De Bourgondiërs, by Bart Van Loo

Second paragraph of third chapter:

De slaapkamer stond vol met flesjes, schalen en kolfjes met planten-aftreksels, azijn, kamferolie en andere middeltjes om de pijn van de aan-staande moeder te verzachten. Hoewel de toortsen, die een parfum van hars verspreidden, de toch al pittige mei-temperaturen helemaal de hoogte in joegen, mocht volgens de traditie geen raam opengezet worden om frisse lucht toe te laten vooraleer de kersverse mama ter kerke was gegaan. De babyuitzet omvatte twee wiegen, eentje op houten wielen voor effectief gebruik en een andere, uiterst luxueus en verfijnd, om mee te pronken. De hertog wilde groots uitpakken met zijn eerstge-borene. Voedster Guyote, die het gewicht van haar kolossale borsten torste, at de klok rond, terwijl Margaretha van Vlaanderen zuchtend het ultieme moment afwachtte. The bedroom was full of bottles, bowls, and flasks with plant infusions, vinegar, camphor oil, and other remedies to ease the pain of the expectant mother. Although the torches, which spread a perfume of resin, raised the already hot May temperatures still further, tradition decreed that no window could be opened to allow fresh air before the brand new mother went to church. The baby setup included two cradles, one on wooden wheels for practical purposes, and another, extremely luxurious and refined, to show off. The duke wanted to go big with his first-born. Guyote, the wetnurse, bearing the weight of her colossal breasts, ate around the clock, while Margaret of Flanders, sighing, waited for it all to be over.

This is a big huge book by a Flemish writer about the history of Burgundy in the time when it included the territory from Switzerland to Friesland and everywhere in between, most notably almost all of what is currently in Belgium. The downfall of Burgundy is treated in a couple of fiction books that I have read – Dorothy Dunnett has the Battle of Nancy in one of the later Niccolo books, and it’s a central parallel timeline theme of Mary Gentle’s Ash. But I confess I knew very little about it.

This first few chapters look at the emergence of Burgundy as an entity from the confusion of post-Roman Europe, but the meat of the book is an account of the century or so from 1369, when Philip the Bold married Margaret of Flanders and united the territories from Dijon to the North Sea, to the Battle of Nancy in 1477 in which Charles the Bold (Philip’s great-grandson) was killed and Burgundy’s pretensions came to an end. It’s full of incidental detail, the assassination of John the Fearless, Joan of Arc, the Feast of the Pheasant; Van Loo also takes us through the great art of the day and the politics behind it – the big names here are Jan van Eyck and Rogier van der Weyden.

If the Burgundians had had better luck, the kingdom might have survived as a single territory to the present day. The presence of so many great cities in the territory meant that there was an early tradition of civic engagement and government. The variety of languages spoken meant that innovative policies about linguistic governance needed to be worked out sooner rather than later. Revolts tended to end with settlements involving greater rights for citizens rather than repression (though not always). The argument is made that some of the foundations of the modern state were laid in medieval Burgundy.

I must say that for me I found the overlapping sovereignties of the period rather reminiscent of today’s situation in Belgium. My home is less than 5km from the linguistic frontier, which was only drawn in 1962 and became a provincial boundary only in 1995 when Brabant was divided. But at the same time we are only 10km from Tourinnes-le-Grosse, which was an exclave of the Prince-bishopric of Liège within the Duchy of Flanders for many years. The attempt to govern Belgium as a unitary state from 1830 to 1962 was the real historical anomaly.

Even after Nancy, it wasn’t all over; Charles the Bold’s daughter Margaret was of age and ruled well for five years until her death after a hunting accident in 1482, aged 25. Perhaps that is the real turning point. (And perhaps it’s telling that historical narrative, including this one, tend to concentrate on the disaster of Nancy without reflecting that Margaret inherited most of her father’s territories intact and the disintegration happened after her death, not his.)

A recently arrived diplomat told me a couple of days ago that he had been recommended this book as a good entry into the history of this part of the world. I think my advice would be to wait until there is an English translation. It’s very good, but at 519 pages of detailed yet also idiomatic Dutch, it’s a tough slog for the non-native speaker. You can get it here.

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The 2019 Hugos, part two

I ended the first installment with the close of nominations and the announcement of the finalists. One point that should be flagged up to future administrators is the issue of finalists with a large number of nominees, each of whom could therefore be entitled to a place in the (very full) pre-ceremony reception and the Hugo losers party, as well as to a Hugo finalist pin each and potentially even to a trophy each if they win. One finalist presented us with a list of sixteen different people whose names they wanted to see listed as part of their team. We persuaded them to pare it back, and in the end no finalist was listed on the ballot with more than eight individuals (which was also the maximum we had allowed in 2017 in Helsinki). On the one hand, of course it's good to celebrate team efforts, and everyone likes the egoboo of seeing their name on the ballot paper. On the other, resources are limited.

Another strain on resources is that there are now six finalists per category rather than five, but my attempt to reverse this recent change was contemptuously rejected by the Business Meeting, so I guess we are stuck with it. (Apparently one person at the Business Meeting suggested that Hugo administrators should be paid more to reflect the increase in workload. Ho ho, very funny.) I will save deeper commentary on the Business Meeting for another post.

Another point about the ballot that I haven't previously mentioned in public is that we did have to invoke the only rule I have ever successfully got through the Business Meeting that was not subsequently reversed, the loosening of the boundary between Best Novel and Best Novelette from 35,000-45,000 words (as it had been before) to 32,000-48,000 words. Binti: the Night Masquerade, by Nnedi Okorafor, has 47,885 words so just sneaked in under the new rule, which was in force this year for the first time. Another finalist that needed some flexibility was The Little Prince, by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, which received the most nominations in the Best Novella category (which it went on to win) but is under the nominal 17,500 threshold in both the French original (14,838 words) and the standard English translation (17,110 words). Fortunately the 20% flexibility means that the effective lower limit for a novella is 14,000 words.

The ballot having been sorted, we then activated Kathy Bond, Kat Jones and Tina Forsyth, who did a very good job of assembling the 2019 voter packet. It was (understandably) difficult to get much from some of the 2019 Best Art Book finalists. It also turned out to be simply impossible to get copyright clearance for the 1944 material, apart from one author's estate who were co-operative (but one author is not enough). Most of the relevant material is readily available online anyway, of course, and my recommendation to future years is simply to publish the links where they are available and capitalise on the activism of fanac.org.

It took a couple of weeks to get online voting up and running, and by the time it was ready, the packet was so close to completion that we decided to launch both together on 11 May, along with Site Selection. We had very few complaints (and quite a few compliments) about the voting interface. Again the helpdesk team were essential to resolving these issues as they came up. There were a few queries regarding the eligibility or relevance of some of the material submitted for the 2019 packet, but in general people were appreciative.

Early voting on the final ballot turned out to be a much better guide to the final result than at the nominations phase. I recorded the state of play on 20 May, when 400 or so of the eventual 3097 votes had been cast, and at that point the eventual winner was already in the lead in all 20 of the 2019 categories, and 9 of the 11 Retro Hugo 1944 categories. Things swung back and forth, though, and in the final days before nominations closed, four categories in particular (two for 2019 and two Retros) seesawed as the votes came in – at one point, two of them were actually tied, and I started to make anxious calculations about how many trophies might be needed. In the end, however, the very last voters turned out to have similar tastes to the very first voters, and all four of the cases that had been tight runs on 29 July had been decisively resolved by close of play on 1 August. (Two completely different 2019 categories ended up being decided by less than ten votes. Every vote counts.)

My own tastes were not particularly aligned with the results! I voted for just two of the 2019 winners, and three of the Retro winners. I haven't kept track over the years, but this seems to me lower than usual! I'm not going to write up my Hugo votes retrospectively, but I just want to call attention to one finalist which I was sorry to see placing only third in its category: Tess of the Road, by Rachel Hartman, a gritty fantasy take on Tess of the D'Urbervilles, critiquing rape culture, which I found a lot more to my taste than Hardy. It's the third book set in the same universe, and I am inclined to seek out the first two.

The other finalist which I felt very sorry about was Janelle Monáe's superb Dirty Computer, which outrageously finished only in sixth place in Best Dramatic Presentation, Short Form – the same happened in 2017 for another music piece. (Incidentally, Tessa Thompson was in two Long Form finalists as well as Dirty Computer.) I was particularly struck that it got the second highest number of first preferences in each round, and then failed to attract transfers. Did voters not bother to watch it? If you missed it, you missed a treat: here it is.

The close of voting was on 31 July, which as luck would have it coincided with my office summer party, a low-key affair in which we all threw axes at targets.

The helpdesk team, now augmented with Kat Jones, were on the case and in fact the final night of voting was fairly quiet; I could not do the final count immediately, of course, because Colette needed to input the eight paper ballots that had come in, but as mentioned above the trends were already pretty clear. Once the results were calculated, I immediately notified Dell Magazines, for the Campbell Award; Sara Felix, for the Lodestar Award; and the engraver who was making plaques for the Hugo and Retro Hugo trophies (Martin Logan, of The Trophy Room in Belfast, in case anyone needs an engraver in future).

