Tag Archives: bookblog 2024

Marie-Lætitia Bonaparte-Wyse de Solms Ratazzi de Rute y Ginez, and The Husband Trap stories

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When we went to the KMSKA in Antwerp last June, my attention was caught by a striking lady in the hall commemorating the museum’s donors, represented by a portrait and a bust:

This is Marie-Lætitia Bonaparte-Wyse (1831-1902), whose mother was Letizia Bonaparte, daughter of Napoleon Bonaparte’s brother Lucien, and whose legal father was Sir Thomas Wyse of Waterford, member of parliament for Tipperary, though it is generally accepted that her biological father was Studholme John Hodgson, an officer of the 19th Regiment of Foot.

She was educated in Paris and at the age of 17 married Frédéric Joseph de Solms, so was known as ‘La Princesse de Solmes’ for the next few years. He abandoned her; she was expelled from the Second Empire (ruled by her mother’s first cousin Napoleon III) on somewhat obscure grounds in 1852 – aged only 21!

She ran a famous literary salon in Aix-les-Bains, which was then in Savoy rather than France; after 1860, when Aix was annexed by France in return for recognising the reunification of Italy, she reconciled with the French authorities. In 1863 she married her second husband, Count Urbano Rattazzi, who had just finished the first of his two terms as prime minister of the newly unified Italian kingdom.

When he in turn died in 1873, she married a Spanish politician, Don Luis de Rute y Ginez. Whether in Italy, France or Spain she brought writers, artists and politicians together in her salons. She lived until 1901, and has many living descendants through her daughter by her second marriage, the Villanova-Rattazzi family who are based in Spain.

French Wikipedia lists over 30 books and half a dozen plays by her. I found two really vivid pen-portraits of her which are worth reading. Frederic Loliee describes her early career in a chapter of his “Women of the Second Empire” (1907) and Francis Grierson tells of her role as a literary and political hostess in “Parisian Portraits” (1914). Grierson concludes, “With the death of Madame Bonaparte-Rattazzi the last star in the romantic galaxy of the nineteenth century disappeared.” This may be exaggeration, but it’s a good summary.

I bet you had never heard of her before reading this blog post. I hadn’t, before last June.

I thought I might try out her writing for myself, though it’s worth noting that it’s not really her writing that she is remembered for. Her most substantial fiction is a series of four novels published in 1866-67 as by “Madame Rattazzi”, overlapping with her husband’s second term as Italian prime minister.

The titles are (in internal chronology): Le piège aux maris (The Husband Trap), Les débuts de la forgeronne (How the Blacksmith’s Wife Began), La Mexicaine (The Mexican Woman) and Bicheville, ou le chemin du paradis (Bicheville, or the Path to Paradise). You can get them all in French for free here, here, here and here.

I can manage a well-written bande-dessinee in French, but I am not up to reading an entire novel; fortunately I have a DeepL subscription and used it to get a comprehensible English text. (Happy to share that with you, if you ask nicely.)

So. On the one hand, it’s a big sweeping story of several lower-middle-class families in contemporary Paris, and the efforts of well-meaning mothers to get their daughters safely married (something that the author knew about rather well) along with petty crime and mysterious inheritances. The social commentary ranges from cold observation to occasional anger.

Paris and the French countryside are well described and you know what each of the characters is doing and why. The depiction of posh society in a foreign city (the “Bicheville” of the last volume) supposedly was too close to the bone for readers in Florence, then the Italian capital, and is said to have played a part in ending Count Rattazzi’s second term as prime minister, though I felt it clearly drew more on her experience in Aix a decade earlier.

At the same time I felt it was a bit rambling. The sheer number of significant characters made it rather difficult to keep track. Some of them are known by different names in different chapters. The sections set in Algeria in the last two books are very thin on descriptive detail (noticeably so in contrast to the sections in France or Bicheville), and the fourth book ends rather hastily. So I can’t completely recommend it to the casual reader. But I’m glad I gave it a try.

Bicheville, ou le chemin du paradis was the last book that I finished in the calendar year 2024.

Second paragraph of third chapter of La piege aux maris:

Une gare, c’est le temple de l’action. — A la porte, des files de voitures qu’on décharge; à l’intérieur, des colis qu’on roule sur des voilures à bras; des facteurs, des portefaix, des voyageurs groupés ou solitaires, allant affairés, çà et là, ou fumant paisiblement; des soldats avec leurs fusils, des chasseurs avec leurs chiens, des nourrices avec leurs marmots, des citadins et des paysans, des gentlemen et des commis; — des bruits de roues et des coups de sifflets, des voix distinctes et des murmures confus. Et, par-dessus tout, cette horloge inflexible, dont on ne saurait arrêter l’aiguille, dont l’heure tinte comme un glas fatal Au conducteur de la diligence, on disait: Attendez un peu. Prenez un verre de vin; trinquez avec nous. — Le chef de train est invisible. Il est là-bas, de l’autre côté, soldat esclave de sa consigne, être de raison qui donne le signal du départ, comme la pendule sonne l’heure. Dans la cour de la diligence, il n’y avait que les parents et les amis de ceux qui parlaient; ici, les indifférents pullulent On n’ose pas se faire, devant eux, les recommandations enfantines et touchantes; on n’ose pas se dire qu’on s’aime; on n’ose pas pleurer; — on s’embrasse devant des badauds qui rient!A station is the temple of action. At the gate, lines of carriages are being unloaded; inside, parcels are being rolled on canopies; postmen, porters, travellers grouped together or alone, bustling here and there or smoking peacefully; soldiers with their rifles, hunters with their dogs, nurses with their babies, townsfolk and peasants, gentlemen and clerks; – the sound of wheels and whistles, distinct voices and confused murmurs. And, above all, that inflexible clock, whose hand could not be stopped, whose hour tinkled like a fatal knell The driver of the coach was told: Wait a little. Have a glass of wine; toast with us. – The conductor is invisible. He is over there, on the other side, a soldier enslaved by his orders, a being of reason who gives the signal for departure as the clock strikes the hour. In the coach yard, there were only the relatives and friends of those who were speaking; here, the indifferent swarmed. You didn’t dare make childish and touching recommendations to each other in front of them; you didn’t dare say that you loved each other; you didn’t dare cry; – you kissed each other in front of laughing onlookers!

Second paragraph of third chapter of Les débuts de la forgeronne:

– Continuez, madame, quelles sont vos intentions… ?“Go on, madam, what are your intentions…?”

Second paragraph of third chapter of La Mexicaine:

– Prenons un verre d’absinthe, se dit Fanfan, ça me donnera du toupet !“Let’s have a glass of absinthe”, Fanfan said to himself. “That’ll give me some spirit!”

Second paragraph of third chapter of Bicheville, ou le chemin du paradis:

« Quand je serai la femme de Pierre, nous ne verrons que des amis connus de nous depuis longtemps… Les deux hommes qui paraissaient les plus distingués et les plus recherchés dans le singulier monde que j’ai traversé pendant ces six derniers mois, sont deux infâmes et deux misérables ; que sont donc les autres ? Ce monde où l’on rencontre des Othon du Triquet et des gens comme ces deux êtres dont le nom ne salira pas les pages où se trouve celui de mon bien-aimé, ce monde-là est-il bien le vrai monde ? En ce cas fuyons loin de lui… Pauvre mère ! Reviens à ta vie paisible ; tu vieilliras entourée de la tendresse de tes enfants, je ne serai ni vicomtesse de contrebande peut-être, ni baronne d’aventure peut-être encore, mais j’aurai un intérieur où je ne trouverai que des visages francs et loyaux, et je pourrai sans crainte toucher toutes les mains qui m’entoureront, car s’il s’en trouve quelques-unes noircies par le travail, il ne s’en trouvera aucune souillée par l’infamie. Voilà une grande phrase que mon mari trouvera prétentieuse ; – qu’il soit tranquille, mon bon Pierre… quand il sera près de moi, je n’écrirai plus avec tant de peine ce que je pense, je le lui dirai à lui toujours, et il me semble qu’alors les mots viendront tout seuls ! C’est égal, c’est un bien singulier monde ! »‘When I become Pierre’s wife, we will see only friends we have known for a long time… The two men who seemed the most distinguished and the most sought-after in the strange world I have passed through these last six months are two infamous and two wretched people; what are the others? Is this world, where we meet Othon du Triquet and people like these two whose names will not stain the pages where my beloved’s are, the real world? In that case let us flee from it… Poor mother! Come back to your peaceful life; you will grow old surrounded by the tenderness of your children, I will not be a viscountess of smuggling perhaps, nor a baroness of adventure perhaps, but I will have a home where I will find only honest and loyal faces, and I will be able without fear to touch all the hands that surround me, because if there are some blackened by work, there will be none stained by infamy. That’s a big sentence that my husband will find pretentious, but don’t worry, my good Pierre… when he’s near me, I won’t take so much trouble to write down what I’m thinking, I’ll always say it to him, and it seems to me that then the words will come all by themselves! All the same, it’s a very strange world!

The Peacock Cloak, by Chris Beckett

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Second paragraph of third story (“Johnny’s New Job”):

Wednesday, the case was officially declared by the government to be an instance of Welfare Knew And Did Nothing (within the meaning of the Summary Judgement Act) so of course everyone kept their ears open and sure enough pretty soon the thrilling voice of the Public Accuser came booming out of the factory Screens, demanding on behalf of everyone there that culprits be identified for him to Name.

A second collection of short stories by Chris Beckett, whose fiction I have enjoyed over the years, collecting stories published between 2008 and 2012. I had previously read one of them, “Poppyfields”, which is included as an afterpiece to his fix-up novel Marcher. They’re all decent enough, mostly rooted in East Anglia; the one that surprised me, mostly in a good way, was “Our Land” which is a what-if story transposing the Israel-Palestine conflict onto England. There are several pairs of stories linked by their setting in distinct futures, and I was a bit annoyed that these are not paired up in the internal structure of the collection. It’s not as mind-blowing as Beckett’s previous collection, The Turing Test, but it will certainly do. You can get it here.

This was my top book acquired in 2019, and the SF book that had lingered longest unread on my shelves. Next on those piles respectively are Burned, by Sam McBride, and A Brilliant Void, by Jack Fennell.

In Ascension, by Martin MacInnes

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Second paragraph of third chapter:

Ordinarily I couldn’t see any of this. Only through careful and deliberate study could I witness what had been in front of me all along. And so I did this, at home and at school. I remember this as a great period of visibility, the world bursting into appearance. The air was thick with teeming life, just as the oceans and the rivers were. A spoonful of seawater or a pinch of soil between your fingers held billions of living things. We were blind to this out of necessity, because if we saw what was really there we would never move. It was around us, between us, on the edge of us and inside us. It coated our bodies and we released waves of it when we breathed and spoke. It was in every skin cell and in the eyelashes that fluttered when we dreamed. It adapted to every aspect of our behaviour; if animals were shaded out, and microorganisms illuminated, then our ghosts would be clear in these bright peripheries. My favourite species were those that lay dormant in husk form before reanimating, such as the rotifers discovered in Arctic ice-sheets after 24,000 lifeless years. Able to withstand almost any force, they seemed to challenge the distinction between life and death, annihilating the concept of straight and linear time to suggest something more circular and repetitious instead.

