July Books 9) Confessions of Zeno, by Italo Svevo

Ma mi colse allora un’altra piccola malattia da cui non dovevo più guarire. Una cosa da niente; la paura d’invecchiare e sopra tutto la paura di morire.
At that time I was attacked by a slight illness from which I was never to recover. It was a mere trifle; the fear of growing old, and above all the fear of death.

This is supposedly one of the great twentieth century novels, the tale of Trieste businessman Zeno Cosini, his smoking, his father, his wife and mistress, and his largely unsuccessful business dealings. James Joyce, who had taught the author English in Trieste, boosted it and it’s pretty clear that Zeno Cosini is a very close ancestor of Leopold Bloom’s and that the novel is consciously placed in the wider Proust / Woolf / Joyce tradition.

It’s not really as good, though. Zeno is difficult to like or sympathise with; he is the author of his own misfortunes, but not in a terribly interesting or engaging way. The stories are presented as if published by his psychiatrist, who warns that they are full of lies; but if so, we never really find out what the lies are, which I find a weakness. However the detailed depiction of Trieste in the last years of the Austro-Hungarian Empire, brick by brick, is very good and again is something Joyce drew on later. Recommended for fans of early twentieth century literature.

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July Books 8) The Also People, by Ben Aaronovitch

One bright morning the citizens of me!Xu!xi-si!cisisa had got out of bed to find that their entire city was suddenly in the middle of a lake the size of Arizona. Which was why Bernice and saRa!qava had to catch a hydrofoil from a terminus on the lake shore.

This New Adventure is an obvious tribute to Iain M. Banks: the People of the title are very similar to the Culture, a post-scarcity interstellar society with intelligent drone robots and spaceships. Banks himself had mixed feelings about the show. In 2008 he wrote that “some of the Doctor Who episodes over the last few years have been amongst the best SF ever to appear on TV or film and may well prove much more influential than anything I’ve ever written”, but by the time of his last interview he had “fallen out of love” with it. Banks fans who are at least vaguely acquainted with Who will enjoy Aaronovitch’s adaptation of the Culture to the Whoniverse; for Who fans, who are of course the primary audience, it’s one more well-realised alien culture, with a bit more depth to it than is the norm.

Apart from the audacity of the setting, it’s quite a good story. The Doctor and friends (two of his current companions being their time’s equivalent of police officers) are asked to investigate the mysterious murder of a drone, and work through the suspects despite various distractions. Roz in particular gets some very good character development time, which she hadn’t really had much in her previous five books. I was less happy about the sub-plot involving the Brigadier’s descendant Kadiatu Lethbridge-Stewart and Bernice; the Seventh Doctor as manipulator doesn’t always work for me. But it’s a small element of an enjoyable whole.

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July Books 7) Desert, by J.M.G. Le Clézio

Ils sont apparus, comme dans un rêve, au sommet de la dune, à demi cachés par la brume de sable que leurs pieds soulevaient.
They appeared as if in a dream at the top of the dune, half-hidden in the cloud of sand rising from their steps.

When Le Clézio won the Nobel Prize for Literature a few years back, I was fascinated to discover that he had written a book set partly in the Western Sahara, which is indeed where his story starts and ends, following an uprising of then indigenous people against the Europeans of 1910-11, told from the viewpoint of a young boy close to but not in the events. But more than half of the book, interwoven with the sections set earlier, is the story of Lalla, set perhaps in the early 1950s, following her from a shanty-town near the coast, with her unspeaking herdsman lover, to Marseilles and back. It is Marseilles that turns out to be the real human desert, full of alienation for Lalla; Nour’s desert is a vibrant human space, full of physical and cultural significance. It would be interesting to read some critiques of this from sources nearer the region, but I very much enjoyed Le Clézio’s turning round the questions of who is alien, what is normal, where is the real desert.

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Wednesday reading

Current:
Spend Game, by Jonathan Gash
The Pickwick Papers, by Charles Dickens
Fantastic Voyage, by Isaac Asimov
Kiss of the Butterfly, by James Lyon

Last books finished
Desert, by J. M. G. Le Clézio
[Doctor Who] The Also People, by Ben Aaronovitch
Confessions of Zeno, by Italo Svevo
The Last Empress, by Anchee Min
[Doctor Who] Vanishing Point, by Stephen Cole

Next books
[Doctor Who] Plague of the Cybermen, by Justin Richards
Mockingjay, by Suzanne Collins
Katherine Swynford, by Jeannette Lucraft

Books acquired in last week:
Kiss of the Butterfly, by James Lyon

LT unread books tally: 444.