I have already commented on a couple of aspects of the awards – my breakdown of the Retro results is here, of the 2019 Hugos here (including pessimistic speculation about the future of the Best Fanzine category), and my thoughts on Best Art Book here.

One thing that did surprise me was the number of requests which came in after close of nominations asking for access to the Hugo voters packet – indeed, we received one such message only a couple of days ago. We do our best to be clear that the packet is available only during the voting period, and also that publishers are free to participate or not, and also to choose to what extent they follow our (strong) guidance about what format to supply packet material in. One voter in particular sent several tetchy messages blaming us for the difficulties they were having in accessing some of the finalists. In fairness, this person was the exception; most people seemed to understand the voluntary nature of publisher participation, and also the volunteer nature of Hugo administration.

And so it was time for the convention itself. Eleanor came and picked me up from Loughbrickland with a van full of Hugos – apparently concerns were expressed at the previous day's Committee meeting that this meant there was a single point of failure for a large chunk of WSFS, with me and the trophies all in the same place. Fortunately, we made it safely, though Eleanor's van broke down on the way home the next day.

Some of us attended a civic reception at the Mansion House that evening. Here Charles Stewart Parnell is keeping an eye on deputy mayor Patrick Costello, of the Green Party.

Ian Moore came into his own at this point as Hugo Wrangler, ensuring that the trophies were all in secure storage (there was a cute but somewhat fictional skit about this at the actual ceremony) and available when needed. We also had two on display in a Hold A Hugo stall in the Exhibits space, for people to take pictures of themselves with the trophies.

I was really pleased to be able to introduce a number of non-fannish friends to fandom via the Worldcon. First of all, my mother and her partner came to the opening ceremony and then came again for most of the day on Sunday. Also my former colleague Michael, his twin brother John and their friend artist Mike O'Dwyer came on my recommendation and loved it; so did my current colleague Ariuna and her aspiring writer daughter Gugii, who helped me hump Hugos at one point (and being Mongolian, though not registered as such, they may have increased the number of nationalities represented by another notch).

On the Thursday morning I attended a panel on the Retro Hugos (which Ian Moore has written up in detail) and then participated in one on Flann O'Brien; one of the other participants, Frank McNally of the Irish Times, wrote that up for the paper and I have posted my own contribution to it, as performed with Pádraig Ó Méalóid.

The opening ceremony on the first night included also the presentation of the Retro Hugo awards by the Guests of Honour and featured artists, a dry run for the real thing. Only two of the winners had representatives present to accept the Retro trophies, John Hammond (accompanied by his daughter) for his grandfather John W. Campbell Jr, and Patrick Nielsen Hayden for the estate of Fritz Leiber. Over the next few weeks after the convention, we gradually found homes for most of the trophies, though the Dramatic Presentation categories proved tricky, neither Fox nor Universal displaying much interest in accepting them. Eventually I made contact with Curt Siodmak's 85-year-old son for the award for Frankenstein Meets the Wolf ManHeaven Can Wait.

I must say that this has left me feeling ambivalent about the Retro Hugos (which we did not have in 2017). I myself quite enjoy reading classics, but I found several of the Dramatic Presentation finalists embarrassingly weak, and it's tremendously difficult to assess the Fanzine and Fan Writer categories. Administering them is a significant extra dollop of work on top of running the regular Hugos; you have to open nominations in all categories, and then present trophies which cost money (to people who died long ago) at a ceremony which takes time (where few of their heirs will be present), constraining resources that could have been used for other things. The real joy of the Hugos for me is a shared celebration with the winners; for the Retros, the winners are all dead. I would counsel future Worldcons to think long and hard before deciding to run the Retro Hugos. (CoNZealand had already committed to running the 1945 Retro Hugos before my views were crystallised by the experience of doing it this year.)

On the Friday I had the interesting experience of moderating a panel on politics and sff, with my co-panellists being writers from Israel, Australia and Japan. We came up with a list of recommendations of sff about politics which I commend. That evening, Vince organised another spectacular concert of sf-related music as he had done in London in 2014.

On the Saturday morning I actually skipped out of Worldcon to Trinity College, the other side of the river, where there was a conference going on about Tudor and Stuart Ireland. Unfortunately the writer of the one paper I had really wanted to hear had had to cancel at the last moment, but my disappointment was more than compensated by a fascinating presentation from Melissa Shiels on "Gifts of Apparel and Tudor Political Gift-Giving Strategies." She had actually got into full Tudor constume for this and explained to a fascinated (but very small) crowd afterwards how all the clothes fit together.

Back at the CCD, I also managed to sit in on a panel featuring Erle Korshak. Erle is 96, attended the first ever Worldcon in 1939 and briefly chaired the second in 1940. Hugo business unfortunately took me away half way through the panel, but it was a real thrill to be in the presence of a physical connection to the very start of things.

Sunday of course was the big Hugo day, though it started with my unsuccessful attempt to engage with the Business Meeting (of which more some other time). I realised to my horror that although I had brought tux, white shirt and bow tie, I had neglected to pack cuff-links; David Matthewman, as so often, came to the rescue with a lovely pair of Tardis cuff-links which were exactly what was needed. And then we were into setup for the ceremony – this fantastic set with the trophies sitting along a replica of the Samuel Beckett Bridge, which is just outside the CCD.

Someone got a great picture of Ian Moore with the extra Hugo Awards backstage (obviously not all could fit on the bridge).

My wife came and joined me for the ceremony, but my enjoyment of the pre-Hugo reception was marred and curtailed by a moment of horror – I had forgotten the pins for finalists in the John W. Campbell Award, and hastened to my (nearby) hotel room and back to get them, just catching the very end of the reception. In the end I only handed two pins out on the night and sent the other four by mail afterwards.

That is of course not what people will remember about the 2019 John W. Campbell Award, which as it turns out will be the last of that name. The combination of Ada Palmer's impassioned and political speech introducing the award, Jeanette Ng's impassioned and political speech accepting the award but calling out John W. Campbell for his political views, and the Great Subtitling Disaster (described well in Ada Palmer's piece) all made for an electrifying start to the evening. Here is Jeannette Ng's speech:

For what it's worth, I had become very uneasy myself about continuing the association with Campbell after reading Alec Nevala-Lee's Astounding: John W. Campbell, Isaac Asimov, Robert A. Heinlein, L. Ron Hubbard, and the Golden Age of Science Fiction, which was a finalist for Best Related Work; Paul Cornell summed it up pretty well in a tweet:

History records what happened next; Dell Magazines quickly reached the same conclusion and changed the name to the Astounding Award for Best New Writer, and CoNZealand has announced that it will administer the award under that name. John W. Campbell is likely to continue winning Retro Hugo Awards for Best Professional Editor (Short Form) if future Worldcons continue running Retro Hugos. Detailed investigations of Hugo Gernsback himself have failed to turn up anything quite as alarming.

My own speech was in the middle of the ceremony, a slight variation from practice driven partly by the director's desire not to have too many speeches at the beginning and also partly to give cover for a costume change. My text is as follows (not quite what I actually said, but what I meant to say):

It’s amazing to be here. Growing up in Northern Ireland in the 1980s, I anxiously chased down every Hugo winner that I could find from my local library as a teenager. I never dreamed that one day I would administer the awards myself, or stand here in Dublin to share the results with you.

I want to thank a number of people who made this all possible: my Deputy, Sanna Lopperi-Vihinen; the WSFS Division Head, Vince Docherty; the Deputy Division Head, Mark Meenan; the software gurus, Eemeli Aro, Arnaud Koebel, and especially David Matthewman who not only engineered the interface but also lent me these rather nice TARDIS cuff-links for this evening; eligibility researchers Claire Brialey and Mark Plummer; Hugo Packet team Kathy Bond, Kat Jones and Kristina Forsyth; Ian Moore, our head Hugo Wrangler; Colette Fozard for processing paper ballots; Ila Khan, supporting the division; Niall Harrison, who lent a hand at the start; Rebecca Hewett, Brent Smart and Terry Neill on the Hugo Helpdesk; and on the creative side, James Shields, Fionna O’Sullivan and Mark Slater who between them generated the amazing nominations video, and Eleanor Wheeler and Jim Fitzpatrick for the beautiful base. And Joshua Beatty and the whole Events team for showing us such a good time this evening. My wife Anne for her support through times of Hugo frenzy. And James Bacon for everything.

3097 votes were cast for the final ballot, 3089 online and 8 by paper ballot. At nominations stage the number of votes cast was 1800, (1797 electronic and 3 paper). Two categories this evening were decided by margins of less than ten votes. Every vote counts, and every vote was counted. Full statistics will be available online after the ceremony is over.

Some of the finalists will go home with these lovely trophies tonight. All of you are winners, whether you came first or sixth in your category. Thanks to all of you who have participated, all of you who voted and all of you who helped. Thank you for sharing your joy and love of Science Fiction and Fantasy.