Won last year’s Arthur C. Clarke Award, beating the Hugo-winning Some Desperate Glory and several others that I haven’t read yet. There are lots of interesting things here: protagonist is a marine biologist from an abusive family background, gets sent on a very mysterious mission to an Atlantic Ocean trench, and then on an even more mysterious space mission to the outer solar system; and then something even more mysterious happens, and we end the book trying to work out what it is. But everything is linked back and forth between the different phases of the plot, the protagonist is interesting and intriguing, and the non-human forces (I hesitate to even say ‘alien’) subtly realised.

In his acceptance speech at the Clarke ceremony, MacInnes paid tribute to Christopher Priest and said that he had learned a lot from their brief friendship. The book is not one that Chris would have ever written, but I did get the feeling that he would have enjoyed looking over MacInnes’ shoulder and giving him an approving pat on the back.

You can get it here.

Bellatrix, Épisodes 1 and 2, by Leo

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Second frame of third page of Épisode 1:

Man: Where’s the other rider? Is it your husband?
Kim: Who are you anyway?

Second frame of third page of Épisode 2:

Manon: Oh, shit!

The first two in what we are promised will be a four part story from the Brazilian-French comics writer Leo, following on from the previous 26 albums in the Aldebaran cycle since 1994. Kim, who has been the central character for most of the stories, is sent with her friend and colleague Manon to investigate the backward world of Bellatrix, where a misogynist conservative faction seems likely to win the elections and remove women’s rights.

Meanwhile their support mission in orbit, supported by the alien Avarants who have requested the Bellatrix intervention, runs into problems of its own when another alien race, the Arctarods, turns up.

As ever, gorgeously drawn; the political point is a lot more cogent than in some of Leo’s previous work; both of the first two albums end on cliff-hangers, which suggests that a decent amount of thought has gone into the plotting. Even minor characters get some credible presence here as well. I love that the lead Avarant has decided to call himself Seamus.

First Avarant: This is the human, Manon Servoz.
Second Avarant: Come and sit with us, Manon. My name is Seamus.

Unfortunately, these have yet to be translated into English, but you can get the original Épisode 1 here and the original Épisode 2 here.

Freshwater, by Akwaeke Emezi

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Second paragraph of third chapter:

Our brothersisters have always possessed the cruelty that is our birthright. They stacked their bitterness like a year’s harvest; they bound it all together with anger, long memories, and petty ways. The Ada had not died, the oath had not been fulfilled, and we had not come home. They could not make us return because they were too far away, but they could do other things in the name of claiming our head. There is a method to this. First, harvest the heart and weaken the neck. Make the human mother leave. This, they knew, is how you break a child.

I am getting to the end of my project of reading all of the Tiptree/Otherwise, BSFA and Clarke Award winners. This won the 2019 Otherwise Award, the first time it had that name, beating six other novels, two shorter pieces and a series of books. I have read two of the others, The Calculating Stars by Mary Robinette Kowal and The Deep by Rivers Solomon; of the three I liked Freshwater the most.

It’s the story of a Nigerian who moves back and forth to the United States, but who also contains several different personalities: the Ada, who is the named protagonist; Asụghara, whose impulses are destructive; Yshwa, a rather distracted Jesus; and Saint Vincent, who carries masculine traits. This could easily have become very self-indulgent, but in fact the narrative twists and turns and doesn’t lose track of trying to tell a story, despite the multiplicity of the protagonist’s nature. I found it an excellent read. You can get it here.

The Sea Lady: A Tissue of Moonshine, by H.G. Wells

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Second paragraph of third chapter:

Finally the rising journalist went and sounded the people on the two chief Folkestone papers and found the thing had just got to them. They were inclined to pretend they hadn’t heard of it, after the fashion of local papers when confronted by the abnormal, but the atmosphere of enterprise that surrounded the rising journalist woke them up. He perceived he had done so and that he had no time to lose. So while they engaged in inventing representatives to enquire, he went off and telephoned to the Daily Gunfire and the New Paper. When they answered he was positive and earnest. He staked his reputation — the reputation of a rising journalist!

A short satirical piece by Wells from 1902. His first twenty books were published between 1895 and 1912, and this was the only one that I had not yet read. A mermaid washes ashore between Folkestone and Hythe (weirdly enough, I spent two nights at Hythe last November), and the local Liberal candidate falls in love with her. There is much comedy of manners (though the book is only 100 pages long). You can get it here.

I suspect that Wells was reflecting on his own experience of his love life interfering with his political activities. Several of his earlier books (most notably The New Machiavelli) include elections, but it wasn’t until 1922 and 1923 that he put himself forward (for the London University constituency; he came third out of three candidates both times).

This was the shortest unread book that I acquired in 2019. Next on that pile is The Soul of a Bishop, also by Wells.

The Nightwatch Winter, by Jenny Overton; and Elizabeth Grant, illustrator

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Second paragraph of third chapter:

“Vero!” Simon shouted. “Vero!” He struggled helplessly in the gorse; stamped down for a foothold but found nothing; sank waist-deep in furze. The quaking earth shifted again, like coals settling in the fire, and sank slowly into the hill-side, sucking in a great wad of gorse. Stones and clods and hummocks of grass slid into the darkness. Simon saw the earth opening under him and flung out his right arm, seeking frantically for a handhold. Martin’s hand gripped his, tightened and held; Monica’s fingers clutched his wrist.

A sequel to the lovely Creed Country by the same author, following the adventures of Sarah’s (many) younger siblings and their friends as they explore the countryside around them in the snow, get to know a mysterious old lady, and produce a medieval Mystery Play in an old church. To be honest, the plot is a bit diffuse with an abundance of characters to follow, but they do each have a distinct voice and it portrays a more innocent time (the cusp of the 1970s) in rural Surrey (a concept that barely exists these days). You can get it here.

I also want to shout out the cover art by Elizabeth Grant, which I find striking and evocative.

She illustrated a lot of children’s books in the early 1970s – in my mind she is inseparable from the Puffins.

This 1977 painting of “A Bunker on an American Golf Course”, at Knightshayes Court in Devon, looks like it might be by her too.

I wish I could find out more about her, but there seem to be at least four living artists also named Elizabeth Grant, so it’s impossible to dig through the data.

Collected Plays and Teleplays, by Flann O’Brien

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Opening of the third play (the long version of Thirst):

The curtain goes up on the bar. It is after hours. Light from a distant street-lamp shines faintly on the window The bar is lit (very badly.) by two candles which are set on the counter, one of them stuck in a bottle. The publican, MR. C., who is suitably fat and prosperous in appearance, is leaning over the centre of the counter talking to PETER, who is sitting on a stool side-face to the audience. JEM, who is in the nature of a hanger-on, is away in a gloomy corner where he can barely be discerned. Both customers are drinking pints; the publican has a small whiskey. The curtain has gone up in the middle of a conversation between PETER and the publican.

MR. C.: (Dramatically.) And do you know why? (There is a pause.) Do you know why?
PETER: Begor, Mr Coulahan, I couldn’t tell you.
MR. C.: (Loudly.) Because he’s no good, that’s why. He’s no bloody good!

(He finishes his drink in one gulp, turns to the shelves for the whiskey bottle and noisily fills himself another. As the talk proceeds he is occupied with pulling two further stouts to fill up the customers’ glasses PETER smokes and bends his head reflectively. JEM is silent save for drinking noises. He shows his face for a moment in the gloom by lighting a cigarette.)

This is a collection of seven stage plays and seven TV plays by Flann O’Brien / Myles na gCopaleen, some of which were performed in his lifetime and some of which were not. I bought it in the run-up to the 2019 Dublin Worldcon, partly to see if Faustus Kelly, the first of the plays, was worthy of a Retro Hugo nomination, and partly to prep for a panel on Flann O’Brien that I knew I’d be doing at the convention. But I had not previously sat down and read it from cover to cover.

Some of these pieces are very slight, but some are very interesting. The 1943 play Faustus Kelly brings the Devil to the Irish Midlands to interfere in local politics. He finds it so awful that he returns to Hell. It’s interesting that the politician protagonist is depicted very clearly as living with a woman who he is not married to – and the local political activists take it in their stride. This is fifty years before Bertie Ahern became Taoiseach.

Rhapsody in Stephen’s Green is adaptation of The Insect Play by Karel Čapek (best known as the inventor of the word ‘robot’ in his play R.U.R.) and his brother Josef. Like Faustus Kelly, it was performed at the Gate Theatre in 1943. Where the Čapeks’ first scene features butterflies as mindless and vain literary salon types, writing poetry to each other, O’Brien makes the characters here bees representing the posh Anglo-Irish elite, engaged in idle self-destruction. The two other scenes are less changed. In the second scene, the Čapeks’ dung-beetles are solid middle-class citizens saving for retirement; O’Brien makes Mr Beetle specifically a Dublin civil servant. And the militarist, proudly engineering ants in the last scene are Ulster ants in O’Brien’s adaptation. The satire is mean and doesn’t always land right for the twenty-first century reader, but it must have been a great production.

The other one that struck me was The Dead Spit of Kelly, about a taxidermist’s assistant who murders his boss and then disguises himself in his boss’s skin, with surreal consequences. It was shown on RTE in 1962. A film version starring Colin Morgan and Jason Isaacs was announce in 2021 but does not seem to have got off the drawing board.

The rest are shorter pieces, and some of them are rather slight (there’s a dire skit about an airplane trip from Dublin to London with an annoying English passenger). But I am glad to have read them. You can get it here.

This was the unread book that had lasted longest in my non-genre pile (though all three of the pieces that I mention above actually have strong fantasy elements). Next on that pile is, er, Black Mountain by Gerry Adams. But I acquired it only in 2021, so I’m pausing that cycle for now until I have cleared the remainder of my 2019 and 2020 books. (I have read all of the non-genre books that I acquired in 2020, finishing with Summer by Ali Smith.)

The Aztecs, by Doris V. Sutherland (and John Lucarotti)

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When I first watched this 1964 story in 2006, I wrote:

This was the last of the First Doctor stories that I felt I must Get Hold Of. I think you have to allow for the fact that it is mid-1960s drama to take into account the rather slow pacing. I liked it all the same; a real attempt to get into the spirit of the historical period, with some difficult dilemmas for the time-travellers – Barbara determined to abolish human sacrifice, but ultimately fails; and the Doctor has someone fall in love with him for the first time (but not, of course the last) in his on-screen adventures. Cameca’s helping them to escape in the end, even though she knows she will never see them again, was as touching as Barbara’s acceptance of her inability to change history. A minor gem, I would say.

When I came back to it for my Great Rewatch in 2009, I wrote:

The Aztecs is very good, but doesn’t quite rise to greatness. There are some great bits – Barbara struggling with the consequences of her divinity, the Doctor’s romance with Cameca, the Doctor and Barbara arguing about changing history. (It should be added that Lucarotti did some good female characters – Barbara is at her best here, and don’t forget Cameca, Ping-Cho and Anne Chaplet.) But I find Tlotoxl a little too pantomimey as a villain, and Ian just biffs Aztecs about, and gets condemned to death again, while Carole Ann Ford is on holiday. Everyone does it with great conviction, and you barely notice that it’s all done in a hot studio with a painted backdrop. And we end with another cliff-hanger into the next story, though our heroes have had enough time to change clothes.