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Links I found interesting for 15-07-2013

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Links I found interesting for 14-07-2013

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100 years after Gerald Ford’s birth

On 14 July 1913, Leslie Lynch King Jr was born in Omaha, Nebraska. He grew up as Gerald Ford of Michigan, which is how history knows him: the only man to serve as both Vice-President and President of the United States of America, without ever being elected to either office; no President served a shorter term than Ford and lived to tell the tale; no President has lived longer.

He tends to be particularly remembered for his fluffs: his term of office began by pardoning his predecessor (and even then he fluffed the announcement, getting the month wrong) and ended when in debate with Jimmy Carter he stated that there was “no Soviet domination of Eastern Europe”, a pretty massive fluff.

In fact Ford was perfectly well aware of the situation in Eastern Europe, and presumably simply had one of those foot-in-mouth moments that happen to us all from time to time (though hopefully not in the defining public appearance of our careers). By negotiating the Helsinki Accords, he laid the foundations for the strengthening of civil society and embedded human rights in the geopolitical discourse of Europe, laying the foundations for the collapse of Communism two decades later to take a largely peaceful course (with some rather obvious exceptions). Those of us who live in a united, peaceful and free Europe today owe him, and I’ll raise a glass to his memory this evening.

It should also be noted that he took a markedly more liberal line on LGBT rights than most of his own party. But the 1970s were a different time.

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July Books 6) Shakespeare’s Handwriting: A Study, by Edward Maunde Thompson

…as for the Shakespearian MS., who could have made bold, any time within these last hundred and sixty years, to proclaim that he who would set eyes upon it need only raise his hand and take it down from its shelf in the Department of Manuscripts of the British Museum?

This is one of the classics of Shakespeariana and indeed of palæography, and you can now read it here. Sir Edward Maunde Thompson, one of the world's experts of his day, looked carefully at the six surviving signatures of William Shakespeare, and the three pages of the manuscript of Sir Thomas More which were written in a different hand to the others and sounded a bit Shakespearian; and concludes that they are by the same person. His description of how the letters are formed is meticulous, especially given that there are not that many letters in six signatures (one prefixed by the words "By me") to analyse. Scholars continue to debate whether or not Thomspon was right, and no doubt there is wishful thinking on both sides. In fact, why not judge for yourself:

The six "William"s from the six signatures:
W1
W2
W3
W4
W5
W6
the words "of Wisdome" from the Sir Thomas More manuscript:
ofWisdome
The six "Shakespeare"s from the six signatures:
S1
S2
S3
S4
S5
S6
The word "Serjant" (="Sergeant") from the Sir Thomas More manuscript:
Serjant

Stage directions for Shrewsbury and Surrey from the Sir Thomas More manuscript:
ShrewsburymaiorSurreymayerrSurrey

The word "By" from Shakespeare's will:
B1
The words "Bushell and Beeff" from the Sir Thomas More manuscript:
BushellandBeeff


I think this illustrates how fiendishly difficult these judgements are. I dabbled in palæography myself in times past and can appreciate just how difficult it is to get one’s eye in, and certainly don’t feel I can challenge Thompson’s verdict, which has made me all too aware of how little I know about the normal variation of individual handwriting around 1600. I have deliberately looked only at the capital letters above, because they are easiest on the unaccustomed eye; it should be noted that Thompson makes his case much more on the lower case letters, ‘a’ in particular. It’s quite a short book and pretty lucid in explaining why Thompson comes to the judgement he did.

I dug this up because I was reviewing the comments on my last Shakespeare post. Not surprisingly, this summary of Thompson’s research is not just a distortion but almost entirely inaccurate. This is the biggest problem with engaging with the Oxfordians (and the anti-Stratfordians in general): many of them simply lie about what is in the record, and are never called out by their own side even when the lies are blatant. The 9-11 Truthers are similar (I had a brush with them a few months back).