(Picture by Roshin Sen)

I then announced the winner of the Best Series award, the Wayfarers series by Becky Chambers, which I have hugely enjoyed. The look of awestruck joy on her face as I presented the trophy to her was almost reward enough in itself for everything I had done in preparing the awards.

As the voting deadline came closer, it had become ever clearer that The Calculating Stars (which is about a pioneering woman astronaut) was likely to win Best Novel, and Vince Docherty had the genius idea of asking Jeanette Epps (who is in fact a woman astronaut) to present it as the climax to the ceremony. That's not the Hugo administrator's call, of course, but Joshua Beatty, the ceremony director, enthusiastically agreed with the idea. Joshua and Stefan scripted it very well, and I am sure that the vast majority of people in the hall did not work out who the winner was from the clue of Jeanette making the presentation, in the brief interval before the award was announced. It certainly meant that the ceremony ended on a high.

My wife and I spent a long time chatting to various people at the CCD after the ceremony, so I did not get to the Hugo Losers Party until after the crisis of getting people in was over, and had a good time (though was nervously looking out for Campbell finalists to give finalist pins to). Not everybody had a good time, and George R.R. Martin has explained what happened here (with historical followups here and here). It's pretty unfortunate, and I think Paul Kincaid expressed the perceptions of many on the evening:

I was supposed to give a talk on Monday morning, but I had realised on the Saturday that that simply wasn’t going to happen, and cancelled it. In the end we spent almost the entire day packing and sending Hugos and Retro Hugos where we had addresses for them, a large team assembling packages and a smaller away team taking them to the nearest post office for despatch.


Eleanor Wheeler, Mark Meenan, Alan Cargo, Ian Moore, Bridget Chee

One Hugo that did not get sent to its winner was the award for Best Related Work, which was won by Archive of Our Own. AO3 very generously decided that their Hugo should become part of the Worldcon Heritage Organization’s Worldcon History Exhibit of Hugo trophies, which hopefully will be displayed at future Worldcons. This was a tremendously generous act by AO3, and the vast majority of AO3’s thousands of contributors have been entirely correct and appropriate in their celebration of their joint achievement.

The current kerfuffle between the WSFS Mark Protection Committee and AO3 is regrettable and its escalation was avoidable. Will Frank, who is in fact a trademark lawyer and also the designated Hugo Administrator for 2021, has written the only piece about it that I will link to here.

Anyway, Eleanor took me away as the closing ceremonies were going, and we have acquired from her one of her larger pieces which now sits in our back garden as a permanent reminder of the 2019 Hugos.

I’m on the Hugo team again for next year, but it is unlikely that I will be able to attend CoNZealand, so my input will be done remotely.

Congratulations again to all the winners, whether I voted for you or not.

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  • Sun, 10:45: RT @northernsoul78: Compare these numbers: Debt to GDP (2018): 86.8% 64.8% Deficit (2018): 2.1% 0.0% Growth (2018): 1.4%…

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West Side Story (1961)

West Side Story won the Oscar for Best Motion Picture of 1960, and picked up another nine: Best Director (Robert Wise and Jerome Robbins), Best Supporting Actor (George Chakiris as Bernardo), Best Supporting Actress (Rita Moreno as Anita), Best Art Direction, Best Set Decoration (Color), Best Cinematography (Color), Best Costume Design (Color), Best Film Editing, Best Original Score and Best Sound; it lost out only in Best Screenplay Based on Material from Another Medium, to Judgement at Nuremberg. Jerome Robbins also won a special Academy Award, so you could count the total as eleven, level with Ben-Hur, Titanic and The Return of the King.

The other films that were nominated for Best Motion Picture were FannyThe Guns of NavaroneThe Hustler and Judgment at Nuremberg; I have seen none of them. West Side Story ranks top on one IMDB rating of 1961 films and fourth on the other, behind Breakfast at Tiffany’s101 Dalmatians and Yojimbo. I have at least seen 101 Dalmatians; the other two films from that year that I know I have seen are Tintin and the Golden Fleece, and The Young Ones. That year’s Hugo went to the second series of The Twilight Zone. IMHO West Side Story is the best of them. Here’s a trailer (not a contemporary trailer, unfortunately, I couldn’t find one):

This is a musical, the first Oscar-wining film based on a stage musical (we’ve had musicals in this series, and films based on stage plays, but this is the first to tick both boxes). I also note that of 34 Oscar winners so far, this is the tenth set in or around New York. (The nine others were The Broadway Melody, most of The Great Ziegfeld, You Can’t Take It with You, Going My Way, The Lost Weekend, most of Gentleman’s Agreement, most of All About Eve, On The Waterfront and The Apartment. But it will be another eight years until the next one, Midnight Cowboy, and four of the ones in between are set in England.)

As if you didn’t know, it’s based on the rivalry between two gangs in the Upper West Side of New York, one white (the Jets), the other Puerto Rican (the Sharks), with much of the plot taken from Romeo and Juliet including duels and balcony scene between Tony of the Jets and Maria, whose brother leads the Sharks; but what makes it justly famous is the music and dancing. In fact, I’m now going to talk quite a lot about the song “America”, in which the Puerto Ricans discuss the ups and downs of living in America rather than back home, so here it is – just watch it before you go on to read the rest of this, and appreciate Robbins’ spectacular choreography, and also the Oscar-winning performances of George Chakiris and Rita Moreno who lead the scene and Bernardo and his girlfriend Anita (Tony and Maria being elsewhere):

As so often, I’m going to start by talking about race. This is the thirty-fourth Oscar-winning film I have seen, twenty-six of which have been adaptations of other work, and the song “America” is the first case of commentary on race that has been deliberately made more incisive than the original version by the screenwriters. In the original stage version, it is sung by the Puerto Rican girls alone (the boys having left the scene), with Rosalia (in blue) the sole holdout for the view that life was better back home and the others trying to persuade her of America’s merits (and winning the argument). In the film version, it’s girls vs boys, with the girls (including Rosalia) advocating the good points of America and the Shark boys (again in blue) criticising the racism that they enounter as Puerto Ricans, and doing better in the argument than Rosalia does in the original version. Compare and contrast:

Stage versionFilm version
ROSALIA:
Puerto Rico
You lovely island
Island of tropical breezes.
Always the pineapples growing,
Always the coffee blossoms blowing…
 
ANITA:
Puerto Rico
You ugly island
Island of tropic diseases.
Always the hurricanes blowing,
Always the population growing
And the money owing
And the babies crying
And the bullets flying
I like the island Manhattan
Smoke on your pipe
And put that in!
ANITA:
Puerto Rico
My heart’s devotion
Let it sink back in the ocean
Always the hurricanes blowing
Always the population growing
And the money owing
And the sunlight streaming
And the natives steaming
I like the island Manhattan
Smoke on your pipe
And put that in!
ALL EXCEPT ROSALIA:
I like to be in America!
OK by me in America!
Everything free in America
For a small fee in America!
GIRLS:
I like to be in America!
Okay by me in America!
Everything free in America –

BERNARDO:
For a small fee in America!

ROSALIA:
I like the city of San Juan-

ANITA:
I know a boat you can get on.

ROSALIA:
Hundreds of flowers in full bloom-

ANITA:
Hundreds of people in each room!

ANITA:
Buying on credit is so nice!

BERNARDO:
One look at us and they charge twice!

ROSALIA:
I have my own washing machine!

INDIO:
What will you have though to keep clean?

ALL EXCEPT ROSALIA:
Automobile in America,
Chromium steel in America,
Wire-spoke wheel in America-
Very big deal in America-
ANITA:
Skyscrapers bloom in America!

ROSALIA:
Cadillacs zoom in America!

TERESITA:
Industry boom in America!

BOYS:
Twelve in a room in America!

ROSALIA:
I’ll drive a Buick to San Juan-

ANITA:
If there’s a road you can drive on.

ROSALIA:
I’ll give my cousin a free ride-

ANITA:
How you get all of them inside?

ANITA:
Lots of new housing with more space

BERNARDO:
Lots of doors slamming in our face

ANITA:
I’ll get a terrace apartment –

BERNARDO:
Better get rid of your accent!

ALL EXCEPT ROSALIA:
An immigrant goes to America,
Many hellos in America;
Nobody knows in America
Puerto Rico’s in America.
ANITA:
Life can be bright in America

BOYS:
If you can fight in America

GIRLS:
Life is all right in America

BOYS:
If you’re all white in America

ROSALIA:
When will I go back to San Juan-

ANITA:
When you will shut up and get gone!

ROSALIA:
I’ll give them new washing machine-

ANITA:
What have they got there to keep clean?

GIRLS:
Here you are free and you have pride

BOYS:
Long as you stay on your own side

GIRLS:
Free to be anything you choose

BOYS:
Free to wait tables and shine shoes

ALL EXCEPT ROSALIA:
I like the shores of America!
Comfort is yours in America!
Knobs on the doors in America,
Wall-to-wall floors in America!
BERNARDO:
Everywhere grime in America
Organized crime in America
Terrible time in America

ANITA:
You forget I’m in America!