This time around, a little wiser to the constraints of 1960s television, I am amazed at how well the director and cast managed to convey a grand sweeping city and civilization in four cramped studio sets. Also Margot van der Burgh is very impressive as Cameca, a mostly quiet but crucial role. You can get it here.

The second paragraph of the third chapter of the novelisation is:

The Aztecs they passed on the way to the barracks bowed respectfully to Tlotoxl, but Ian sensed they were afraid of the High Priest.

When I first read it in 2007, I wrote:

I was disappointed by Lucarotti’s novelisation of The Massacre, which stuck much more closely to his original script than the show as broadcast. Here again he has added bits and pieces which presumably were in his original concept, and I was again disappointed, but for a different reason: the narration is strangely flat, and you really miss the performances of the actors breathing life into Lucarotti’s lines back in 1964. One cannot help but feel that the production team on the whole did Lucarotti a favour by editing his material. Also he has a really annoying habit of mixing indirect speech with direct speech, which reads like a desperate attempt to make a novel out of a TV script.

Reading the book again very soon after rewatching the story, there are a few important differences included to smoothe out the plot; but I stand by my complaint about the jerky switches from indirect to direct speech. You can get it here.

Doris V. Sutherland’s Black Archive on the story has four chapters, a substantial conclusion and an interesting appendix. The first chapter, ‘Building the Pyramid’, looks at The Aztecs in the context of the 1960s historical stories of Doctor Who, as a showcase for Jacqueline Hill as Barbara, and as a reflection on the effects of time travel, pointing out how new all of this was for Doctor Who at the time.

The second chapter, ‘Not One Line? The Historical Accuracy of The Aztecs’ goes in detail, perhaps a bit too much detail, on whether or not the story is a good description of the real Aztec culture. Though there are a couple of good observations, eg “it is hard to miss the awkward results of the script’s reluctance to mention the Aztec deities by name. It appears that such monikers as Quetzalcoatl and Huitzilopochtli were deemed insufficiently pronounceable for a production in which retakes were to be avoided for budget reasons.”

The third and longest chapter, ‘Narratives of Conquest’, looks at where the ideas for the story really came from. Its second paragraph is:

The Doctor Who Discontinuity Guide by Paul Cornell, Martin Day and Keith Topping lists, as an influence on the serial, The Royal Hunt of the Sun², a play by Peter Shaffer that depicted Francisco Pizarro’s conquest of the Incas and was performed in the same year as The Aztecs³. However, the dates here do not quite match up: as Lawrence Miles and Tat Wood point out, the play was originally performed in mid-February, while Lucarotti has stated that he first discussed the possibility of an Aztec-themed story during the filming of Marco Polo, which wrapped up on 17 February⁴. [Comment: actually that looks to me like a very good match-up of the dates!]
² Cornell, Day and Topping, Discontinuity Guide, loc 370.
³ And was adapted into a movie in 1969, starring Robert Shaw and Christopher Plummer.
⁴ Miles, Lawrence and Tat Wood, About Time: The Unauthorized Guide to Doctor Who, 1963-1966, Seasons 1 to 3, p70.

Sutherland considers the 1947 film Captain from Castile and G.A. Henty before swinging again into the question of historical detail, examining very closely the extent of human sacrifice among the Aztecs and, crucially, whether or not it made much difference to the brutality of the Spanish conquest, concluding that it didn’t. I somewhat parted company with the writer here; I think that it doesn’t matter all that much that the story is not based on perfect historical knowledge.

The fourth chapter, ‘What Does The Aztecs Have to Say?’, starts by recounting critical opinion of the story but then swings back into the question of colonialism, pointing out that the barbarism of Spanish colonialism, as perceived in English culture, is a really crucial element of understanding what was going on. How very different, perhaps we are meant to think, to enlightened British colonialism! I think there is actually a bit more that could have been looked at here, in terms of 1960s British perceptions of the Franco regime. Her ultimate judgement is that the message of The Aztecs on colonialism is confused, rather than definitively pro or anti.

I have to take issue with the final section of Chapter 4, which states that “Only with the first Chibnall / Whittaker season, which aired in 2018, did the series hire its first non-white writers.” Glen McCoy, who wrote the 1985 story Timelash, is Anglo-Indian – I have checked this with him personally.

The conclusion makes the point that The Aztecs is quite different from most Doctor Who stories, while still being similar enough to be recognisable and sound enough to remain watchable decades later.

An appendix looks at the differences in the novelisation, flagging up in particular a more overtly Christian agenda, and then briefly looks at Child of the Sun God, an episode of the Andersons’ Joe 90 also written by Lucarotti with striking similarities (a lost Amazonian tribe is striking down world statesmen; Joe 90 must infiltrate them, pass himself off as a white god and save the day), but which is much less memorable.

I confess to not being completely satisfied with this particular Black Archive. Researching the factual basis of a particular story takes us quickly to the point where the commentator can show off the superiority of their knowledge to the original writer. I preferred the discussions of ideology and of Lucarotti’s use of his sources, whatever they were. But you can get it here.

The Black Archives
1st Doctor: The Edge of Destruction (67) | Marco Polo (18) | The Aztecs (71) | The Myth Makers (65) | The Dalek Invasion of Earth (30) | The Romans (32) | The Massacre (2)
2nd Doctor: The Underwater Menace (40) | The Evil of the Daleks (11) | The Mind Robber (7)
3rd Doctor: Doctor Who and the Silurians (39) | The Ambassadors of Death (3) | The Dæmons (26) | Carnival of Monsters (16) | The Time Warrior (24) | Invasion of the Dinosaurs (55)
4th Doctor: Pyramids of Mars (12) | The Hand of Fear (53) | The Deadly Assassin (45) | The Face of Evil (27) | The Robots of Death (43) | Talons of Weng-Chiang (58) | Horror of Fang Rock (33) | Image of the Fendahl (5) | The Sun Makers (60) | The Stones of Blood (47) | Full Circle (15) | Warriors’ Gate (31) | Logopolis (76)
5th Doctor: Kinda (62) | Black Orchid (8) | Earthshock (51) | The Awakening (46)
6th Doctor: Vengeance on Varos (41) | Timelash (35) | The Ultimate Foe (14)
7th Doctor: Paradise Towers (61) | The Happiness Patrol (68) | Silver Nemesis (75) | The Greatest Show in the Galaxy (66) | Battlefield (34) | The Curse of Fenric (23) | Ghost Light (6)
8th Doctor: The Movie (25) | The Night of the Doctor (49)
Other Doctor: Scream of the Shalka (10)
9th Doctor: Rose (1) | Dalek (54)
10th Doctor: The Impossible Planet / The Satan Pit (17) | Love & Monsters (28) | Human Nature / The Family of Blood (13) | The Sound of Drums / Last of the Time Lords (38) | Silence in the Library / The Forest of the Dead (72) | Midnight (69)
11th Doctor: The Eleventh Hour (19) | Vincent and the Doctor (57) | The Pandorica Opens / The Big Bang (44) | A Christmas Carol (74) | The Impossible Astronaut / Day of the Moon (29) | The God Complex (9) | The Rings of Akhaten (42) | Day of the Doctor (50)
12th Doctor: Listen (36) | Kill the Moon (59) | Under the Lake / Before the Flood (73) | The Girl Who Died (64) | Dark Water / Death in Heaven (4) | Face the Raven (20) | Heaven Sent (21) | Hell Bent (22)
13th Doctor: Arachnids in the UK (48) | Kerblam! (37) | The Battle of Ranskoor av Kolos (52) | The Haunting of Villa Diodati (56) | Ascension of the Cybermen / The Timeless Children (70) | Flux (63)

Eden Rebellion, by Abi Falaise

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Second paragraph of third chapter:

‘Hmm …’ the Doctor mused as his eyes passed over the houses surrounding him. ‘Why have a plant pot without any plants?’

A Fifteenth Doctor book which is yet another story of rebels against the system, with world-building so complex that I am afraid I got lost in it, and loads of characters who barely have time to establish themselves before the book ends (or they get killed). Yes, it’s an important anti-colonial narrative; yes, there are a lot of Doctor Who stories that have this theme; but most of them are better executed. Heart in the right place, perhaps needed twice as much space (or substantial editing). You can get it here.

How To Stay Sane In An Age Of Division, by Elif Shafak

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Second paragraph of third chapter:

The truth is, there are plenty of negative sentiments all around and within us – anger, fear, discontent, distrust, sadness, suspicion, constant self-doubt … but perhaps more than anything, an ongoing apprehension. An existential angst. All these emotions are very much part of our lives now. Even digital spaces have become primarily emotional spaces. The posts that go viral or the videos that are watched most widely are freighted with emotions. What is equally significant is how this creates a tendency, a habit of mind, that perpetuates itself through space and time. In a study conducted by the Institute for Social Research scholars have found that ‘when exposed to less positive news, people posted less positive comments and more negative ones. When exposed to less negative posts, the opposite pattern occurred.’*
* ‘Anger, Fear and Echo Chambers: The Emotional Basis for Online Behavior’, D. Wollebaek, R. Karlsen, K. Steen-Johnsen, B. Enjolras (April 2019)
[NB – I see online versions of the book where the chapter division is very different to my printed edition.]

A short book, written in the wake of the pandemic and the Black Lives Matter movement, arguing for optimism and effort despite the depressing state of the world. I read it a couple of weeks ago, in the course of having a long and decompressing bath after I got back from a trip to Georgia, and it really helped my mood.

Shafak briefly and compellingly discusses the problems of anxiety and anger, the need and duty to tell ourselves and each other better stories, the importance of empathy and compassion, and the power of conscious optimism. It is peppered with personal anecdotes and observations, but not to the point that these distract from the core message. She also weaves in a few powerful quotations from others, including Martin Luther King’s “The arc of the moral universe is long, but it bends towards justice.” A short text that gave me a lot to think about. You can get it here.

Hollow Places, by Christopher Hadley

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Second paragraph of third chapter:

Though familiar themes crop up everywhere, ancient tithing customs were particular to each parish. Today they read like magic potions: toad under cold stone, days and nights has forty-one, could well be the vicar’s due at Lammastide. As well as the joy of otherness and unfamiliar words to justify time spent with tithe records, they are also especially instructive for anyone chasing old stories. They challenge us to unravel them, to reveal lost ways of making sense of the world and to shed light on the long-forgotten machinations of the stock characters of village life: impecunious parsons, resentful husbandmen and bombastic squires.

A tremendously charming book about one obscure local legend in Hertfordshire, the story of Piers Shonks who slew a dragon hiding under an ancient yew tree in Brent Pelham, near Stansted Airport. Hadley goes into impressive detail about the origin of the legend, the meanings of dragons and yew trees, and Shonks’ unusual burial in the wall of the local church, and then into the limited but significant documentation of the life of a fourteenth-century Piers Shonks who lived in the right place.

The evidence doesn’t all point the same way, let alone hang together, but the point is not the truth or otherwise of the dragon myth, it’s the story of exploring the myth and seeing where that takes you; and it’s a great trip through the archives and lore of England, Hertfordshire in particular. You can get it here.