Of course, for those of who who think that Shakespeare actually wrote the plays that have his name attached to them, it doesn’t really matter very much whether or not three more pages of a play that was not printed or performed for centuries after his death can be added to the list of his works. For those who are desperate to prove that the William Shakespeare of the documentary record, whose signature appears on four legal documents (a witness deposition, two property records and three on his will), was not the same bloke who wrote the plays, it is obviously problematic if that bloke actually did write three pages of a play. But they have bigger problems to contend with.

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July Books 5) Dead Souls, by Nikolai Gogol

— Я полагаю приобресть мертвых, которые, впрочем, значились бы по ревизии как живые, — сказал Чичиков.
‘My intention is to obtain dead serfs, who, however, are indicated as alive in the census list,’ said Chichikov.

Dead Souls is presented to the reader in a rather odd way. Supposedly it was intended to be a trilogy, of which the first book is complete and the parts of several chapters of the second were written; like The Castle, it ends in mid-sentence. I guess it’s useful for completeness to have that material, but in fact the first book works perfectly well on its own: Chichikov, who is a right chancer, arrives in a small provincial town, and buys himself status by ostentatious expenditure and also by purchasing the “dead souls” of the title. Each of the chapters is an effective sketch of individuals in the town and nearby countryside, and the satirical descriptions of Chichikov’s interactions with them. Gogol is puncturing respectable bubbles here, and holding a slightly distorting mirror up to the world. I have to say that, by modern standards of satire, it’s all rather gentle, but I still found it pretty entertaining with hints of hidden depths.

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July Books 4) Harvest of Time, by Alastair Reynolds

“We are what we are, Doctor. If I did not exist, the universe would soon fill the void left by my absence. You could almost say that the universe requires us. We are order and disorder. We balance each other very effectively.”

This wheeze of getting well-known writers to contribute new Doctor Who books is proving an awfully good adventure. This is an excellent Doctor/Master/Jo story with UNIT in a supporting role, with adventures on oil rigs and a brilliant time paradox which poses an existential threat to the Master, and through him to the universe – very neatly done, and the Doctor is forced to make a crucial choice about his old enemy. Reynolds has caught the spirit fo the Pertwee era and made something new out of it. Strongly recommended both for Who fans and Reynolds fans. (Many of the latter are already in the former category, of course.)

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July Books 3) The Jagged Orbit, by John Brunner

Mother Superior couldn’t be drearier! Life is opressive and lonely and dun! Little Miss Celia envied Ophelia – Hamlet ignored her and then there was none!

This won the second BSFA Best Novel Award in 1970 (after the same author’s Stand on Zanzibar the previous year). It is set in 2014, mainly in and around New York, with a background of racial conflict, proliferation of privately owned weapons, and mass media which presents news as entertainment; there was a particularly good paragraph predicting spam, which unfortunately I failed to mark and couldn’t track down again. The story also involves a young woman who has visions of the future when in a drug-induced trance, which is less noticeably a feature of today’s society. As with Brunner’s other books, it is interspersed with news items giving a wider context, though here a lot of them are apparently from British news coverage of the racial tension in the USA in the late 1960s.

While I liked the intensity and indeed accuracy of the setting, I found the basic plot rather less engaging, and the characters not awfully sympathetic or memorable. It’s not recorded what else was up for the 1970 BSFA award, but The Left Hand of Darkness won both Hugo and Nebula (The Jagged Orbit was nominated for the latter).

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July Books 2) A Room of One’s Own, by Virginia Woolf

I told you in the course of this paper that Shakespeare had a sister; but do not look for her in Sir Sidney Lee’s life of the poet. She died young–alas, she never wrote a word. She lies buried where the omnibuses now stop, opposite the Elephant and Castle. Now my belief is that this poet who never wrote a word and was buried at the cross-roads still lives. She lives in you and in me, and in many other women who are not here to-night, for they are washing up the dishes and putting the children to bed. But she lives; for great poets do not die; they are continuing presences; they need only the opportunity to walk among us in the flesh.

I wish I had read this twenty years ago, or perhaps better twenty-five years ago when I was still a Cambridge undergraduate myself. I wish, indeed, that Cambridge would make it compulsory consciousness-raising reading for all students (and perhaps academic staff too). It is a tremendous, passionate, witty and forensic analysis of the barriers faced women who try to get anywhere in literature, or indeed in almost any other way of life. One of the great feminist texts, and at 112 pages mercifully succinct.