ROSALIA:
I’ll bring TV to San Juan

ANITA:
If there’s a current to turn on.

ROSALIA:
Everyone there will get big cheer!

ANITA:
Everyone there will have moved here!

BERNARDO:
I think I’ll go back to San Juan

ANITA:
I know a boat you can get on
(GIRLS: Bye Bye!)

BERNARDO:
Everyone there will give big cheer!

ANITA:
Everyone there will have moved here!

(The song also has some nostalgia for me because Roy Castle used it as the intro to the American secion of his TV show Record Breakers in the mid-70s.)

Having given the film version of West Side story a big plus mark for being more woke than the original stage show here (and note also that the police on both stage and screen are frank in their desire to see the Puerto Ricans go back home), it then has to be given two strong minuses for errors in the other direction. Firstly (and eerily relevant for Canadian politics right now) is that all of the “Puerto Ricans” are blacked up – including Rita Moreno, who actually is Puerto Rican. (She will be in next year’s Steven Spielberg remake, playing the role of Tony’s boss, the storekeeper. She will turn 88 this December.) Siblings Gus and Gina Trekonis appear on opposite sides, Gus in brownface as Indio, one of the Sharks, and Gina as Graziella, one of the Jet girls. (Both stayed in the entertainment industry, but neither in acting; Gus became a director, his credits including 22 episodes of Baywatch (he was also married to Goldie Hawn at one point), and Gina went into wardrobe and costume design.)

Also, the ethnic group that most famously inhabits the Upper West Side is practically invisible. If you squint, you can see half a dozen African Americans in the crowd scenes at the dance, but none of them gets to speak (or even sing).

It’s a romance set between young people from two fairly conservative backgrounds. But Tony and Maria both get a lot more character development than Romeo or Juliet. Both of them actually have jobs, for one thing. And the women, though in the minority, certainly have agency.

It’s also interesting that unlike in Romeo and Juliet, where the young people are continuing a feud started by their parents, West Side Story has introduced an element of generational conflict as well, with the older folks abent or mocked as in “Dear Officer Krupke”:

Let’s also note the character Anybodys, played by Susan Oakes, described in the script as a tomboy but who would certainly be coded genderqueer these days.

A couple of genre points. Of the two leading actors, Natalie Wood’s fate is alas all too well known, but Richard Beymer looked familar to me; and then I realised that thirty years on, he was Ben Horne, the local oligarch in Twin Peaks.

Glad Hand, the MC at the dance, is played by John Astin, who found fame a few years later as Gomez Addams in The Addams Family. (His adoptive son, Sean Astin, was Sam Gamgee in The Lord of the Rings.)

Anyway. What makes the film is the spectacular music and dancing. We’ve had Bernstein before (On the Waterfront), but this is just amazing. The most interesting musically is probably “Cool”, three quarters of the way through (NB the Jets get more of the good dances):

But it’s all good, starting with the opening:

Then “Maria”:

We’ve already covered “America”, which separates “Maria” from “Tonight” (a wise change frmo the stage version in which the two big romantic songs were consecutive):

The Shark girls get a great number with “I Feel Pretty”:

The “Tonight Quintet” clearly inspired a lot of similar scenes in musicals:

And “Somewhere” points to the tragic ending.

I enjoyed this a lot and am putting it right up in my top six, below Bridge on the River Kwai but above The Best Years of our Lives. You can get it here.

Next up, Lawrence of Arabia.

Winners of the Oscar for Best Picture

1920s: Wings (1927-28) | The Broadway Melody (1928-29)
1930s: All Quiet on the Western Front (1929-30) | Cimarron (1930-31) | Grand Hotel (1931-32) | Cavalcade (1932-33) | It Happened One Night (1934) | Mutiny on the Bounty (1935, and books) | The Great Ziegfeld (1936) | The Life of Emile Zola (1937) | You Can’t Take It with You (1938) | Gone with the Wind (1939, and book)
1940s: Rebecca (1940) | How Green Was My Valley (1941) | Mrs. Miniver (1942) | Casablanca (1943) | Going My Way (1944) | The Lost Weekend (1945) | The Best Years of Our Lives (1946) | Gentleman’s Agreement (1947) | Hamlet (1948) | All the King’s Men (1949)
1950s: All About Eve (1950) | An American in Paris (1951) | The Greatest Show on Earth (1952) | From Here to Eternity (1953) | On The Waterfront (1954, and book) | Marty (1955) | Around the World in 80 Days (1956) | The Bridge on the River Kwai (1957) | Gigi (1958) | Ben-Hur (1959)
1960s: The Apartment (1960) | West Side Story (1961) | Lawrence of Arabia (1962) | Tom Jones (1963) | My Fair Lady (1964) | The Sound of Music (1965) | A Man for All Seasons (1966) | In the Heat of the Night (1967) | Oliver! (1968) | Midnight Cowboy (1969)
1970s: Patton (1970) | The French Connection (1971) | The Godfather (1972) | The Sting (1973) | The Godfather, Part II (1974) | One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest (1975) | Rocky (1976) | Annie Hall (1977) | The Deer Hunter (1978) | Kramer vs. Kramer (1979)
1980s: Ordinary People (1980) | Chariots of Fire (1981) | Gandhi (1982) | Terms of Endearment (1983) | Amadeus (1984) | Out of Africa (1985) | Platoon (1986) | The Last Emperor (1987) | Rain Man (1988) | Driving Miss Daisy (1989)
1990s: Dances With Wolves (1990) | The Silence of the Lambs (1991) | Unforgiven (1992) | Schindler’s List (1993) | Forrest Gump (1994) | Braveheart (1995) | The English Patient (1996) | Titanic (1997) | Shakespeare in Love (1998) | American Beauty (1999)
21st century: Gladiator (2000) | A Beautiful Mind (2001) | Chicago (2002) | The Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King (2003) | Million Dollar Baby (2004, and book) | Crash (2005) | The Departed (2006) | No Country for Old Men (2007) | Slumdog Millionaire (2008) | The Hurt Locker (2009)
2010s: The King’s Speech (2010) | The Artist (2011) | Argo (2012) | 12 Years a Slave (2013) | Birdman (2014) | Spotlight (2015) | Moonlight (2016) | The Shape of Water (2017) | Green Book (2018) | Parasite (2019)
2020s: Nomadland (2020) | CODA (2021) | Everything Everywhere All at Once (2022) | Oppenheimer (2023)

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Doctor Who: 365 Days of Memorable Moments and Impossible Things, by Justin Richards

In a break from my usual practice, here’s the entry for today, 20 September:

The Doctor Meets Two Loch Ness Monsters

The group of Zygons whose spaceship crash-landed in Loch Ness lived beneath the loch for centuries before they discovered their home planet had been destroyed and decided to conquer Earth in Terror of the Zygons (1975). They brought with them an embryo Skarasen, which grew into a huge dinosaur-like armoured cyborg. The Zygons depended upon its lactic fluid for sustenance, and used it as a defence and a weapon. Over the years, people caught glimpses of the Skarasen as it swam in the loch, or travelled across local land, and it became known as the Loch Ness Monster. When the Zygons were defeated and their spaceship destroyed, the Skarasen returned from London – where the Fourth Doctor had prevented it from attacking an energy conference – to Loch Ness, the only home it knew.

But the Skarasen may not be the only monster in Loch Ness. In Timelash (1985), the Sixth Doctor encountered the mutated ruler of the planet Karfel – the Borad. Although he appeared to his people as a soft-spoken old man, the real Borad was a mutated scientist named Magellan – who was fused with a reptilian Morlox when an experiment involving Mustakozene-80 went wrong and Magellan and the Morlox creature underwent spontaneous tissue amalgamation. The result was the Borad – a combined mutant with greater strength, intellect and longevity, who intended to repeat the experiment to create a consort for himself – using the Doctor’s companion Peri.

Defeated by the Doctor, the Borad fell into the Timeiash, a time corridor that transported him back to twelfth-century Scotland, close to Loch Ness. Whether the Borad survived as another Loch Ness Monster, or was killed by the Skarasen, the Zygons, or someone else is unknown.

1975 Brigadier Lethbridge-Stewart makes his last regular appearance in Terror of the Zygons Part 4.

1980 The Leisure Hive Part 4

1986 The Trial of a Time Lord Part 3

1989 Battlefield Part 3

2014 Time Heist

Justin Richards is the most prolific of New Who authors, and has more hits than misses; this is a very nice if basic assembly of 366 short pieces about Old Who and New Who stories and characters (including one for 29 February), about half of which are related to the anniversary of a relevant broadcast episode. There is nothing here that is surprising to any long-term fan, but I found it an attractive format. (I tried doing something similar myself with my Whoniversary blog posts a few years back but I cannot claim that it was better than this.) Published in 2016, so it takes us up to The Husbands of River Song, the second Peter Capaldi season. You can get it here.