The Light We Carry: Overcoming In Uncertain Times, by Michelle Obama

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Second paragraph of third chapter:

I learned about this not from Ron but from his wife, Matrice.

A follow-up to her earlier autobiography, this is much more of a self-help book drawing on lessons learned from Michelle Obama’s family, her friends, her career and her experience of being First Lady for eight years. Most of us can relate to all but the last of these. It’s a very affirming message of self-help, self-confidence and compassion, which rather restores one’s faith in humanity. I am not in the audience that the book is primarily aimed at, but I found a lot to like and admire here, and it actually succeeded in cheering me up a bit about the state of the world. You can get it here.

An interesting thought from a parallel universe: a POLITICO journalist interviewing two senior Trump campaign managers last month asked if they had investigated popular support for alternative candidates to President Biden, other than Vice-President Harris, to see what would happen if he were replaced on the ballot.

Trump adviser: Yeah, we tested them all.
POLITICO: Who was the strongest?
Trump adviser: Strangely enough, Michelle Obama.

This was the top book on my unread pile that was non-fiction, by a woman, and acquired in 2023. Next on those stacks respectively are The Gates of Europe: A History of Ukraine, by Serhii Plokhy; I Who Have Never Known Men, by Jacqueline Harpman; and A History of the Bible, by John Barton.

My books of 2024

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I read 287 books this year, the ninth highest of the twenty-one years that I have been keeping count, and 70,000 pages, which is thirteenth highest of the twenty-one. My reading pace has accelerated in the last few years, though this year it was braked a bit by being the Hugo administrator. (Not as much as in 2017 or 2019, though; I guess I’m getting used to it.)

121 (42%) of those books were by non-male writers, which is the third highest number and second highest percentage (only just – 42.16% this year, 42.17% last year, 41.89% in 2021).

30 (10%) were by non-white writers, which is the fifth highest of the twenty-one years in both cases.

Science fiction and fantasy

89 (31%) of these books were science fiction or fantasy, not counting Doctor Who books which I tally separately. This is the lowest number since 2019 (the last time that I was Hugo administrator) and the lowest percentage since 2017 (the first time that I was Hugo administrator).

Top SF book of the year:
My favourite sf novel in general this year was The Adventures of Amina al-Sirafi, by Shannon Chakraborty, a Hugo finalist about a pirate queen in a fantasy medieval Indian Ocean. I always say that the Indian Ocean is a corridor, not a barrier. (Not reviewed; get it here.)

Welcome rereads:
My absolute favourite Terry Pratchett novel is Small Gods which combines his typically well-aimed shafts of wit and satire with an actual growth narrative for the two main characters. (Review; get it here.)
Ursula Le Guin’s The Word for World is Forest retains the passion of its attack on colonial wars of conquest, and seemed a particularly timely reread. (Review; get it here.)

Honorable mentions:
I had not previously read Octavia Butler’s The Parable of the Sower, which is actually set in 2024 and 2025, also has a dire political situation with an extreme right-wing candidate getting elected president of the USA, but ends with a glimmer of hope. (Review; get it here.)
Some Desperate Glory, by Emily Tesh, is a great thoughtful anti-fascist novel, which won the Hugo to much acclaim. (Not reviewed; get it here.)
Among the other award finalists, I particularly liked Liberty’s Daughter by Naomi Kritzer, a full-spirited critique of libertarianism. (Not reviewed; get it here.)

The one you haven’t heard of:
Lost Objects, by Marian Womack, a collection of short stories many of which examine human reactions to environmental catastrophe. She has another collection coming out soon. (Review; get it here.)

The one to avoid:
What Might Have Been: The Story of a Social War, by Ernest Bramah. Conservative wet dream written in 1907, about the overthrow of Socialism in England in 1918. (Review; get it here)

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Non-fiction

I read 86 (30%) non-fiction books, the same number as last year, equal third highest number and fourth highest percentage of the years I have recorded. As I go through the backlog of books acquired in previous years, it’s often the non-fiction that has sifted to the bottom of the pile; also I’m tallying the Black Archives and other Whovian lore here.

Top non-fiction book of the year:
The best non-fiction book I read this year was A War Imagined: The First World War and English Culture, by Samuel Hynes, which looks in impressive and fascinating detail at the impact of the conflict on all branches of the arts in Britain, and vice versa. (Review; get it here.)

Welcome rereads:
Hiroshima, by John Hersey, the searing account of the consequences of the first atomic bombing of a civilian population. (Review; get it here)
1066 and All That, by W.C. Sellar and R.J. Yeatman: Perhaps not strictly non-fiction, but presented as a hilarious reading. (Review; get it here)

Honorable mentions:
I’m being a bit self-indulgent with three honorable mentions in this category, but I read a lot of good non-fiction this year.
Neurotribes: The Legacy of Autism and How to Think Smarter About People Who Think Differently, by Steve Silberman, a really good compilation of what is known about autism and how and when we knew it. (Review; get it here)
Take Courage: Anne Brontë and the Art of Life, by Samantha Ellis, which Bronte experts regard with some suspicion; I found it really charming. (Review; get it here)
Fatal Path: British Government and Irish Revolution 1910-1922, by Ronan Fanning, which examines the process of Irish independence from the Westminster policy point of view. (Review; get it here)

The one you haven’t heard of:
I got a lot out of the post-colonial critiques of science fiction and fantasy from the collection Ex Marginalia: Essays from the Edges of Speculative Fiction, edited by Chinelo Onwualu. Nigeria is especially well covered, but the scope is global. (Review; get it here.)

The one to avoid:
Ten Years to Save the West, by Liz Truss. This is a not very good book written by a person who was completely unsuited to the job which she had so ruthlessly pursued. (Review; get it here.)

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Doctor Who

Only 34 (12%) Doctor Who fiction books this year, which is a little below the average; but 65 (23%) Doctor Who books of all kinds, which is almost bang on the average, tenth out of 21 in both counts.

Top Doctor Who book of the year:
Simon Guerrier’s masterful biography, David Whitaker in an Exciting Adventure with Television, tells us about the life of one of the original show-running team in 1963, who wrote several of the best-remembered stories but died at only 51. (Review; get it here.)

Top Black Archive of the year:
It’s difficult to choose here, and I’ll give shout-outs also to Lewis Baston on The Sun Makers, Ian Z. Potter on The Myth Makers, Simon Guerrier on The Edge of Destruction and Philip Purser-Hallard on Midnight. In the end I vote for Dale Smith’s analysis of the flawed classic Talons of Weng Chiang, which confronts the problematic racism of the story head-on. (Review; get it here.)

Top novelisation of the year:
Doctor Who: Rogue, by Kate Herron and Briony Redman (the original TV writers), gives lots of new context to the TV story, which I already liked a lot anyway. Probably the best Fifteenth Doctor book of any kind so far. (Review; get it here.)

Top other novel of the year:
Warmonger, by Terrance Dicks – I had read this before, but failed to blog it. A really interesting reimagining of the Fifth Doctor / Peri relationship, drawing perhaps on Terrance Dicks’ own experience with the military. (Review; get it here.)

Top short fiction of the year:
In a very attractive set of six novellas published last year by Puffin, the outstanding contribution is The Angel of Redemption, by Nikita Gill – told from the point of view of a Weeping Angel, in verse. (Review; get it here.)

Best Doctor Who comic of the year:
I’ve had a good run of mostly Eleventh Doctor comics, and especially liked the most recently read, When Worlds Collide, by Tony Lee et al, which has an Ancient Britain story and then a doppelganger theme park thread. (Review; get it here.)

The ones you haven’t heard of:
Two lovely volumes reminiscing about the Blackpool exhibition – I read the first last year, but I think I should treat them as a pair. (Reviews here and here; get them for free here and here.)

What to avoid:
I won’t single out any particular Doctor Who book that I read this year as being worse than the others; there were a few disappointments, but nothing as bad as in the other sections of this post.

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Comics

36 comics and picture books is the third highest of my annual tallies, though 13% is only the sixth highest percentage. (I’m counting in Ara Güler’s Istanbul, which is pretty visual.)

Top comic of the year:
Shubeik Lubeik, published as Your Wish is My Command in the UK, by Deena Mohamed; an alternative contemporary Egypt, where wishes are natural resources to be exploited. On the Hugo ballot; didn’t win. (Not reviewed; get it here.)

Welcome reread:
L’Affaire Tournesol / The Calculus Affair, by Hergé; one of the great Tintin albums, with action in Switzerland and the Balkans and also the first appearance of the annoying Séraphin Lampion / Jolyon Wagg. (Review; get it here in English and here in French.)

Honorable mentions:
Barnstormers: A Ballad of Love and Murder, by Tula Lotay and Scott Snyder, about two crazy kids flying across America in 1923 (review; get it here)
Monica, by Daniel Clowes, a much more serious tale of lost parents and shattered identity (review; get it here)

The one you haven’t heard of:
Return to Kosovo / Retour au Kosovo, by Gani Jakupi with great art by Jorge González, an even-handed exploration of a traumatised society. The English version is very difficult to get hold of, but the French original was published by mainstream firm Dupuis. (Review; get it here in French.)

The one to avoid:
Bea Wolf, by Zach Weinersmith and Boulet, a pointless tale of little girls and boys re-enacting Beowulf. Also an unsuccessful Hugo finalist. (Not reviewed; get it here.)

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Non-genre

I had the sense during the year that I was reading more non-genre fiction than usual, but in fact the total number at 35 is spot on the median, and the percentage at 12% is a little lower.

Top non-genre fiction of the year:
The Cazalet Saga – see below.

Honorable mention:
Yellowface, by R.F. Kuang, short, grim, gruesome, funny and vicious about the reception and appropriation of Chinese culture in the US. (Review; get it here.)

Welcome re-read:
Tristram Shandy, by Laurence Sterne; It’s rambling, self-indulgent, full of references to things I know nothing about; and at the same time I love it. (Review; get it here.)

The one to avoid:
The worst book of any kind that I read all year was Pook at College, by Peter Pook, a dull, sexist tale of the only male student at a teacher training college. No link for buying this, but here’s my review.

The one you haven’t heard of:
Creed Country, by Jenny Overton. Two teenagers do local history research in a corner of south-eastern England in the late 1960s. Their friendship, and their relationship with the past of their neighbourhood, are both beautifully drawn. (Review; get it here.)

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Plays and poetry

I read a total of eight of these, which is more than usual.

Top poetry or play of the year:
The best poetry I read all year was Emily Wilson’s thought-provoking translation of The Odyssey, by Homer, bringing a new and broader perspective to an exceptionally well-known work. (Review; get it here.)

Honorable mention:
The Cure at Troy, a verse playscript by Seamus Heaney, about engaging with and overcoming conflict and the past. (Review; get it here.)

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Top book of 2024

My top book of the year is actually five books, of which I read two in 2023 and three this year: the Cazalet Saga, by Elizabeth Jane Howard, a gripping tale of an extended English family in the 1930s, 40s and 50s, as the previous certainty of inherited wealth slips away in the tide of social and political change: superb stuff and strongly recommended.

