some, optimism). There are also side-bars on the role of Ezra Pound, Eliot’s wife Vivien Eliot, and critical reception to the poem.
The book is a pleasure to read with its clear, accessible style, use of fonts, colours and apt and helpful illustrations.

A review of Nick Clark Windo’s “The Feed.”

In ‘The Feed’ Nick Clark Windo weaves a frightening and compelling tale that draws on our addiction to modern technology, the internet and the increasing digital interconnectedness of things, and takes it a few steps further; what if the internet was in our heads and could be access by our thoughts? What if this allowed us to instantaneously access and communicate full sensory experiences, memories and dreams? Where would our reliance on that technology take us? What would we lose? What if we became consciously and subconsciously addicted to ‘the feed’ as this extra neural net is called, and what if it suddenly, catastrophically ‘went down?’ What would happen to individuals and society?

Tom, Kate, and their unborn child are about to find out…

This is a brilliantly constructed, taut, pacy science fiction and horror story that is uncomfortably close to where we are in our current dependencies on technology. There’s a breathtaking opening scene that cleverly communicates through breathless, italicised prose what the hyper-reality of the feed is like. Then the collective double shock at a Presidential assassination, and the failing of the feed. That they are connected is to become disturbingly apparent.

The years pass, and a further horrific development becomes evident; people are ‘taken’ in their sleep, waking to become to other people, prone to violence and terrorism. But taken by who or what?

The writer develops these theme in an imaginative tour de force that I won’t spoil here. The origin of the invaders is poignant and disturbing.

And over half way through this book there is rug pull that is genuinely shocking and that I for one did not see coming, that adds layers of emotional and psychological pain on its protagonists. And there are moments of terrible horror. The book does not give readers an easy out, or an easy ride.

This is a dystopia that is original, plausible, and utterly compelling. Recommended.

A review of Michael Moorcock’s “The Sailor on the Seas of Fate”

Elric of Melnibone is a self-exiled Sorcerer from his own land of Immryr, having forsaken his kin on a quest for self-knowledge and the redemption of his kind, who have grown proud, crazed and insouciant with their power and sorcery. Other nations in the ‘Young Kingdoms’ fear the Melniboneans at best, and to these Elric journeys in his quest for answers.
His is accompanied by an accursed sword called Stormbringer, possessed of its own lust for souls and blood. Elric himself is partly at the mercy of the forces he seeks to master.
In this tale, Elric finds a ship waiting for him on an alien shore under a blue sun, and a shadowy captain who invites him on a mysterious quest, and he is not alone. He is accompanied by heroes from other times. They must confront colossal demonic powers of multi-verse defying proportions. And that’s just book one.

Book two sees Elric face off against another Melnibonean sorcerer who is crazed for the love of a young woman whose spirit he is convinced inhabits the body of a young woman Elric has just rescued.

Book three sees Elric join forces with a wealthy explorer to find the lost land that Elric’s people first hailed from, and in that lost land a lost city and great treasure possibly awaits, and Elric hopes to find answers in his personal quest for identity and redemption. Instead, they are pursued by reptile humanoids on stork like legs launching lethal decapitating crescents from their club weapons, and are forced to summon (and then banish) the Prince of Hell.

This is high, nihilistic fantasy told on a vast, multi-dimension and multi-verse spanning canvas. It’s head spinning stuff, referencing H P Lovecraft with its ancient Gods and Demons sapping the sanity of those who behold them, to a range of other fantasy tropes, and at times you can almost hear the Dungeons and Dragons dice rattle across the table. But Moorcock’s creation is very much his own. Sanity and genre busting story telling, Elric may seem at times like the High Lord Emo, with his deathly pale skin, brooding and identity crisis, but he is nevertheless an unforgettable creation.
How strange then that the publishing world has forgotten him. The Elric books are largely out of print. I found this in a Church book sale. You can get them on Amazon from a range of sellers. Some are hard to obtain and collectors items.
A reprint is long overdue, in an age of conveyor belt fantasy clones of door stopping length. These slim volumes are a fraction of the length, but far bigger in ambition and originality than many.

A review of Ray Bradbury’s “The Illustrated Man.”

Ray Bradbury (1920-2012) wrote horror, science fiction and fantasy tales in the 1950’s, worlds of rocket ships, chain smoking astronauts, Martians and the colonisation of Mars, and monsters that lurk both outside and inside our skins.

The Illustrated Man (1951) is a collection of short stories that ticks all of these tropes, book-ended by a chance Ancient Mariner style meeting (a haunted figure stops a stranger to relate a macabre tale/s) whereby a lone traveller reveals a torso completely covered by tattoos to a fascinated onlooker, tattoos seemingly animated, telling stories from the future.

And so, as our onlooker watches the story of each piece of body art, we are along the ride.

There are stories where humanity’s dependence on technology comes back to bite them, eerily prescient of our Augmented Reality and app for everything age, as with ‘the Veld,;’ whereby a Virtual Reality playground brings to the surface childhood rage in a homicidal form. Anyone who has tried to wrest their child away from some screen or other will relate to this tale.

We also have ‘the Visitor,’ which explores the notion that each world may have its own Messiah figure bringing redemption and healing and requiring faith and belief, whilst ‘the Fox and the Forest’ relate the stories of a couple on the run in 1930’s Mexico from a terrifying future and its agents.
‘The Other Foot’ shows how the racial apartheid politics of 1950’s America could play out on Mars with racial roles reversed, and ‘Kaleidoscope’ and ‘No Principal Night or Morning’ explore humanity’s relationship with the alienating vastness of space, with ‘the Rocket’ exploring the flip side, a longing to explore and awe at interstellar marvels.
A future of nuclear devastation beckons in ‘The Highway’ relating an urban exodus from World War Three, whilst ‘the Last night on the world’ shows the whole of humanity sharing a dream that convinces them that the end is nigh, and the comforts of routine in preparing for the end.
Elsewhere in the cosmos, men are driven mad by the incessant rain of Venus in ‘The Long Rain,’ or butchered by a homicidal city intent on revenge in ‘The City, ‘ whilst a future colony of the diseased on Mars are visited by a man with telepathic gifts to share in ‘the Visitor,’ but will they share?
‘Marionettes Inc.’ shows the human / machine master and servant relationship breaking down as mechanical slaves demand a life of their own.
An alien invasion with children and inter-dimensional aliens working together is represented by ‘Zero-Hour,’ and children feature again as a horrified father witnesses the Hellish side to children at play in ‘The Playground.’
‘Usher II’ is one of the stories that anticipated Fahrenheit 451 with its vision of a book burning future, here with one man’s recreation of the works of Poe to exact revenge on the state censors.

This is a pacy and entertaining collection of future-shock tales that showcases the unique imaginative talents of Ray Bradbury, although for me it lacked the coherence and spiritual intensity of ‘The Martian Chronicles,’ another collection of Bradbury’s short tales.  Still an amazing read of amazing tales, though.