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  • Thu, 20:48: RT @otium_Catulle: Hamlet – Leave Hamlet – Remain
  • Fri, 08:44: RT @JenniferMerode: Jean-Claude Juncker: *the EU wants a deal *the EU thinks a deal is possible *the EU thinks no-deal is a very bad idea *…
  • Fri, 08:45: RT @JenniferMerode: Boris Johnson to Angela Merkel on 21 August: “You gave set a very blistering timetable of 30 days, if I understand you…
  • Fri, 09:01: RT @lionelbarber: YES BUT….Cameron made his lack of understanding far worse by assuming giant leap in Eurozone integration post sovereign…
  • Fri, 10:15: Great thread on the week’s developments in UK thinking on Brexit, this is the key point. https://t.co/6TudrhRVGO
  • Fri, 10:45: Robert Kilroy-Silk: the godfather of Brexit https://t.co/KF0prxAg2s This interview is much more interesting than I expected it to be.
  • Fri, 11:14: I really don’t see the problem here. EU27’s interlocutor is PM/govt. From EU27 pov, if PM refuses to operate UK l… https://t.co/LySMAOMWAj

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Make Out With Murder and The Topless Tulip Caper, by Lawrence Block

Second and third paragraphs of third chapter of Make Out With Murder:

“She might try it a second time.”
“She might, but there were too many other things she liked better. And if she did try it again, it wouldn’t be with a needle. She’s terrified of needles. Some nurse had to give her an injection once and botched it, kept stabbing around trying to find the vein, and she still has nightmares about it. Still had nightmares about it. Oh, shit.”

Secon paragraph of third chapter of The Topless Tulip Caper:

I’m taking matters into my own hands and leaving out some items that never did seem to have any more bearing on the case than the fascinating fact about dry edible beans. That still leaves plenty of bits and pieces to report from Haig’s questioning of Tulip.

Two rather slight mystery stories set in contemporary (ie mid-70s) New York. The narrator, Chip Harrison, is apparently based on the unpleasant Holden Caulfield of The Catcher in the Rye, but has grown up a little bit and is working as assistant to Leo Haig, a New York detective explicitly based on Nero Wolfe but with comic differences. I had read The Topless Tulip Caper many years ago, and hunted it and its prequel down out of morbid curiosity (The Topless Tulip Caper has a memorably unerotic blowjob scene).

Both books begin with a young naked woman being poisoned to death, and end with Haig exposing the murderer in his study in front of all the other suspects and two reluctantly impressed policemen. In between both have a rambling plot involving several more murders, and plenty of sex for the narrator. There is a struggle towards social commentary which doesn’t quite get anywhere. It’s pretty mindless stuff which I might have found funnier if I had ever actually read a Nero Wolfe book. You can get Make Out With Murder here and The Topless Tulip Caper here.

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The Devil in Amber, by Mark Gatiss

Second paragraph of third chapter:

I’d had an uneasy night — once my eyes closed — caught in a nightmarish New York of the future, all sky-scraping apartment blocks and rocket ships, as in those unpleasant German films. The dream-me, wearing only queerly tight underwear with President Coolidge’s name embroidered about the waist, sauntered past the Algonquin, the pavement transformed into a howling white tunnel of cocaine. Overhead, Hubbard the Cupboard was performing dazzling aerobatics like Lucky Lindy, but the smoke trailing from his rocket-ship transformed into narcotics too, falling on my shoulders like snow. As his machine roared past, I distinctly saw bright rivulets of blood pouring from the aviator’s nostrils and the dead man laughing at me, fit to burst.

Sequel to The Vesuvius Club, which I haven’t read. Painter and occasional spy Lucifer Box gets mixed up in improbable occult conspiracies involving weird politics in 1920s New York and England. I didn’t get much out of this; I felt that Box was a little too pleased with himself, and the conspiracy both too implausibly complex and not sufficiently connected with the real history of the time to be very satisfying. I’ve liked most of Gatiss’s Doctor Who books, but didn’t get much out of this. You can get it here.

This was my top unread book acquired in 2017. Next on that list is The Last Days of New Paris, by China Miéville.

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Tuesday reading

Current
In Ethiopia with a Mule, by Dervla Murphy
A Local Habitation, by Seanan McGuire
Cycling in Victorian Ireland, by Brian Griffin

Last books finished
De Bourgondiërs, by Bart Van Loo
In Time, ed. Xanna Eve Chown
Anthropological Studies of Religion: An Introductory Text, by Brian Morris
How To Be Both, by Ali Smith
The Writing Life, by Annie Dillard
Lethbridge-Stewart: The Havoc Files, ed. Shaun Russell

Next books
The Sparrow, by Mary Doria Russell
David Copperfield, by Charles Dickens

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Terrance Dicks, 1935-2019

The sad news of the passing of Terrance Dicks broke two weeks ago, and I posted my own little tribute to him on Twitter:

Obviously this is a rather small subset of the books by him that I own; I think I have read more books by him than by any other writer.

The novelisations of past Doctor Who stories which I read before I was a teenager were hugely important in an age where TV existed to be watched once and then lost forever except in memory. But even more important was The Making of Doctor Who, the one and only book about the show, which for the first time made me realise that you can write about stories as well as writing stories. (I was 9.) It was an early part of the process that moved me from just being a reader to being a fan.

A lot of people have reflected on his personal kindness. There’s a collection of anecdotes published as a freebie by Candy Jar which you can download here, some of which are very moving, even the ones that are not all that personal.

My own Terrance Dicks story is brief but important to me. I met him only once. One afternoon in 1980 or 1981 (I remember his grimace at mention of the then recent Nightmare of Eden) my brother (aged 12) and I (aged 13 or 14) got wind that he was speaking in, of all places, Suffolk library, a mile or so from where we lived. I am pretty sure that it was the first time I had ever met a celebrity, let alone a Doctor Who celebrity. (Little did I know that my little cousin Brian, then aged two, would grow up to be the producer of the show.)

I don’t remember much about what he said (I asked why Nicholas Courtney wasn’t in The Android Invasion, he said that it was probably due to other acting commitments). But I do remember that he was very pleasant to and patient with a crowd of excited young Belfast fans, and set a standard of behaviour that I still expect from celebrities dealing with the public (or with me); and I deal with a lot more celebrities now than I would have ever expected back then.

A little kindness can go a long way, and Terrance Dicks showed a lot of people a lot of kindness in his life, and not only through his writing. An example to follow.

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The oldest shop at Finaghy crossroads

I recently discovered a Facebook group sharing old pictures of Finaghy, the Belfast suburb where I grew up. Two pictures caught my eye, of the same building, taken in the early twentieth century from the look of it.


In the first picture, it is labelled “Finaghy Cash Stores” with advertisements for cocoa (Finaghy is unusual among Irish settlements for having no pubs, due to the landowner’s strong views about alcohol). I guess the woman in the doorway is the owner of the store, with a little girl looking at the camera in bemusement. Only fields are visible in the background. The photograph is not attributed, but I wonder of it is part of the Welch collection? (I’m not going to scroll through all 4115 of his photos to see if I can spot it.)

The second picture is clearly from a few years later, taken from further away by Alan Coon of Moira. There are a lot more buildings visible. Finaghy was developed as a suburb in the 1920s and 1930s, and I would put this at the midpoint of that period. Unfortunately we can’t read the signs on the store, apart from the word Finaghy.

I thought it was quite a striking building, and wondered if it is still there?

Delightfully, the answer is yes. Here are two pictures from Google Maps, taken from more or less the same vantage points as the early twentieth century photographs (here and here).


On the western corner of Finaghy crossroads, 155 Upper Lisburn Road, as it now is, has acquired a close neighbour at no. 157 – they even appear to share a roof – replacing the smaller building in the second of the older pictures, and I am sure that most passers-by don’t consider the possibility that one of the two buildings is much older than the other. I must have passed it thousands of times in my childhood, but I cannot remember now what shop was there in the 1970s and 1980s. Checking the online trail, I find that it was Brown’s, a tobacconist, in 1960, but most recently has been a variety of different take-away restaurants. Correction: Brown's was the hardware shop next door at 157. In 1960, the shop at 155 Upper Lisburn Road was Scott's tobacconist and fancy goods. (Source)

Incidentally the building to the right in the second of the older pictures seems to have been replaced by the more recent bank (now decommissioned and converted to offices). The bank’s address is 2-4 Finaghy Road North, which suggests that it replaced two semi-detached houses on the corner site.

The Ordnance Survey maps are not detailed enough as to time and date to be a lot of use, and seem to show the future 155 Upper Lisburn Road as a bit wider than it appears in the photographs. (Unless 157 Upper Lisburn Road had already been built, I guess.) Here’s the most recent map:

The older available maps are from early and mid twentieth century, and do show the change in development of the area.


Again, it’s obvious if you know the area and think about it, but it’s interesting that the southern corner of the crossroads was the last to be developed. In the mid-century map it’s still a greenfield site; in my day, it had a cinema (excitingly bombed in the late 70s, as was the post office across the road), a branch of Stewarts supermarkets (now Iceland), and the first purpose-built National Health Service clinic in the United Kingdom.