Top unread non-fiction:
Peleponnesian War | Innocents Abroad | Terre des Hommes | The Hero with a Thousand Faces | Race of a Lifetime / Game Change | Proust and the Squid | The Tipping Point | Incidents in the Life of a Slave Girl | Elementary Forms of Religious Life | Autobiography of an Ex-Colored Man | History of Christianity | History of the World in 100 Objects | A Room of One’s Own | Why Be Happy When You Could Be Normal? | The Last Mughal | Reading the Oxford English Dictionary | Jane Austen | Homage to Catalonia | The Road to Middle Earth | Essence of Christianity | The Strangest Man

July Books 1) The Complete Stories of Zora Neale Hurston

Unpleasant things were ahead of Laura Lee Kimble, but she was ready for this moment. It might be the electric chair or the rest of her life in some big lonesome jail house, or even torn to pieces by a mob, but she had passed three long weeks in jail. She had come to the place where she could turn her face to the wall and feel neither fear nor anguish. So this here so-called trial was nothing to her but a form and a fashion and an outside show to the world. She could stand apart and look on calmly.

A couple of years back I was fascinated to read Their Eyes Were Watching God, by Zora Neale Hurston, and then back in January someone on my f-list posted a glowing review of this book (in a locked entry). This is, as I hoped, an awfully good collection. There are some journeyman pieces about love, lust and death in a small town; there are some awesome character sketches, a great story written in Harlem slang, and an unfinished novel telling the story of John the Baptist’s execution from Herodias’ point of view. I chose the quote above, from an account of a black person being wrongfully prosecuted for attacking a white man, for its eerie resonance with the racially charged trial currently taking place a hundred miles farther south. Some things take a long time to change.

The stories are topped and tailed by essays by Henry Louis Gates, but the gold nugget at the end, mysteriously not even mentioned on the contents page, is Alice Walker’s account, “Looking for Zora”, of how she tracked down Hurston’s grave in 1973, 14 years after her death in 1959. It’s an incredible tale of erasure, hidden history and exclusion. For the moment it’s online here and well worth reading. It finishes:

There are times — and finding Zora Hurston’s grave was one of them — when normal responses of grief, horror, and so on do not make sense because they bear no real relation to the depth of the emotion one feels. It was impossible for me to cry when I saw the field full of weeds where Zora is. Partly this is because I have come to know Zora through her books and she was not a teary sort of person herself; but partly, too, it is because there is a point at which even grief feels absurd. And at this point, laughter gushes up to retrieve sanity.

It is only later, when the pain is not so direct a threat to one’s own existence that what was learned in that moment of comical lunacy is understood. Such moments rob us of both youth and vanity. But perhaps they are also times when greater disciplines are born.

Connections

Random moment of utter puzzlement when someone whose name I simply didn’t recognise accepted a friend request I must have sent months ago on Facebook.

On further perusal, I realised that her surname had changed when she got married very recently; and she was in fact our former au pair, whose grandfather was Harry Secombe.

Mystery solved.

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Wednesday reading

Current:
Desert, by J. M. G. Le Clézio
[Doctor Who] The Also People, by Ben Aaronovitch
Confessions of Zeno, by Italo Svevo
The Last Empress, by Anchee Min
Spend Game, by Jonathan Gash

Last books finished
A Room of One's Own, by Virginia Woolf
Harvest of Time [Doctor Who] by Alastair Reynolds
Jagged Orbit, by John Brunner
Dead Souls by Nikolai Gogol
Shakespeare’s Handwriting: A Study, by Sir Edward Maunde Thompson

Next books
[Doctor Who] Vanishing Point, by Stephen Cole
The Pickwick Papers, by Charles Dickens
Fantastic Voyage, by Isaac Asimov

Books acquired in last week:
Shakespeare’s Handwriting: A Study, by Sir Edward Maunde Thompson
Spend Game, by Jonathan Gash

LT Unread books tally: 448.

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Links I found interesting for 09-07-2013

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A long footnote on The Name of the Rose

De pentagono Salomonis, Ars loquendi et intelligendi in lingua hebraica, De rebus metallicis by Roger of Hereford, Algebra by Al-Kuwarizmi, translated into Latin by Robertus Anglicus, the Punica of Silius Italicus, the Gesta francorum, De laudibus sanctae crucis by Rabanus Maurus, and Flavii Claudii Giordani de aetate mundi et bominis reservatis singulis litteris per singulos libros ab A usque ad Z,” my master read. “Splendid works. But in what order are they listed?” He quoted from a text I did not know but which was certainly familiar to Malachi: “‘ The librarian must have a list of all books, carefully ordered by subjects and authors, and they must be classified on the shelves with numerical indications.’ How do you know the collocation of each book?”