The Light Years (review; get it here)
Marking Time (review; get it here)
Confusion (review; get it here)
Casting Off (review; get it here)
All Change (review; get it here)

Previous Books of the Year:

2003 (2 months): The Separation, by Christopher Priest (review; get it here)
2004: (reread) The Lord of the Rings, by J.R.R. Tolkien (review; get it here)
– Best new read: Samuel Pepys: The Unequalled Self, by Claire Tomalin (review; get it here)
2005: The Island at the Centre of the World, by Russell Shorto (review; get it here)
2006: Lost Lives: The stories of the men, women and children who died as a result of the Northern Ireland troubles, by David McKittrick, Seamus Kelters, Brian Feeney, Chris Thornton and David McVea (review; get it here)
2007: Fun Home: A Family Tragicomic, by Alison Bechdel (review; get it here)
2008: (reread) The Diary of a Young Girl: The Definitive Edition, by Anne Frank (review; get it here)
– Best new read: Vanity Fair: A Novel without a Hero, by William Makepeace Thackeray (review; get it here)
2009: (had seen it on stage previously) Hamlet, by William Shakespeare (review; get it here)
– Best new read: Persepolis 2: the Story of a Return, by Marjane Satrapi (first volume just pipped by Samuel Pepys in 2004) (review; get it here)
2010: The Bloody Sunday Report, by Lord Savile et al. (review of vol I; get it here)
2011: The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire, by Edward Gibbon (started in 2009!) (review; get it here)
2012: The Tenant of Wildfell Hall, by Anne Brontë (review; get it here)
2013: A Room of One’s Own, by Virginia Woolf (review; get it here)
2014: Homage to Catalonia, by George Orwell (review; get it here)
2015: collectively, the Arthur C. Clarke Award shortlist, in particular the winner, Station Eleven, by Emily St John Mandel (review; get it here).
– Best book I actually blogged about in 2015: The Life and Death of Mary Wollstonecraft, by Claire Tomalin (review; get it here)
2016: Alice in Sunderland, by Bryan Talbot (review; get it here)
2017: Common People: The History of an English Family, by Alison Light (review; get it here)
2018: Factfulness, by Hans Rosling (review; get it here)
2019: Girl, Woman, Other, by Bernardine Evaristo (review; get it here)
2020: From A Clear Blue Sky: Surviving the Mountbatten Bomb, by Timothy Knatchbull (review; get it here)
2021: Carrying the Fire, by Michael Collins (review; get it here)
2022: The Sun is Open, by Gail McConnell (review; get it here)
2023: Venomous Lumpsucker by Ned Beauman (review; get it here)




Tuesday and December books

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Last books finished

The Sea Lady, by H.G. Wells
Freshwater, by Akwaeke Emezi
Bellatrix, Épisode 1, by Leo
La mexicaine, by Madame Rattazzi (née Marie-Lætitia Bonaparte-Wyse)
Bellatrix, Épisode 2, by Leo
In Ascension, by Martin MacInnes
The Peacock Cloak, by Chris Beckett
Bicheville ou le Chemin du Paradis, by Madame Rattazzi (née Marie-Lætitia Bonaparte-Wyse)

December Reading

Non-fiction 5 (2024 total 86)
Authors of their Lives, by David Gerber
The Light We Carry: Overcoming In Uncertain Times, by Michelle Obama
Hollow Places, by Christopher Hadley
How To Stay Sane In An Age Of Division, by Elif Shafak
The Aztecs, by Doris V. Sutherland

Non-genre 3 (2024 total 35)
The Nightwatch Winter, by Jenny Overton
La mexicaine, by Madame Rattazzi (née Marie-Lætitia Bonaparte-Wyse)
Bicheville ou le Chemin du Paradis, by Madame Rattazzi (née Marie-Lætitia Bonaparte-Wyse)

Plays 1 (2024 total 3)
Collected Plays and Teleplays, by Flann O’Brien

SF 8 (2024 total 89)
The Word for World is Forest, by Ursula K. Le Guin
Aelita, by Alexei Tolstoy
The Hollow Places, by T. Kingfisher
The Way Spring Arrives and Other Stories, eds Yu Chen & Regina Kanyu Wang
The Sea Lady, by H.G. Wells
Freshwater, by Akwaeke Emezi
In Ascension, by Martin MacInnes
The Peacock Cloak, by Chris Beckett

Doctor Who 4 (2024 total 34)
The Force of Death (audiobook), by Andrew Lane
Palace of the Red Sun, by Christopher Bulis
Eden Rebellion, by Abi Falaise
Doctor Who: The Aztecs, by John Lucarotti

Comics 4 (2024 total 36)
When Worlds Collide, by Tony Lee et al
Sunstone, vol 3, by Stepan Sejić
Bellatrix, Épisode 1, by Leo
Bellatrix, Épisode 2, by Leo

5,700 pages (2024 total 70,000)
11/25 (2024 total 121/287) by non-male writers (Obama, Shafak, Sutherland, Overton, Rattazzi x2, Le Guin, ‘Kingfisher’, Yu/Yang, Emezi, Falaise)
4/25 (2024 total 30/287) by non-white writers (Obama, Yu/Yang, Emezi, Falaise)
3/25 rereads (The Word for World is Forest, Palace of the Red Sun, Doctor Who: The Aztecs)

261 books currently tagged unread, up 2 from last month, down 51 from December 2023.

Reading now
Caleb Williams, or Things as They Are, by William Godwin (group read)
Echoes: The Saga Anthology of Ghost Stories, ed. Ellen Datlow
The Gates of Europe: A History of Ukraine, by Serhii Plokhy
A Kind of Spark, by Elle McNicoll
The Passionate Friends, by H.G. Wells

Coming soon (perhaps)
Doctor Who annual 2025
The Hypothetical Gentleman, by Andy Diggle
Killing Ground, by Steve Lyons
Silence in the Library / Forest of the Dead, by Dale Smith
Fifty Years On, by Malachi O’Doherty
The Soul of a Bishop, by H.G. Wells
A Brilliant Void, by Jack Fennell
Burned, by Sam McBride
The Wife of Sir Isaac Harman, by H.G. Wells
I Who Have Never Known Men, by Jacqueline Harpman
On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous, by Ocean Vuong
The Crown of Dalemark, by Diana Wynne Jones
Vagabonds!, by Eloghosa Osunde
Sorrowland, by Rivers Solomon
“The Ultimate Earth”, by Jack Williamson
Once and Future, vol 5: The Wasteland, by Kieron Gillen, Dan Mora and Tamra Bonvillain
How I Learned to Understand the World, by Hans Rosling
De bondgenoten, by Brecht Evens
Of the Imitation of Christ, by Thomas a Kempis
Men at Arms, by Terry Pratchett
Lies Sleeping, by Ben Aaronovitch
A History of the Bible: The Book and Its Faiths, by Dr John Barton (2020)
The Mysterious Island, by Jules Verne
The James Tiptree Award Anthology 2, ed. Karen Joy Fowler
Nine Lives, by William Dalrymple
Ithaca, by Claire North

Palace of the Red Sun, by Christopher Bulis

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Second paragraph of third chapter:

Judd sat behind an imposing antique desk of heavy wood. It helped conceal the fact, not obvious when he was wearing battle armour, that although he had a fine physique, he was slightly under average height. He was wearing a formal suit loosened a little at the collar. On the desk before him several neat stacks of reports were arranged about a multi-function keypad. To one side was a monitor screen, angled so that Dynes’ cameras would get an oblique view of moving columns of text and changing images, without revealing any detail. On the bulkhead behind Judd lighting panels glowed brightly while the rest of the office was rather dimly lit. Even though there was no natural day or night onboard a spacecraft, it implied that the hour was late.

This is the last in my run of Sixth Doctor re-reads, and I guess typical rather than brilliant. The Doctor and Peri land on a garden planet where not all is as it seems; most of the apparent humans are holograms, an interplanetary dictator is on his way to take over, the robots are revolting, there’s a comedy journalist recording everything and a hidden princess. Entertaining enough, but not at the top of my list. You can get it here.

Authors of their Lives: The Personal Correspondence of British Immigrants to North America in the Nineteenth Century, by David Gerber

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Second paragraph of third chapter:

Immigrants and those they left behind in their homelands formed a transnational culture of emigration, which, though defined ultimately by relationships that had existed in the homeland, united new and old worlds in the singular transnational space of the letter. The concept of culture is used in this context to suggest the mutually and continuously constructed ideas, attitudes, and feelings that united emigrants and those with whom they kept in contact in Britain. These aspects of culture were not fixed and formalized, but instead operated in a wide conceptual space where meanings that assist in making sense of the world were sought and formed, and served to guide behavior.¹ At the heart of this culture in the nineteenth century was personal correspondence, which was neither in the homeland nor the new world, but rather on paper and “in the mail,” and overcame temporal and physical boundaries. International migrants began to participate in this culture before leaving for their destinations. To the extent that they had read or heard the letters of other international migrants read, and been party to the excitement that surrounded the arrival of letters from distant places, they had already entered into thinking about the meanings of the exchange of international mail with those who were thousands of miles away and likely never to be seen again, and who were only known year after year through their writings.

¹ My understanding of culture is guided by the work of Clifford Geertz: Interpretation of Cultures (New York: Basic Books, 1973), and Local Knowledge: Further Essays in Interpretive Anthropology (New York: Basic Books, 1983).

Way way back in the 1990s, I helped David Gerber out with some logistics around a research trip he was making to Belfast, it being more difficult to arrange such things from Buffalo, NY, than it is now. Some of that research (I guess) went into this book, published in 2006 and sent to us for Christmas 2018. I’m afraid that I have only now got around to reading it. David is now 80 – wishing him well.

This book makes the argument that while historians have a tendency to use letters from migrants to give colour to accounts of the societies that they have moved to, we should not forget that the migrants themselves were people, negotiating family relationships between continents, dealing with unprecedented situations in a new home, working through the economic troughs and peaks that the country they have moved to inflected on them. The first 60% sets up a general theoretical framework and common themes, and then the last four chapters look at four migrants in particular to show how their correspondence with relatives back home played out in real time.

There were two standout chapters for me. Chapter 4, the shortest chapter in the main text of the book, simply looks at the impact of the introduction of state postal services. In the earlier period, letter-writers had to rely on less formal methods of sending letters, and the recipient paid, which had a big impact on how often you might write, or to whom. The introduction of postage stamps in the 1840s (first in the UK, but rapidly followed elsewhere) revolutionised communication. It’s a fascinating case where it was not a change in technology, but a reform to the economic model for delivery of a service, that drastically changed how we maintain contact with people.

And the first of Gerber’s four case studies is the most poignant: Thomas Spencer Niblock, son of a clergyman, born in Hitchin in 1820, emigrated to Australia in 1844 soon after his father’s death; but it did not work out, and he returned to England the next year, with his newly acquired Australian wife Matilda and their baby Joseph. Four years later, he left for Canada, and the surviving correspondence records his increasingly miserable attempts to make a go of farming in London, Ontario, begging his brother and sister in England for more money.

Finally his brother seems to have told him that they could not support him any more, and Niblock and his family went back to Australia in 1852 to try his luck in the goldfields. When, astonishingly, that didn’t work out, they decided to move along the coast to Sydney; and on 15 May 1853 their ship was wrecked on Tullaberga Island near Cape Howe due to a navigational error. Most of the crew survived, but most of the passengers were drowned, including the whole Niblock family (they may also have had another baby by then – the records are not clear).