Interesting that the schoolhouse to the east was much nearer the crossroads than the current Finaghy Primary School; it’s now 135B Upper Lisburn Road, most recently Joe’s Bistro.

Interesting also that Finaghy Park North, South and Central were originally called First Avenue, Second Avenue and Central Avenue. I think the developers must have wisely concluded that they could not convincingly channel the spirit of New York.

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Resurrection of the Daleks: 1984 TV story, and novelisations by Eric Saward and Paul Scoones

There's a new novelisation out of the Fifth Doctor story Resurrection of the Daleks by Eric Saward, which prompted me to go back and rewatch the original 1984 story on which it was based, and also to reread the fan novelisation published some years ago by Paul Scoones.

I missed Resurrection of the Daleks when first broadcast. When I watched it in 2007, I wrote:

In keeping with my practice of watching the later Davros stories backwards (see Revelation of the Daleks, Remembrance of the Daleks), I tried the Fifth Doctor's only encounter with his chief foe, from 1984. Well, it did explain the plot line about there being two different factions of Daleks, which had passed me by completely. Apart from that the story makes little sense. It is memorable for lots of big name actors – Leslie Grantham in his first TV role, apparently – all getting shot (apparently this has the largest number of on-screen violent deaths of any Doctor Who story) and running around for no apparent reason. When Turlough reappears in the middle of it I was taken by surprise as I had forgotten he was in it. I did like Rodney Bewes' performance. (And Sneh Gupta.)

There's some dire Doctor/Davros dialogue (note alliteration) but some good Davison moments too, like when he remembers the previous companions and incarnations, and his reaction to Tegan's farewell (and she's been laid out horizontal for most of the story and so missed most of the gore). Basically, this is one for completists. (But if you're reading this, you probably are a completist.)

When I rewatched it in 2011, I wrote:

Resurrection of the Daleks is the first time we have seen the malignant pepperpots since Romana regenerated, four and a half years ago. It looks fantastic – tremendous moody shots of Docklands and studio sets, action scenes with much mayhem (the highest on-screen death toll of any Who story, I believe, making Tegan's desire to get the hell out entirely comprehensible), and decent performances from an extraordinary array of guest stars, Rodney Bewes, Rula Lenska, Chloe Ashcroft, the glowering Leslie Grantham in his first TV role, Terry Molloy doing Davros for the first time.

It's a shame therefore that the story doesn't make a lot of sense. Every time I think I understand what the various factions (human and Dalek) are up to, there is another twist and I lose track. Viruses? Assassinating the Time Lords? I give up. There are some good set-pieces – Rodney Bewes' character's redemption, the confrontation between two sets of Daleks in the middle of episode 2 – but some weak bits as well, including in particular the Doctor's rather contrived decision to execute Davros and his failure to then carry through this decision.

Coming back to it again, I found myself even more annoyed than previously at just how little sense the plot makes. It's never clear exactly what is going on, and it's difficult to care. I also find it difficult to forgive the inconsistent characterisation of the Fifth Doctor – not just with other stories, but within the same story. And Turlough's invisibility and Tegan's immobility are a peculiar approach to the regular cast. Rodney Bewes is indeed the standout guest performance, but again his behaviour is not really consistent with that of a Dalek agent. I do recommend TV Tropes' dissection of the story.

Having said all that, I can't agree with Eric Saward, who himself described Resurrection of the Daleks as "the worst Doctor Who story ever written". The Twin Dilemma, two stories later, is for my money by far the worst Doctor Who TV story. (See my write-ups here and here. There are several worse Who stories in other media.)

Thirty-five years on, Saward has produced an official novelisation of Resurrection of the Daleks. The second paragraph of the third chapter is:

In another part of the room, lounging in front of the deep space scanner, was Senior Ensign 'Baz' Seaton. Seeming to spend endless hours staring blankly at the machine before him, it was difficult to appreciate precisely what he was registering. To some of the crew he was considered one of the dimmest people aboard. That was until a recent computer glitch had mistakenly caused the crew's personnel files to be published. This revealed, much to some people's irritation, that Seaton not only had the highest IQ of the crew, but also had a PhD in astrophysics and another entitled 'Dark Matter contra the Time-Space Continuum'. To make things even worse, Seaton was also an inspired cook and his pop-up dinner parties were now famous. In spite of all this, the reasons for him being in such a lowly position aboard the prison ship remained a secret.

Just as The Twin Dilemma is my least favourite TV story, its novelisation is my least favourite novelisation of a TV story, though not in fact my least favourite book by Eric Saward. The new novelisation is not great, but it's not as bad as either of those. Saward has done his best to fill out the incidental characters with some background, particularly the crew of the battlecruiser (which is named the Vipod Mor and therefore should be identified with the ship in Saward's audio story Slipback). He still slips into trying to channel Douglas Adams a bit too often, his writing is surprisingly unpolished in places for someone of his track record, and the story itself remains a complete mess which he (perhaps wisely) doesn't attempt to untangle. I think it's still one for completists only.

I compared and contrasted it with the 2000 Paul Scoones unofficial novelisation, the second paragraph of whose third chapter is as follows:

Tegan scrambled across the floor to assist the stunned Turlough. ‘You all right?’ she asked him. He nodded groggily.

I noted when I first read it in 2008 that it is:

a decent effort, drawing in some of the background material invented by David Aaronovitch for his novelisation of Remembrance of the Daleks but otherwise sticking fairly closely to the story as broadcast, including the humungous body count.

I think I stand by that assessment; Scoones doesn't do a lot more than write what appeared on the screen, though he does do a bit more, and his writing style is confident and competent, without Saward's excesses or Saward's flaws. As a sample, here's the way the two treat the cliffhanger between the two episodes:

Saward:

The Doctor was suspicious when, in spite of the TARDIS having been yanked along the Dalek's time corridor, their arrival on the battlecruiser was surprisingly without incident.

‘Trap or not, I need to find Turlough,' he announced.

Switching on the scanner screen, he saw the reception area was empty. He cautiously opened the door, peered out of the TARDIS and, surprisingly followed by a fully composed Stien, entered the reception area.

After looking around for a moment, the Doctor called Turlough's name.

No response.

Stealthily he moved to the entrance of the corridor.

He called again.

This time, there was a response, not from his companion, but from a member of Lytton's Elite Guard. With his weapon raised, the soldier moved towards the Doctor. The Time Lord reacted quickly, grabbing the barrel of the weapon, twisting it to break the attacker's grip and sending the Trooper tumbling over an outstretched leg.

The Doctor saw Stien removing a weapon from a rack of machine pistols. ‘Quickly,' he urged him. ‘Back into the TARDIS.’

Stien didn't move. Instead he pointed the gun at the Time Lord.

‘This is madness!’ said the Doctor. ‘The Daleks won't thank you for capturing me, they’ll kill you.’

Stien moved towards him. ‘I didn’t quite tell you the truth,’ he said. ‘I serve the Daleks. I'm a Dalek agent.’

No sooner had he said this, than Daleks and Troopers poured into the area and advanced towards a distraught Doctor.

Lytton strode in and joined Stien to watch as a Dalek pressed the Doctor hard against the wall.

‘I am the Alpha Dalek.’

Alpha Dalek! That's a new title, thought the Doctor.

‘You will obey me,’ it continued to rasp. ‘You will bend to the power of the Dalek race.’

Inside his head, the Time Lord smiled. The title might be new, but the rhetoric was just as jaded.

‘You will follow me, Doctor. If you try to escape you will be exterminated!’

Although the Doctor had been threatened by the Daleks many times before, his rude health attested to their wanton lack of success. Unfortunately, the tone of this Dalek suggested it might be the one to succeed.

‘You will not resist. You will be taken to the Duplication Chamber,’ the Alpha Dalek snorted as it prodded the Doctor across the reception area.

Lytton and Stien continued to watch as the Time Lord entered an adjacent corridor and was gone.

‘Impulsive, aren’t they?’ said Stien eventually.

Scoones:

As soon as the central column juddered to a halt, the Doctor operated the scanner control. The screen showed that they had arrived in the time corridor reception area, just to one side of the terminal entrance.

‘We're on the Dalek ship,’ observed Stien, and watched through a haze of pain as the Doctor moved around the console and operated the door opening mechanism. ‘Where are you going?’ he asked.

‘I must find Turlough,’ the Time Lord replied. ‘You wait here.’

Stien started after the Doctor, but as he approached the exit, the aching pain in his head was suddenly and abruptly washed away. At once he could see and think clearly. He knew what he had to do. With a new determination he strode confidently out of the TARDIS.

Outside, the Doctor was looking around, calling ‘Turlough! Turlough!’

The Time Lord didn't notice as Stien closed the TARDIS door and went over to a wall locker. Stien pulled out a machine pistol, one of the weapons that Lytton had brought back from Earth earlier.