I'm pulling out this particular quote partly because it's a great example of something that looks like local colour but actually turns out to be fundamental to the plot, but mainly because it has a reference to Roger of Hereford, the medieval scholar on whom I was once an expert. Oddly enough – and Eco surely cannot have known this – De rebus metallicis by Roger of Hereford has completely vanished, if it ever existed. It was listed (as expoſitiones magiſtri Rogeri de Horeford de rebus metallicis) as being at the library of Peterhouse in Cambridge by John Leland somewhere around 1535, but is not otherwise recorded. Myself I think Leland (or quite possibly Thomas Tanner and/or Thomas Hearne, who transcribed Leland's notes, which themselves are lost, for publication in the 18th century – they may even have been working from an earlier transcript made in the 1570s by John Stow) misread the name of the author and slightly truncated the name of the book, and it was actually De mineralibus et rebus metallicis by Albertus Magnus that Leland saw in Peterhouse. It is not recorded in the list of books borrowed by Dr John Dee from Peterhouse in 1556, but I guess he might have nicked it anyway (or in fairness anyone else could have done so). Given the extent to which Eco raves about Albertus in the introduction to The Name of the Rose, I think this notion would please him. Wiiliam of Baskerville and John Leland are the only people ever recorded as having direct knowledge of the book, one in a novel published in 1983, the other in a hand-written note published two hundred years after he died insane.

This moved me to look also at the other books mentioned.

  • De pentagono Salomonis turns up again in Adso's dream on the sixth day, and it's a reasonable variant title of a well-enough known text normally called Pentaculum Salomonis.
  • Ars loquendi et intelligendi in lingua hebraica is also a fairly well-known title, though I suspect it may cover more than one text.
  • Algebra is the most famous of these books; it gave us the word "Algebra", and its author's name gave us the word "algorithm". The 12th-century Englishman who first translated it into Latin (and invented the term "sine" by accident) is usually referred to as Robert of Chester these days, to avoid confusion with the 13th-century Robertus Anglicus who wrote the first ever description of a weight-driven clock in about 1280.
  • The Punica of Silius Italicus is available from Loeb in two volumes.
  • The Gesta Francorum is available in English translation.
  • De laudibus sanctae crucis is one of Rabanus Maurus' better known works.
  • The last entry puzzled me for a bit though. "bominis", clearly there in my Kindle edition, is an obvious mistake for "hominis". That led me to this reference to a book with the same title but the author's name spelt with a couple fewer letters. Armed with that, I discovered that the author's name is probably wrong anyway and Wikipedia has this note on the book, which consists of successive volumes each of which is written without using a particular letter, a, b, c etc.

So of the books there are three scientific/magical treatises, three histories, a Hebrew textbook and a religious poem. I don't know what to read into that.

It does strike me, looking again at the introduction, that the story of Roger of Hereford's lost De rebus metallicis above is not all that different from Eco's own (fictional) account of his attempts to track down the story of Adso of Melk after losing the original version. Perhaps he knew after all?

And one last thing – the incorrect letters in Eco's rendition of the last book's title, "Flavii Claudii Giordani de aetate mundi et bominis reservatis" are the L in "Flavii", the first I in "Giordani" and the B in "bominis". Those are the first three letters of "liber" and "libro", the Latin and Italian words for "book" (hence the English "library", though in fact the Latin and Italian words for library are Bibliotheca/Biblioteca from Greek Βιβλιοθήκη). Maybe I'm reading too much into it, but if so, it's a nice coincidence.