It’s intense and heavily rooted in academe, so perhaps not for the casual reader, but just reading it inspired me to go back to Jenny Overton’s Creed Country, and also to look into the fates of my own relatives who were lost at sea (one of whom, like the Niblocks, seems to have drowned in the Bass Strait in the 1850s), so I found it very thought-provoking. You can get it here.

This was the non-fiction book that had lingered longest unread on my shelves. Next on that pile is M Leuven Collectie Schilderijen, by Lorne Campbell.

The Way Spring Arrives and Other Stories, eds Yu Chen & Regina Kanyu Wang

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Second paragraph of third story (“What Does the Fox Say?”, by Xia Jia; unlike most of the stories in the anthology, the original is in English not Chinese):

You type this sentence word by word, and wait.

This is a collection of seventeen stories by female and non-binary Chinese writers, and five essays about translation and writing, recommended to me by Regina Kanyu Wang, one of the editors; it was a good recommendation. My favourite of the fiction is the title story, by Wang Nuonuo, translated by Rebecca F. Kuang, which looks at divine intervention in the seasonal cycle. There’s also a great riff on Douglas Adams intersecting with Ming China, “The Restaurant at the End of the Universe: Tai-Chi Mashed Taro”, by Anna Wu, translated by Carmen Yiling Yan.

I learned something from each of the non-fiction pieces, and the most interesting was the second last, “Net Novels and the “She Era”: How Internet Novels opened the door for Female Readers and Writers in China”, by Xueting Christine Ni, looking at how the digital era has eroded traditional publishing barriers in one particular case; it’s not difficult to see how this can apply to other fields of information as well.

All good stuff, and you can get it here.

This was at the top of my pile of unread books by non-white authors. Next on that stack is The Light We Carry: Overcoming In Uncertain Times, by Michelle Obama.

When Worlds Collide, by Tony Lee et al

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Second frame of third part:

Doctor: I really won’t agree with you! Too stringy! And I’ll keep repeating! Come on, come on! Why did I let Amy keep the sonic screwdriver –

Again, this unites a one-shot story with a three-parter, both by Tony Lee. We start with the Tardis going astray on its way to the 1966 World Cup final (though I think that Amy, being Scottish, might have had mixed feelings about that), and getting mixed up with a conflict between Anglo-Saxons and Vikings on the future site of Wembley stadium, which maybe fails to interrogate the full historical detail, especially as regards gender; Matt Smith of course in real life was captain of the youth team of Leicester City, before a back injury ended his football career and forced him into acting. The art is by the always reliable Mark Buckingham.

The rest of the book takes the Tardis crew to a world where they encounter various parallel versions of themselves, a trope that always appeals to me, and it turns out to be all part of a Truman Show-like entertainment; and there are Nazi Sontarans tied up with it all. Enjoyable writing and art by Matthew Dow Smith (as opposed to any other person with a similar name involved with Doctor Who). You can get it here.

The Hollow Places, by T. Kingfisher

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Second paragraph of third chapter:

When we closed up at six, he’d say, “Good job today, Carrot. Don’t know what I did without you.” Then he would go home and I would go next door to the coffee shop and leech on the Wi-Fi. If I could think of something fun to say, I’d update the museum’s social media. I had grandiose visions of overhauling the web page and doing more with it than the occasional blog post about the history of Feejee Mermaids, but I hadn’t quite gotten there yet. And you had to be careful when you posted pictures of skulls and taxidermy because there were always people who wanted to tell you that this made you a murderer and the moral equivalent of Ed Gein. My internet armor had been built up in the fanfic battlegrounds and was thus impenetrable, but Uncle Earl was a gentle soul, and I was afraid that someone might hurt his feelings.

One of Ursula Vernon’s books that I had somehow missed, this is about a young woman, recovering from divorce, looking after her uncle’s Wonder Museum and then discovering, together with the gay barista next door, that through a hole in the museum’s wall they have access to numerous other dimensions where Bad Things happen and other Bad Things live and they need to keep our world safe. It’s funny and scary, and the characters are very believably delineated. Another good one. You can get it here.

The Word for World is Forest, by Ursula K. Le Guin

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Second paragraph of third chapter (not at all representative of the book, whose paragraphs are generally very long):

What had he failed to see?

A reread of course, but a timely and sobering story from more than half a century ago. It has been widely interpreted, both at the time and since, as a reaction to and fictionalisation of the Vietnam War; but in fact the circumstances are much closer to the wars waged against indigenous people in Africa, Asia and the Americas, with the explicit agendas of the destruction and replacement of the original population – a pattern from seventeenth-century Ireland to today’s Gaza. There’s not much grey here – even the humans who try for better relations with the Creechie natives of the planet are fatally compromised by their participation in the project of conquest and domination.

Le Guin was familiar with the conquest and oppression of Native Americans, and the attempted counter-resistance by the earth soldiers is reminiscent of Rhodesia’s UDI in 1965. The part that perhaps does speak to Vietnam is the impact of new information technology, just as media coverage in the 1960s had an effect on the dynamic of support for the war in America. Reporting on atrocity was not new – it goes back at least to Bartolomé de las Casas – but there is a good point about the impact on a conflict when long-suppressed truth starts to leak out.

Anyway, a brief, tough, important read. You can get it here.

This was both my top unread book by a woman, and my top unread science fiction book. Next on those piles are The Light We Carry, by Michelle Obama, and I Who Have Never Known Men, by Jacqueline Harpman.

Aelita, Queen of Mars

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I have been meaning to get around to watching the 1924 Soviet-era science fiction film Aelita, Queen of Mars, after being alerted to it by an exhibition at the Pompidou Centre in 2021, and realising that the centenary year was about to run out, I found it online (various versions are available to watch for free) and sat through it. Here’s a trailer which is launching a new score as well (which I didn’t hear):

I thought it was tremendous. The bits set on Mars apparently established the aesthetic for making things look futuristic for decades after; though I winced at the title character’s “Press your lips against mine, as you do on Earth!” There’s a real vision of another world, even if (spoiler for a film that is literally a century old) it turns out that it was all a dream. The scenes of revolution against the oppressive rulers of Mars are also well done.

But I found the scenes set in the Soviet Union in 1924 almost equally interesting. In the remote radio station where the signal from Mars is first picked up, there is a Bactrian camel chewing the cud in the background, like you have in radio stations. In St Petersburg, there are black marketeers and counter-revolutionaries, and a love triangle, and the lead actor plays two characters who meet up with each other (on split screen) several times. Characters comment on how hard life is in Russia with the ongoing war and the lack of supplies – in a film made in the first year of Stalin’s rule, that went on public release in many countries. It’s a fascinating window into a world when things seemed on the verge of fundamental change.

You can easily find it online with the search engine of your choice.

I thought I had better read the book as well, by Alexei Tolstoy, a relative of the more famous writer. The second paragraph of the third chapter is:

За воротами до набережной Ждановки лежал пустырь. За рекой неясными очертаниями стояли деревья Петровского острова. За ними догорал и не мог догореть печальный закат. Длинные тучи, тронутые по краям его светом, будто острова, лежали в зеленых водах неба. Над ними зеленело небо. Несколько звезд зажглось на нем. Было тихо на старой Земле.Beyond the gate, an empty lot stretched all the way to the bank of the Zhdanovka. On the other side of the river loomed the blurred outlines of trees on Petrovsky Island, tinged by the melancholy sunset. Wisps of clouds, touched by the sun’s glow, were scattered like islands in the expanse of greenish sky, studded with a few twinkling stars. All was quiet on old Mother Earth.
Translation may be by Constantin von Hoffmeister who wrote the prologue to my edition

Unlike the film, the book concentrates on the Martian voyage which is very definitely real, and the hero and his sidekick explore a lot more of the Martian surface, meeting various parts of the social structure and encountering new dangers. It’s better than the average English-language pulp planetary romance of the day, but not a lot better; and it does fill out one’s appreciation for the film, which is much superior. You can get it here.

The Force of Death, by Andrew Lane

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I have only just become aware of the Doctor Who Audiobook Originals range from the BBC, which looks very promising – I had listened previously to the First World War trilogy released in 2018 but hadn’t realised that they were part of an ongoing series, which I’ll have to work into my schedule somehow. This one caught my interest because it is set in Ireland – specifically in Galway in the 1890s. I winced at a couple of errors – Dún Laoghaire was Kingstown until 1920, and there is no County Connemara – but it’s a well enough done alien zombie menace story, apparently the fourth to feature the Eighth Doctor and companion James MacFarlane. And Dan Starkey, who is really tremendously versatile as an actor, does a great job of reading the text and bringing the characters to life. You can get it here.

Creed Country, by Jenny Overton

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Second paragraph of third chapter:

“I have not any idea,” her mother said, jabbing at a potato. “Sarah, come in or go out, but either way shut that door.”

This is about two teenagers doing local history research in a corner of south-eastern England in the late 1960s. That may not hook you immediately, but it was a book that had a big impression on me when I was a kid. The two protagonists are Stephen the vicar’s son and an only child, and Sarah, in the middle of a large Catholic family, recently arrived from the North.

Stephen has been quietly transcribing the correspondence of the historical local landlords, whose sixteenth-century forebears were riven by family and religious tensions, and also enduring his parents’ efforts to inflict a social life on him; his friendship with Sarah goes through peaks and quite painful troughs, as they find the physical legacy of the Creed family in the countryside around them.

Some may find the supposed historical documents being recounted at length a bit too much (see spoilery review in Kirkus); I loved them as a younger reader, and I love them now, and perhaps it inspired me a bit in my own long-past historical research and my current project of putting my grandmother’s memoirs online here. But it’s also a good record of the fragility of friendship, as a teenager or at any other time of one’s life.

I also appreciated again the vivid and efficient portrayal of Stephen and Sarah’s very different families. Sometimes you can say a lot with a little; when an ancient tombstone is uncovered, and it turns out to be that of one of the key figures in the sixteenth-century part of the story, the chapter ends with “She [Sarah] looked at Stephen, and then quickly looked away again.”

Jenny Overton, the author, was a children’s books editor for most of her career and published a handful of novels, of which the best known is The Thirteen Days of Christmas, aimed at a younger age bracket than this but available with Shirley Hughes illustrations. There is a sequel to Creed Country, which I think concentrates on Sarah’s younger siblings, and I’ll report on it in due course.

You can get Creed Country here.

Drowned Ammet, by Diana Wynne Jones

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Second paragraph of third chapter:

“It’s the way things are in this town,” Milda explained. “There’s hundreds of poor women willing to work their fingers into blisters. And the rich people have to have their curtains ready on time.”

I had not previously read this novel, the second in both publication and internal chronology order of DWJ’s Dalemark Quartet. It’s really very good. We’re in the time before Cart and Cwidder when the tyrannical and brutal earls of the South are fomenting social discontent and revolutionary action. As is usual with this writer, she tells the story of a fermenting society with magical underpinnings through three children, one of them the abandoned son of a radical activitst and the other two being grandchildren of the ruling Earl; they end up together in a quest narrative on a small boat escaping from the South to the North, where tangled personal politics and primal mythical forces await them.