‘Foolish boy,’ the Doctor muttered, peering off down one of the corridors.

Without warning, a trooper rushed into the chamber, blaster raised, but the Doctor was on his guard, and skilfully wrenched the weapon from the man's grasp as he passed. The Doctor pushed him to the floor and covered the trooper with the weapon.

‘Quickly!’ he called to Stien, ‘Let's get out of here.’

‘No, Doctor,’ Stien replied, now standing right beside him.

The Doctor turned, and saw that Stien was pointing the machine gun at him.

‘This is madness!’ insisted the Doctor. ‘The Daleks won't thank you for capturing me. They'll kill you!’

‘I didn't quite tell you the truth,’ Stien replied, with an unfamiliar cold tone entering his voice. ‘I serve the Daleks. I'm a Dalek agent.’

Before the Time Lord could reply, three Daleks entered the reception area. The ambushed trooper got to his feet and recovered his weapon from the Time Lord's unresisting grasp as the Daleks moved in, shouting in unison. ‘Exterminate the Doctor! Exterminate! Exterminate!’

Commander Lytton saved the Doctor from certain death. ‘Wait!’ he ordered, hurrying into the reception area.

One of the trio of Daleks spun round on Lytton. ‘He is an enemy of the Daleks. He must be exterminated!’

‘He must be duplicated first,’ Lytton persisted. ‘Confirm with the Supreme Dalek.’

The Dalek turned away and engaged in an silent exchange with the Supreme. It turned back. ‘Supreme Dalek confirms the order. We must take the prisoner to the Duplication Chamber. Proceed.’

The Doctor glared silently at Lytton and Stien as the three Daleks surrounded him and herded him away down a passage.

‘Impulsive, aren't they?’ said Stien, once the two men were alone in the chamber.

Saward's style is just that bit worse, isn't it? The repetition of "surprisingly" early on, dropping Stien's dramatic "No, Doctor" (the climax of the first of the two TV episodes), and the awkwardness of "a distraught Doctor", "jaded" and "wanton", not to mention a general jerkiness, are all pretty awful. On the other hand, he's taken the opportunity to rewrite it to make a bit more sense – the TV version (and Scoones' novelisation) has the Daleks threaten to exterminate the Doctor and then change their mind, which sits rather oddly with Stien describing them as "impulsive"; Saward makes them more consistent and also brings in his new character, the Alpha Dalek.

Anyway, as I think is clear, in my view it’s all a bit of a mess. You can get the DVD of the original TV story here, Saward’s novelisation here, and the Paul Scoones version here.

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Pigs in Heaven, by Barbara Kingsolver

Second paragraph of third chapter:

Cardboard boxes crowd the linoleum floor like little barges bristling with their cargo: pots and pans, Mason jars, oven mitts, steak knives, more stuff than Alice can imagine she ever needed. The mood she’s in, she’s ready to turn out the cookstove. She doubts Harland would notice if she stopped cooking altogether. When she met him he was heating up unopened cans of Campbell’s soup in a big pot of water every night. It amazed her to see the cans rolling around like logs in the boiling water. “Don’t they bust?” she asked him, and he shyly put his hand on hers and allowed as how sometimes they did. His idea of a home-cooked meal is when you open the can first and pour it in a saucepan. Alice has been wasting her talents.

This is a sequel to The Bean Trees, which I very much enjoyed last year. I enjoyed this as well; the previous book ends with a dodgy adoption ceremony, which Pigs in Heaven then needs to resolve between Tennessee and Oklahoma. It’s a nice, quirky journey to get there, and although the happy ending is maybe a little too convenient, it put me in a good mood so I was prepared to be forgiving. You can get it here.

This was the top unread book by a woman and the top unread non-genre fiction book on my shelves. Next on the first of those piles is The Writing Life, by Annie Dillard; next on the second is The Bastard of Istanbul, by Elif Shafak.

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Two Books About Bloody Sunday, and the case of Soldier F

Second paragraph of third chapter of Setting the Truth Free: The Inside Story of the Bloody Sunday Campaign, by Julieann Campbell:

Coinciding with the twentieth anniversary was the launch of Eamonn McCann’s book, Bloody Sunday: What Happened in Derry, commissioned by the Sunday Initiative (BSI) and published by Brandon Books. Regarded as one of the seminal books on the issue, McCann’s book helped to renew interest in Bloody Sunday and contained a background analysis of the events leading up to the killings. Most remarkable was the series of interviews with relatives and friends, conducted by Maureen Shiels and Bridie Hannigan of the local Women’s Living History Circle. In these, family members talked candidly about the lives of the killed and wounded men and boys, painting a personal portrait of each and giving an identity to names.

Second paragraph of third chapter of Bloody Sunday: Truth, Lies and the Saville Enquiry, by Douglas Murray:

Hovering in that clear blue sky was an army helicopter. And in it was a young surveillance officer known to the Saville Inquiry as INQ 2030. From this vantage point he could see over the whole of the Bogside. Years later he recorded what events looked like from up there. ‘I can recall seeing lots and lots of people on the ground, perhaps as many as five or ten thousand. They appeared to be congregating in one particular spot. All of a sudden, there was a burst of activity. People began running in all directions and the crowd effectively scattered. I can think of no better way to describe it than the effect that dropping a stone on an ants’ nest would have. It was almost as if the people on the ground had disappeared although I could see them hiding behind walls and buildings.’

Two very different books about the same awful event, both of which are at least as much about the Saville Inquiry as they are about the events of 30 January 1972. I have actually read the complete Bloody Sunday report, and reviewed it at some length on this blog back in 2010 (Volume I, Volume II, Volume III, Volume IV, Volume V, Volume VI, Volume VII, Volume VIII, Volume IX and Volume X and conclusions). In the last couple of months it has been announced that just one of the soldiers who killed 14 innocent people will be prosecuted, and that prompted me to refresh my recollection and also to look into the perspectives of two rather different commentators.

Julieann Campbell never knew her uncle, Jackie Duddy, who was killed at the age of 17 on Bloody Sunday, the first person to be shot dead by the Paras. (Specifically, by Private R.) She was born four years later, and grew up to be a journalist and the press officer for the Bloody Sunday families during the inquiry. She does not put herself into the narrative, however, telling instead the story of how the campaign developed from being a fringe concern and distraction from the overall political picture to a major political issue which Tony Blair felt compelled to yield on in order to facilitate the peace process. It was a terribly hard slog for the families to reach the point where they could be heard, and the early days of finding sympathetic lawyers who were prepared to go hunt for the archival evidence in order to write yet another paper which would be ritually ignored by the authorities were very tough. One person who comes in for considerable praise, to a certain extent against expectations, is John Bruton in his role as Taoiseach from 1995-97, elevating the issue to the point where his successor could not let it drop. It’s a one-sided narrative, but it’s the side whose story was suppressed by the authorities for many years, and it deserved to be told. The book won the Ewart-Biggs Prize, very deservedly.

Douglas Murray is a right-wing journalist, and his book partly reflects that perspective; it’s a series of snapshots of individuals who gave evidence (or should have) to the Saville enquiry. This is not always successful. The chapters on Edward Heath, Bernadette McAliskey and Martin McGuinness don’t really tell us much about them; each stonewalled the enquiry in different ways, and it’s quite difficult to tell a story about people not talking. The chapter on the British intelligence source codenamed “Infliction” gets way too mesmerised by the supposed glamour of intelligence-gathering. His chapter on the IRA is mainly gossip which confuses the Officials and Provisionals, though there is one amusing detail, that a leading Official IRA member, who Saville would have liked to hear from, was actually selling cigarette lighters at a stall outside the Guildhall until he died in 2003.

But there are three very good chapters here, and they are all about the soldiers who carried out the shooting on Bloody Sunday. One tantalising suggestion is that Soldier G, who is known to be now dead and was Soldier F’s partner in murder on the day, ended up as one of the mercenaries killed with Costas Georgiou, “Colonel Callan”, in Angola in 1976. Murray hints that Soldier G may actually have been Georgiou himself, though I think it’s a bit too good to be true.

There is a brutal chapter on Colonel Derek Wilford, whose blind defence of his men in the teeth of the evidence is remarkable. Some extracts are given from Wilford’s ill-advised media interviews, including this jewel of an exchange with Jim Naughtie on the Today Programme (back in 1999 when it was still worth listening to):

DW: I have to ask: what about Bloody Wednesday, Thursday, Friday and every day of the week? What about Bloody Omagh, what about Bloody Warrenpoint, Enniskillen, Hyde Park, Bloody Aldershot and Brighton? Bloody everything the IRA ever touch?
JN: Colonel Wilford, I think you would find it hard to argue that the IRA had had a good press in Britain.