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June Books 22) The Name of the Rose, by Umberto Eco

“My good Adso,” my master said, “during our whole journey I have been teaching you to recognize the evidence through which the world speaks to us like a great book. Alanus de Insulis said that and he was thinking of the endless array of symbols with which God, through His creatures, speaks to us of the eternal life. But the universe is even more talkative than Alanus thought, and it speaks not only of the ultimate things (which it does always in an obscure fashion) but also of closer things, and then it speaks quite clearly. I am almost embarrassed to repeat to you what you should know. At the crossroads, on the still-fresh snow, a horse’s hoofprints stood out very neatly, heading for the path to our left. Neatly spaced, those marks said that the hoof was small and round, and the gallop quite regular— and so I deduced the nature of the horse, and the fact that it was not running wildly like a crazed animal. At the point where the pines formed a natural roof, some twigs had been freshly broken off at a height of five feet. One of the blackberry bushes where the animal must have turned to take the path to his right, proudly switching his handsome tail, still held some long black horsehairs in its brambles…. You will not say, finally, that you do not know that path leads to the dungheap, because as we passed the lower curve we saw the spill of waste down the sheer cliff below the great south tower, staining the snow; and from the situation of the crossroads, the path could only lead in that direction.”

I first read this as a teenager and loved it then, and I love it even more now; a fantastic medieval mystery story, turned into a film starring Sean Connery and a young Christian Slater, buttressed by sly references to literature and philosophy throughout.

Things I got when I was a teenager: The Sherlock Holmes reference in the anem of William of Baskerville. The fantastic structure of the library mapping out the world in its own weird way. The careful construction of the actual mystery, in the best traditions of detective writers (in fact, rather better than a lot of Doyle or Christie). The heresy. The sex.

Things I didn't get but do now: The importance of the repeated theme of signs and symbols. The references to the history of philosophy and science. The reason why the blind ex-librarian is Jorge of Burgos. The fact that William's discourse on parliamentary democracy, based on the principles of scholastic philosophy, actually ties in with the contemporary de modo tenendi parliamentum.

I may be in a minority, but I also really like both the occasional descents into long lists of things, which is a decent nod towards the actual writing style of the time, and the introduction which furnishes the author's excuse for the rest of the book not being as authentic in style. A brilliant book and I will not wait twenty-five years before reading it again.

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June Books 21) TARDIS Eruditorum Volume 3: Jon Pertwee, by Elizabeth Sandifer

I will admit, up front, that the Pertwee era is far from my favorite era of Doctor Who. And this is not an uncommon opinion in Doctor Who fandom. Though the heyday of Pertwee bashing came in the 1990s, it’s notable that when Time Unincorporated began collecting major essays from the fanzine scene it devoted an entire chapter to the Pertwee controversy. And while they admit that the controversy had largely dissipated, there is still something about the Pertwee era – something that isn’t true of either the Troughton or Hartnell eras – that invites a love-it-or-hate-it debate. It is, in many ways, the first controversial era of Doctor Who.

This is the third in the series of collected articles from Elizabeth Sandifer’s excellent blog, this time looking at the Pertwee era, of which Sandifer and I share the majority view among fandom – though it is not a crushing majority – that this is not Old Who’s finest period. But rather than whining about the stories, like I have done, Sandifer unpacks with some care why it is that the Third Doctor sometimes doesn’t quite work, often rather sympathetically, particularly to Pertwee himself, and also Katy Manning and Nicholas Courtney on whom the success of the stories often depends. I had previously read her essay on Moonbase 3 after watching the episodes; but in the context of the other essays showing what Dicks and Letts were trying to achieve, and why it barely worked in Who and didn’t work on the Moon in 2003, it makes a lot more sense. Basically her thesis is that the show was flitting uneasily between action and glam, though Dicks and Letts may not have been fully aware of this themselves.

There is also some brilliant additional coloration in the side essays on Monty Python and David Bowie, and the piece on The Three Doctors is an extended riff on William Blake which also quotes another William, my brother. As before, Sandifer explains better to me what I have seen on screen and makes me want to expand my reading / viewing (though in fact none of the non-TV Who referenced here, five books and two audios, were new to me).

Which is not to say that I completely agree with her. On a broad point, I find Sandifer’s overall tracking of the show’s history deterministic and almost Whiggish. To pull another quote, this time from the Planet of the Spiders essay:

Pertwee doesn’t regenerate because his time is past. He regenerates because he’s finally accomplished what his era set out to do in the first place.