A key part of the book is the role played by the demigods Old Ammet and Libby Beer, who start as historical figures in a poorly understood but faithfully executed annual ceremony, and end as enforcers of order and social justice when correctly invoked. A lot of Diana Wynne Jones’ books involve a journey to achieve enlightenment by the protagonists, and I think it’s really well realised here.

I’m going on to re-read The Crown of Dalemark, to see if I get more out of it after reading the previous three books, but I think Drowned Ammet stands very well on its own. You can get it here.

Marriage, by H.G. Wells

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Second paragraph of third chapter:

For example, there can be no denying there was one Marjorie in the bundle who was immensely set up by the fact that she was engaged, and going to be at no very remote date mistress of a London house. She was profoundly Plessingtonian, and quite the vulgarest of the lot. The new status she had attained and the possibly beautiful house and the probably successful dinner-parties and the arrangements and the importance of such a life was the substance of this creature’s thought. She designed some queenly dresses. This was the Marjorie most in evidence when it came to talking with her mother and Daphne. I am afraid she patronized Daphne, and ignored the fact that Daphne, who had begun with a resolute magnanimity, was becoming annoyed and resentful.

Now that I’m concentrating on clearing the shelves of unread books acquired in 2019, there’s going to be a lot of lesser-known H.G. Wells over the next couple of months. This is one of them. A young physicist marries a younger woman, and they undergo stresses and strains in their relationship (and have four children) before going off together to darkest Labrador to rebuild their relationship and their lives.

I really liked most of it. I thought the portrayal of two young people who make a lifetime commitment before either of them is really ready for it was very well done, to the point that it was difficult for me to read in some places. The intersection of the academic career, capitalism and family life speaks directly to my own experience, although in our case we found a different solution to a somewhat different situation.

If you can swallow the premise of them going off to Labrador to find themselves while leaving their young children behind in England, the descriptive parts of those sections are also very good. In 1967, Ian Calder, a dentist who was married to a cousin of mine, and his friend Peter Bromley died when their canoe capsized as they explored the Back River in the Northwest Territories; Bromley’s teenaged son survived, but the two older men’s bodies were never found. I must say that Wells’ portrayal of the Labradorean desolation resonated for me with my cousin’s account of the unsuccessful search for her husband’s body.

(Incidentally Wells does not use the word ‘Canada’ even once in this book; Labrador and Newfoundland did not become part of Canada until 1949, 37 years after Marriage was published, so he did not consider his protagonists to be having a Canadian adventure as such.)

What does spoil the book for me is that, stuck in Labrador, his protagonists (especially the bloke, when immobilized after an accident) start going on and on at tedious length to each other about philosophy and politics. Wells’ views on women in society are less enlightened than he obviously thought they were. I think Wells had perhaps reached the point where he thought his readers expected this kind of thing, and perhaps they actually did, but it’s a bit of a yawnfest for us 112 years later. So not quite top marks, which otherwise the depiction of the protagonists’ emotional development in England and their travails in Labrador would have deserved.

You can get it here.

This was my top unread book by H.G. Wells. Next on that pile (also next in publication order) is The Passionate Friends.

The Deep State of Europe: Welcome to Hell, by Basil Coronakis

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Second paragraph of third chapter:

The Peloponnesian War was the first real world war in human history. It lasted 29 years and was fought on three continents, Europe, Africa and Asia, involving the biggest part of the then-known western world. The war was fought between two city-states, Athens and Sparta (Lacedaemon) and it was also the first civil war in history. All combatant parties were speaking Greek.

I knew Basil Coronakis from his work as founder of the eccentric Brussels newspaper New Europe, no longer what it once was; Basil himself died in 2021 at the age of 82, but he had given me this book in 2016, soon after publication. Unfortunately I then mislaid it, and only recently found it (literally) at the back of an inaccessible shelf.

Rather like Basil himself, the book eloquently and discursively describes what he thinks is wrong with the EU. Like a lot of us, he did not see Brexit coming, and this book published two months before the referendum assumes that the UK / France / Germany axis will continue to run the EU in perpetuity. He reckoned that the EU was deeply damaged by the Eastern enlargements of 2004 and after, but does not really explain why.

He goes into quite intense detail on some of the cases of maladministration and outright corruption that he uncovered as a journalist. His central point, that EU officials enjoy the comforts of a privileged lifestyle where their decisions affect hundreds of millions, and could perhaps be more helpful to those who question it, surely goes without saying.

I’m not as thoroughly convinced as Basil was that the EU is fatally wounded or unreformable, but I’ve come across enough troubling cases in my own work to feel that he had a good point about continued vigilance. I feel that this would be a useful read for supporters of the European project, to see the criticisms of a former insider and check against their own gut feelings. The second (2017) edition has no doubt been improved; you can get it here.

The Harvey Girls, by Samuel Hopkins Adams; and the Judy Garland film

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I decided to bite the bullet and read this, because I am thoroughly ear-wormed by Judy Garland’s hit from the film-of-the-book, “On the Atcheson, Topeka and the Santa Fe”:

The film is based on a novel by Samuel Hopkins Adams, published a few years earlier in 1942, and like the film set in the 1890s. The second paragraph of the third chapter is:

“Your employment card shows experience,” he remarked with an effect of slight incredulity.

I found it terribly charming. The three central characters are young women who go out to Arizona from the Midwest and the East to work in one of the Harvey House chain of restaurants in the fictional town of Sandrock. This was a chain where the waitresses were relentlessly chaperoned and had to sign contracts for six months or a year, basically bargaining away their freedom for a steady income and the chance to meet lots of potential men in a safe environment.

The tone of the book is affectionately satirical. I think if I had been in a more grumpy mood when I read it, I would have found that annoying, but I wasn’t and I didn’t. The girls have to deal with the standard clichés of prospectors, ranchers, sex workers, the evil judge, an English aristocrat who has somehow got lost, and their own upbringings and expectations; one of them has been brought up in an evangelical cult and is Breaking Free.

“I wonder what it would be like to be a carnal snare,” she said to herself, and instantly suppressed the frightening and tempting hypothesis.

It’s a violent book – about a third of the named characters have been killed off by the end, and the threat of coercion lurks ominously in the background. But it’s also a rather cheerful interpretation of the Western legend, by a man but from the women’s point of view. There is a lovely postscript when the survivors get together fifty years later, in the present day (ie the 1940s), making the point to contemporary readers that the Wild West was well within living memory.

Of course the Western genre is thoroughly racist. I think I spotted precisely one black character, and there is a Chinese laundryman in Sandrock (though we are told in the epilogue that his grandchildren have totally assimilated). Native Americans are portrayed only as potential rapists. But it’s also a genre about women’s empowerment, as I have noted before.

The book is available on the Internet Archive, now that that is working again; if you want a hard copy for a huge price you can get it here (please do; I get commission). I had previously come across the author as the writer of the short story that was adapted into the excellent early Oscar winner It Happened One Night, starring Cary Grant and Claudette Colbert, and will keep an eye out for more of his work as it becomes available.

Of course, having read the book I really had to watch the film as well. One thing that struck me immediately is that although the YouTube-friendly cut of “On the Atcheson, Topeka and the Santa Fe” starts with Judy Garland emerging from the train that brings her to Sandrock, in fact there is a whole five minutes of song before that, started off by the one credited black actor in the movie, Ben Carter who plays John Henry, the barman in the Alhambra. (Sadly, he died aged 39 later that year.) Here is the whole thing for your delectation and delight – and it is delightful. Judy Garland did her first two and a half minutes here in a single take.

The girl from the crazy evangelist cult in the book is just another one of the girls in the film (played by Cyd Charisse, in her first speaking role) and that nobody actually dies (unlike in the sanguinary novel). Also Angela Lansbury is the lead among the bad girls across the road (and I think the only one who gets any lines), and Ray Bolger, reunited with Judy Garland from The Wizard of Oz, does a great turn as the blacksmith who doesn’t actually like horses.

Virginia O’Brien got written out during filming because her pregnancy was impossible to conceal (and she gets one of the good songs as well just before she disappears). Of course the whole thing is firmly wedded to the white colonialist narrative of the American West – a little more so than the book if anything. the Native Americans in the film are silent and passive, there is the one black character and no Asians.

But at the same time, at a moment historically when women were being squeezed back out of the American workforce, this is a story about women carving out their own space in American history and fighting back against men who try and put them in their place. The end of the film sees the ‘respectable’ Harvey girls reconcile with the sex workers across the road to defeat male violence and promote true love. There’s a lot going on here.

1946 was a tremendous year in film. I really liked the Oscar winner, The Best Years of Our Lives, but that year also saw It’s A Wonderful Life and The Big Sleep, neither of which I have seen but both of which are generally rated as more memorable. The Harvey Girls was a pleasant winter’s evening diversion, and I recommend it.

Set in 2025 #14: The Nikopol Trilogy, by Enki Bilal

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Second frame of third page of vol 1, A Bedlam of Immortals:

Second and third frames of third page of vol 2, The Woman Trap:

Second frame of third page of vol 3, Cold Equator:

I first read the first part of this in my survey of SF set in 2023. I wrote then:

Published as La Foire aux immortels in 1980, this is set in a near-future Paris which is basically independent, France having collapsed as a state, and run by the fascist mayor Choublanc (Bunglieri in my translation) who is now facing re-election. The suburbs are decaying and run by local gangs. Everyone reads their own preferred news bulletins and information is therefore politically fragmented – an accurate anticipation in some ways.

Less accurately (probably – but who knows?), a giant floating pyramid inhabited by the gods of ancient Egypt has materialised over central Paris, and won’t go away unless supplied with fuel. Meanwhile Alcide Nikopol, a former astronaut who has spent thirty years frozen in suspended animation in orbit, returns to the city. His leg breaks off but is repaired in a rush job by the Horus, who allies with him against his fellow deities to shake up the politics of Paris in 2023.

It’s political and passionate, and fits in with the other lefty French-language 1980s comics which I read a few years back, Les Chroniques du Fin du Siècle by Santi-Bucquoy (Autonomes, Mourir à Creys-Malville, Chooz). It’s less ideological, but similar in the sense of the corruption and decay of the ruling classes, and the need for revolutionary action to bring about a better state of affairs. And the art is riveting.

Though also worth noting that the ice hockey team from Bratislava all speak Russian and their uniforms carry the initials ЧССР – not only did Czechoslovakia stay together in this version of 2023, it was also apparently annexed by the Soviet Union, which is still going strong. Bilal’s mother was Czech, so he knows perfectly well that Russian is not spoken much in Bratislava, nor is the Cyrillic alphabet used much there. (There would have been more of it in 1980 than now, but that’s not saying a lot.)

The second part is set in 2025, but I found reading it that the third part is set in 2034. So it’s only The Woman Trap (La Femme Piège) that concerns my 2025 project. It introduces the iconic character of Jill Bioskop, who is much more interesting than either Nikopol or his son (who looks conveniently identical to him). The art is great but the plot kinda weird, as Jill encounters various men, including the god Horus and the two Nikopols, and finds a fax machine that sends her reports back in time to 1993. (It’s difficult to judge whether a time-bending fax machine is less or more realistic than a fax machine that actually still works in 2024.)