[…]
[Michael McKinney, whose brother was killed on Bloody Sunday, is brought into the conversation]

DW: He may represent his dead brother and a very, very tragic situation it is, but I do not accept that he merely represents him. He represents the Republican organisation and we are naive to the point of idiocy to believe otherwise.
JN: Well, can I, Colonel Wilford, I must interrupt you there because Mr McKinney, as you know, is sitting across from me…
DW: No, I didn’t know he was sitting across from you.
JN: Well, he is, I did say he was in the studio. He was shaking his head rather vigorously and I must ask him just on this question. Colonel Wilford has said that you represent a particular strain of Republicanism. Now I just want to put that to you because you’re still here.
MM: Well, that’s totally untrue. I’ve been involved in the Bloody Sunday issue, the Bloody Sunday campaign these past seven years. I’m one of the founder members of that, myself and a number of other relatives are involved in that and we have no links with any Republican organisation at all.
JN: Right. Colonel Wilford, I mean, that’s been said, do you accept it?
DW: No, of course I don’t accept it.
JN: Why not?
DW: Well, because they will all say that, won’t they.

But Murray’s book begins and ends with two brutal chapters on Soldier F, who together with the late Soldier G killed between five and seven of those who died on Bloody Sunday. The first chapter graphically describes F’s murder of Bernard McGuigan, the last person to be killed on Bloody Sunday, and reflects on how memories of such a horrific event can cheat (there is a very gruesome detail involving a detached body part which I won’t describe further). In the second last chapter, Murray looks at how Soldier F’s story that he had fired only at rioters who were attacking him fell apart within hours of Bloody Sunday, and recounts how the inquiry got through his defences and forced him to admit at least some responsibility. Murray doesn’t quote it, but this is the crucial dialogue:

Q. Before your evidence concludes, I think I ought to summarise for you the accusations and allegations that have been raised and which the Tribunal will have to consider and determine.
The allegations are, firstly, that you killed up to four people, possibly even more. Firstly Michael Kelly, and we know, do we not, that you killed him because of the forensic evidence that a bullet from your gun was found in his body?
A. That is correct.
Q. Secondly, you have accepted, in answering questions from Mr Mansfield behind me, that you shot Barry McGuigan, whose photograph, in a pool of blood, you have seen; do you remember that?
A. Yes.
Q. Do you also accept that you shot Patrick Doherty on whose behalf you were asked questions this afternoon by Ms McDermott?
A. Yes.
Q. As I have put to you, there is evidence that might lead to the conclusion that you shot William McKinney in Glenfada Park; do you follow?
A. Yes.
Q. What is alleged in relation to each of those four people is that you shot them without justification, that is to say, that you murdered them; do you follow?
A. I follow, it is not correct, but I follow, yes.
Q. And you say that it is not correct, because?
A. Because, as I refer to my statements, the people I shot were either petrol bombers or a person who had a weapon.
Q. I also put to you that you may have wounded Joe Mahon, the boy whose body is on the ground behind William McKinney’s in Glenfada Park. The suggestion is also that you may have wounded the two others who were wounded below the Rossville Flats; do you follow?
A. Yes.
Q. Is there anything that you can say about that or would wish to say about that?
A. No.

Soldier F, as we know, is to now be prosecuted for the murders of James Wray and William McKinney, and for the attempted murders of Joseph Friel, Michael Quinn, Joe Mahon and Patrick O’Donnell, all of which took place in Glenfada Park North. The Public Prosecution Service issued an unusually detailed statement about why they have in the end chosen to initiate proceedings against only one of the Bloody Sunday soldiers, and why for only a few of the deaths and injuries that he may have caused. It is worth a read. My own concern is that the PPS have chosen not to prosecute Soldier F for the deaths and injuries that Saville thinks he definitely caused (Michael Kelly, Bernard McGuigan and Patrick Doherty, all killed; Patrick Campbell and Daniel McGowan, both injured), and instead have chosen to prosecute him for deaths and injuries for which Saville found much weaker evidence. Of course Bloody Sunday has now been reinvestigated from first principles by the PSNI, with no reference to Saville and its details. Perhaps they found better evidence for the Glenfada Park North shooting than Saville was able to.

Anyway, both books are well worth reading (the good bits of Murray definitely outweigh the less good bits). You can get them here and here.

Ewart-Biggs Prize winners: Observe the Sons of Ulster Marching Towards the Somme, by Frank McGuinness | From A Clear Blue Sky: Surviving the Mountbatten Bomb, by Timothy Knatchbull | Setting the Truth Free: The Inside Story of the Bloody Sunday Campaign, by Julieann Campbell | The Republic: The Fight for Irish Independence, 1918-1923, by Charles Townshend | The Whole and Rain-Domed Universe, by Colette Bryce | The Sun is Open, by Gail McConnell

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Oyasumi, by Renee Rienties, Coco Ouwerkerk and Kimberley Legito Geelen

This is a collection of three short manga-style graphic stories, by three Dutch artists/writers.

Second frame of third page of "Distortia", by Renee Rienties:

Rene Rienties kicks off with a story about a young psychic woman who is called in by the chap in the beard here to investigate what has happened to his brother Robby. There's an animated version of the first part of the story here.

Second frame of third page of "Yokai, Last of the Guardians", by Coco Ouwerkerk:

This one is about little Kayo, who enjoys her grandmother's stories about Yokai (monsters) until they start to turn out to be real.

First three frames of third page of "Deadly Deals", by Kimberley Legito Geelen (to be read right to left, of course)

This is a really short story about a vampire woman stealing souls.

The three stories are nice and vivid, but really very short; we've barely got started and then it's over. The art is nicely done, and I'd look out for more from any of the three. You can get it here. Apparently a second volume with the same authors is planned.

This was (incorrectly) in my pile of non-English language comics (as you can see, it's very definitely in English). Next in that pile is the two volume Frédégonde, la sanguinaire by Virginie Greiner and Alessia de Vincenzi.

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Tuesday reading

Current
De Bourgondiërs, by Bart Van Loo
Anthropological Studies of Religion: An Introductory Text, by Brian Morris
How To Be Both, by Ali Smith

Last books finished
Resurrection of the Daleks, by Eric Saward
Resurrection of the Daleks, by Paul Scoones
The Devil in Amber, by Mark Gatiss
Make Out With Murder, by Lawrence Block
The Topless Tulip Caper, by Lawrence Block
Doctor Who: 365 Days of Memorable Moments and Impossible Things, by Justin Richards

Next books
The Writing Life, by Annie Dillard
A Local Habitation, by Seanan McGuire

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Cat Country, by Lao She

Second paragraph of third chapter:

再一睁眼,我已靠在一个小屋的一角坐着呢;不是小屋,小洞更真实一点;没有窗户,没有门;四块似乎是墙的东西围着一块连草还没铲去的地,顶棚是一小块银灰色的天。我的手已自由了,可是腰中多了一根粗绳,这一头缠着我的腰,虽然我并不需要这么根腰带,那一头我看不见,或者是在墙外拴着;我必定是从天而降的被系下来的。怀中的手枪还在,奇怪! When I woke up again, I found myself propped into a sitting position in the corner of a small room. No, it really wasn’t a small room; it was more like a little cave. There were no windows and no doors. Four wall-like pieces of something or other surrounded a bit of ground from which the grass hadn’t even been weeded. The roof was a small bit of gunmetal sky. My hands were free, but now there was a thick rope around my waist. I couldn’t see the other end of it. Maybe it was tied to something on the other side of the wall. Perhaps since I’d descended from the sky, they thought that it would be a good idea to anchor me to the ground. How odd–the pistol was still in my shirt!

About a year ago, my old friend Rana Mitter recommended this to me as an early example of the Chinese science fiction tradition which we're now seeing in the works of Cixin Liu and Hao Jingfang (and others, but those are the recent Hugo winners). It's a short read, a very very direct satire on China of the 1930s, portrayed as a country on the planet Mars inhabited by cat people. The narrator is an earthling who arrives in a crashed spaceship just before the story begins and gets away slightly murkily as it ends. I thought it was really interesting to note that the trope of people going to Mars and encountering talking non-humans was already well enough established for a Chinese writer writing in Chinese in 1930s China to just pick it up and run with it. The works of Jules Verne and H.G. Wells were circulating in translation, but neither of them has humans landing on Mars.

The satire is so direct that I wondered if Pierre Boulle might have been partly inspired by this for Monkey Planet/Planet of the Apes. The dates however don’t seem to check out – according to ISFDB, Cat Country seems to have been translated into English only in 1970, and to French only in 1981, too late for Boulle’s book which was published in 1963. Our unnamed protagonist comes to terms with a fragmented Cat Country, full of weak patriarchal local warlords who are exploited by rich and cynical foreigners, and undermined by subversive students who follow the philosophy taught by Uncle Karl which led to the overthrow of the emperor in the neighbouring country. As satire goes, it’s not all that subtle. But it’s effectively written, and I found William A. Lyell’s translation lucid. You can get it here.

Despite his obvious satire of Communism, Lao She survived and kept writing until 1968, when he committed suicide after being purged and persecuted during the Cultural Revolution.

This was my top book by a non-white writer. Next up is Paper Girls vol 2 (where Cliff Chiang is the artist), though as previously noted I think I’ll reread all five volumes.

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