It’s a nice peroration, but it is very much projecting the future onto the past as if it were inevitable (which is what I mean by Whiggish). Pertwee regenerated, fundamentally, because the actor decided / was persuaded to leave the show. The artistic judgements about where to take the story flowed partly from that fact and largely from other factors affecting the show’s creators, some of which we know about and some of which we don’t. And while it’s good and satisfying that towards the end of Planet of the Spiders, Pertwee’s Doctor has a moment of repentance and redemption before he dies, I think it’s a strong reading (which is to say, factually incorrect) to say that he regenerates because he has accomplished his mission – indeed, I wish that it were otherwise; I’d have preferred if this thought had been better integrated into the story as a whole, better yet the season as a whole, rather than just dragged in at the end.

And on a much more specific point, I agreed with almost all of Sandifer’s judgements of individual stories with the extraordinary exception of The Mutants, which most fans would put pretty far down the list of Pertwee stories and I would put firmly at the bottom. Sandifer praises it, though not terribly coherently, for its use of “spectacle”. I will allow it good use of location filming, but really not much more than that; in terms of spectacle, the transmogrification of Ky at the end is surely a botch? Its political messages are certainly botched, and so, rather more often than one can forgive, is the acting and directing.

Anyway, despite my occasional disagreements, another good addition to the thinking fan’s bookshelf.

June Books 20) Danny the Champion of the World, by Roald Dahl

What I have been trying so hard to tell you all along is simply that my father, without the slightest doubt, was the most marvelous and exciting father any boy ever had.

This was a Dahl that I think I missed out on when I was younger; a very short story of a boy and his father, published in 1975 but surely set some decades earlier, in which the two launch a symbolic assault on the local capitalist’s citadel by drugging and stealing all his pheasants. It turns out that the entire of the local community – doctor, vicar, policeman, midwife – are all in on the poaching scam, so Danny appears to be involved with a community uprising against the local autocrat.

But in fact this political interpretation may not be right: Mr Hazell’s big crime is not being rich per se, but trying to impress people with his wealth; the worst things said of him involve him being rude to the villagers and trying to buy respect from other rich people. Hazell’s flaws are his ego and lack of sincerity; Danny’s father is completely genuine. So what at first seems an adventure story of a boy and a slightly older boy (his father) having a romp in the woods, and at second glance might be a political parable, is actually a moral tale of being true to yourself.

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June Books 19) Something Borrowed, by Richelle Mead

A clatter of metal was the sole warning I had before a hole in the ceiling suddenly opened, and the Doctor came tumbling down to the floor, landing in an ungraceful heap of rainbow plaid. Nonetheless, he rose to his feet with all the dignity of an Olympic gymnast who’d just landed a perfect somersault.

The Puffin series of successive Doctor novellas continues with this June release by urban fantasy writer Richelle Mead featuring the Sixth Doctor. Unusually, she tells the story in the first person from Peri’s viewpoint; there are only a handful of Who books that use the direct voice of the Doctors or companions – I can think of Doctor Who in an Exciting Adventure With The Daleks, Doctor Who and the Romans, Bunker Soldiers, Ghost Ship, Eye of Heaven, and The Last Dodo, and there’s also a very good short story from Peri’s point of view in one of the Big Finish collections. Indeed most of the above list are decent enough, and at least two are among the best Who novels (with one crashing dud that I will let you discover for yourselves), so it is surprising that writers don’t do it more often. (I am not counting books where the story is told in the first person by a non-regular character, and of course many of the audio plays use that approach, often very successfully.)

Anyway, this is short but sweet: Peri is a great character to write for anyway, I suspect, and the setting is a futuristic world where they do Las Vegas-style weddings, with the Doctor and Peri getting involved in a planned nuptial where it turns out that one of the prospective spouses is an old acquaintance. Not quite the best of this sequence, but far from the worst.

June Books 18) Housekeeping, by Marilynne Robinson

We walked through town. Sylvie fixed her gaze six inches above eye level, but in fact no one stared, though many people glanced at us, and then glanced a second time. At the drugstore we passed Lucille and her friends, though Sylvie seemed not to notice. Lucille was dressed like all the others in a sweatshirt and sneakers and rolled-up jeans, and she looked after us, her hands stuck in her hip pockets.

This had been recommended to me here and here, so thanks to , and , though of course it also pops up on various Lists Of Great Books. It’s a rather subversive feminist novel about a household who dare to be different in a small Idaho town; The narrator’s eccentric aunt becomes her adoptive mother, and they determinedly find their own way outside the social norms. There is a very memorable lake. Much is told with few words.

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