The third part, Cold Equator (Froid Équateur), rather lost me; it’s mostly set in an African city under the rules of the sinister KKDZO, Nikopol gets into a tremendously violent chess-boxing match, and a new woman character, Yéléna the geneticist, forms a rather unexplained connection with Jill. This seems to be all about Stuff Happening with not much clue as to why. Maybe I was just tired.

Anyway you can get the three in English translation in a single volume here.

Set in 2025:
Television: The Outer Limits: The Duplicate Man (1964)
Film: Endgame (Bronx lotta finale) (1983); Future Hunters (1986); Futuresport (1998); Timecop 2: The Berlin Decision (2003)
Novels: 334 (1972); Titan (1979); The Running Man (1982); The Lake at the End of the World (1988); Tom Clancy’s Net Force Explorers: Virtual Vandals (1998); A Friend of the Earth (2000); The Peshawar Lancers (2002)
Comics: The Nikopol Trilogy: The Woman Trap (1986); Superman & Batman: Generations III #2: Doomsday Minus One (2003)

Ascension of the Cybermen & The Timeless Children, by Ryan Bradley

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When I first watched the two-part ending of the second Jodie Whittaker season, I wrote:

I was tremendously excited by one aspect of the first episode – no single minute of TV Doctor Who had ever previously been set in Ireland, as I have previously written. Of course, with the revelation of the second part, it turns out that there is still no moment of Doctor Who set in the “real” Ireland, is the one that exists in the same universe as the Doctor and the Tardis rather than just being in the Doctor’s imagination. Again, as someone who saw The Brain of Morbius first time round, I’m not unhappy with the disruption of what a lot of people thought was established continuity. 

Rewatching it, I felt that there was a bit too much telling and not enough action. If the real point of the story is the true nature of the Doctor, why are we worrying about the Cybermen? (Except that they are obviously a Bad Thing.) But again, I enjoyed the Irish sections in the first episode, and the revelation of the Doctor’s origins in the second.

Ryan Bradley’s Black Archive on the story is longer than usual, but has only three chapters, plus an introduction and conclusion, so that’s a bit of a variation on the usual format. In the introduction, ‘Everything You Know is About to Change’, he sets out his stall: he believes that Chibnall’s agenda as show-runner always was to have the Doctor experience the ‘ego-death’ of psychedelia, and that the story considered here draws heavily on the story of the (real-life) CIA’sa MK-Ultra brianwashing project. These are strong claims.

But in the first chapter, ‘The Harp That Once’, he diverts from those issues to one that is very close to my own heart: the question of how Doctor Who treats Ireland, and especially how Ireland is treated in this episode. I have written myself (at length here in 2018, abbreviated and updated here in 2019 a few months before Ascension of the Cybermen was broadcast) about Ireland in the show. Before getting into Bradley’s analysis, I’ll recapitulate my own: I believe that TV Who doesn’t go to Ireland for much the same reason as it doesn’t go to the Holocaust, or to other historical atrocities: these are topics too controversial for a family show.

Chibnall did nibble at the edges here, with Rosa and Demons of the Punjab, but I would argue that these are different cases – Rosa Parks’ heroism is not remotely controversial these days, and the worst aspects of the 1947 Partition are somewhat sanitised by telling it as the story of one rural family, rather than the urban massacres. It’s also worth noting that Chibnall never returned to that semi-historical format after his first season: The Haunting of Villa Diodati is not presented as historical fact, let alone Nikola Tesla’s Night of Terror or War of the Sontarans.

There are more, but still not many, references to Ireland in spinoff novels and comics, and they are generally unsatisfactory – note especially the First Doctor era villain Questor.

Audio is a different matter. There are no less than six Big Finish plays and a BBC Audio Original which are entirely set in Ireland. These go to places where I don’t think TV Who could go – Cromwell’s atrocities; the Famine. Of course, for audio it’s very easy to portray an Irish setting by simply hiring actors with the right accent; TV has to try much harder with the locations (and even here, the relevant bits of Ascension of the Cybermen are filmed in Wales, but indicated as Ireland by diddly-dee music).

Ryan Bradley, like me, is from Northern Ireland, and in this first chapter he explores the conception of Ireland in British culture and in Doctor Who. He points out that Ashad the semi-Cyberman is actually played by a Northern Irish actor, Patrick O’Kane, and draws a parallel between Ashad’s half-transformed nature and Ulster Unionism, or indeed Northern Ireland itself, constructed political concepts which have outlived their original purpose. Ko Sharmus in this story is also played by an Ulsterman, Ian McElhinney.

He goes on to look at some of the previous mentions of Ireland in Old Who, including the Gallifrey joke, and makes the point (which I had missed) that in Terrance Dicks’ novelisation of Terror of the Autons, Harry Towb’s Northern Irish character McDermott is transformed into a ‘stocky Northcountryman’. He misses a few other examples: Casey in Talons of Weng-Chiang, the less obvious case of Clark in The Sea Devils, and the fairly major characters of McGillop in Day of the Doctor, Morgan Blue in Into the Dalek and Angstrom in The Ghost Monument. (I’ll forgive him Bel in Flux, as it post-dates 2020.)

He looks at the linkage between Frankenstein and Ireland, including Tenniel’s 1882 cartoon depicting Parnell as Frankenstein and the Fenians as the monster. Here he misses an important point – Chapter 21 of Mary Shelley’s novel (plus the end of Chapter 20 and the start of Chapter 22) are actually set in Ireland, as Frankenstein gets shipwrecked on the west coast and imprisoned by the local authorities.

He then looks at law enforcement, especially the dubious aspects of the history of the Garda Síochána in Ireland (more briefly also the RUC), and at Chibnall’s previous depictions of (British) law enforcement in Broadchurch and Born and Bred. To my surprise my great-great-uncle is mentioned – not one of my Irish family connections (and my great-great-grandfather James Stewart actually was an Irish policeman), but the former US Attorney-General, George W. Wickersham, who chaired the National Commission on Law Observance and Enforcement in 1929-31. His report is mainly remembered as giving the Hoover administration a ladder to climb down from Prohibition, but it made many interesting findings on police brutality and corruption as well.

But, perhaps because of his concentration on the Gardaí (and to a much lesser extent the RUC), Bradley misses what is surely the most spectacular portrayal of Irish law enforcement in science fiction and fantasy: Flann O’Brien’s The Third Policeman, which also features human beings turning into machines. (Well, bicycles anyway.) The Third Policeman himself is clearly in the old RIC rather than a Garda, and the novel is set firmly in the Irish Midlands rather than on the coast, but I’d have thought it worth a mention.

Having said all that, the chapter is very rich in detail and references, and while there are some things that I would have liked to see included, there are others that were new to me, and I found it all very thought-provoking. I don’t think I have ever before written 800 words on a single chapter of a Black Archive (or indeed of any other book).

The second chapter, ‘Any Idiot Can Make Themselves Into a Robot’, starts by looking at Ashad in the context of Bradley’s overall themes of loss of self and hybridization, and briefly notes poor old Lisa in the Torchwood episode Cyberwoman, before moving on to absorption of personalities in Chibnall’s other work, with reference also to Robert Graves and to the First Doctor story The Savages.

The third chapter, ‘Half Sick of Shadows’, looks at what we learn here about the Doctor. Its second paragraph is:

The story has been critiqued for being a ‘scroll through a newly updated Wikipedia page’, but it essentially creates new sections on that page with entirely blank or fragmented entries under them³. Paradoxically, we know more and, perhaps more significantly, less about the Doctor than we previously knew. Their home planet, their species, the number and order of their lives, are all unknown now. Whether audiences should know more or less about the Doctor’s apparent home and past has long been a subject of spirited debate⁴. In one of the most quietly important moments in Ascension of the Cybermen, the Doctor tells Ravio, ‘Don’t need your life story’. While this appears as an oddly self-aware jab at the ill-served side characters of both this story and the Chibnall era as a whole, it anticipates the central issue that the Doctor wrestles with before deciding – both here and at the end of Flux – that she doesn’t need to know everything about her own life story either.
³  Moreland, Alex, ‘Doctor Who Review: The Timeless Children’.
⁴  See Howe, David J, and Stephen James Walker, Doctor Who: The Television Companion, pp313-14.

I’ll be honest, this one lost me a bit in discussion of the Buddhist concept of anattā, Timothy Leary, Aldous Huxley, Chibnall’s previous work (again) and She-Ra, among others, but it succeeded in convincing me that the story as a whole is semiotically much thicker than perhaps I first appreciated. (Which maybe makes up for it not being better television.)

A brief conclusion argues that the story is “worth ruminating on”, and I think the book as a whole makes that argument well, though I also think Bradley goes on about the CIA’s MK-Ultra programme at unnecessary length. You can get it here.

Next up: The Aztecs, by Doris V Sutherland.

The Black Archives
1st Doctor: The Edge of Destruction (67) | Marco Polo (18) | The Aztecs (71) | The Myth Makers (65) | The Dalek Invasion of Earth (30) | The Romans (32) | The Massacre (2)
2nd Doctor: The Underwater Menace (40) | The Evil of the Daleks (11) | The Mind Robber (7)
3rd Doctor: Doctor Who and the Silurians (39) | The Ambassadors of Death (3) | The Dæmons (26) | Carnival of Monsters (16) | The Time Warrior (24) | Invasion of the Dinosaurs (55)
4th Doctor: Pyramids of Mars (12) | The Hand of Fear (53) | The Deadly Assassin (45) | The Face of Evil (27) | The Robots of Death (43) | Talons of Weng-Chiang (58) | Horror of Fang Rock (33) | Image of the Fendahl (5) | The Sun Makers (60) | The Stones of Blood (47) | Full Circle (15) | Warriors’ Gate (31) | Logopolis (76)
5th Doctor: Kinda (62) | Black Orchid (8) | Earthshock (51) | The Awakening (46)
6th Doctor: Vengeance on Varos (41) | Timelash (35) | The Ultimate Foe (14)
7th Doctor: Paradise Towers (61) | The Happiness Patrol (68) | Silver Nemesis (75) | The Greatest Show in the Galaxy (66) | Battlefield (34) | The Curse of Fenric (23) | Ghost Light (6)
8th Doctor: The Movie (25) | The Night of the Doctor (49)
Other Doctor: Scream of the Shalka (10)
9th Doctor: Rose (1) | Dalek (54)
10th Doctor: The Impossible Planet / The Satan Pit (17) | Love & Monsters (28) | Human Nature / The Family of Blood (13) | The Sound of Drums / Last of the Time Lords (38) | Silence in the Library / The Forest of the Dead (72) | Midnight (69)
11th Doctor: The Eleventh Hour (19) | Vincent and the Doctor (57) | The Pandorica Opens / The Big Bang (44) | A Christmas Carol (74) | The Impossible Astronaut / Day of the Moon (29) | The God Complex (9) | The Rings of Akhaten (42) | Day of the Doctor (50)
12th Doctor: Listen (36) | Kill the Moon (59) | Under the Lake / Before the Flood (73) | The Girl Who Died (64) | Dark Water / Death in Heaven (4) | Face the Raven (20) | Heaven Sent (21) | Hell Bent (22)
13th Doctor: Arachnids in the UK (48) | Kerblam! (37) | The Battle of Ranskoor av Kolos (52) | The Haunting of Villa Diodati (56) | Ascension of the Cybermen / The Timeless Children (70) | Flux (63)