A Feast Of Stevens.

One Feast Of Steven long ago The Doctor broke the fourth wall and spoke out from the flickering black and white box in the corner of the room, to wish all his beloved viewers a seasonal best. I am in no way High Church enough to try breaking the fourth wall from a blog but I can wish anyone reading this a very happy Christmas and if its not your first time let me thank you personally for putting up with my boobie-babble.I do hope what you read might have tempted you to try reading a particular book yourself, without you I would just be the ghost of an algorithm.

The Beggar's Opera.

Had no idea what this was. Did not even know I had it. Came across it tucked into a sleeve behind another disc, among some other stuff a chum Mark had given me some time ago. Since there was no information notes I was not sure what it was all about. It being a l;ate night tidy up I decided to stick it in the player, see what came up. And I was spellbound, transfixed by the beautiful sounds coming from my speakers, Sweet voices, like spring lambs gambling fluttered about the room, transforming a late night in Belfast to an Opera house.The story and escpecially the staging had many similarities with Don Quixote. A man inn a desperate situation, in a dungeon facing a grim fate finds himself singing for his supper, which is to say his life. A highway man, a dashing rogue, is to be hung at Tyburn but a beggar who has written an opera about his life rewrites his destiny, possibly. It was the surprise of finding such a beautiful thing that kept me from my mattress. As an older man I find I spend alot of my spare thinking time hoping to stumble across resources in art, in music, in cinema, in books that feel as exciting as my discovery of the Sex Pistols felt way back in the day. Something, anything which embodies a type of cultural subversion, a punk spirit, and The Beggar's Opera had it. What a find. What a joy. It really was Like discovering a field of spring lambs dancing and leaping in the sun for the very joy off it.

Brideshead Revisited.

The Mighty Waugh (And The Story Of The Booze."(Thats agreat eighties song play on words,by the way.) Had not read any Evelyn Waugh up until now. Perhaps I have reached the right stage in my life that will allow me to appreciate the more subtle qualities of Brideshead. The prose is desperately beautiful, theres a magical sadness to what he desribes at times. Whether that be his descriptions of locations upon which his players strut, or the percieved inner workings of those characters. It is painfully simple at times but mostly acts like one of those thick brushes used by Chinese caligraphers. Watery washes that swing between oblique black and serated edging. I was drawn to the book by a memory of the early eighties television adaption, which I remember watching at the time, mostly entranced by the slow disintegration of poor Sabastianne. It is a rightly treasured piece of television and has acted as a template for so many attempts to adapt tiger tank novels. It was infinetly more successful than others, I now realise, to hold true to the source material. I know that Evelyn Waugh converted to Catholocism and that this act sent shock waves through the zeitgeist of his times. As one raised in that faith I feel the presence of a very Catholic iteration of the Christian Deity lurking round every decision in the book. Each of the characters, in their own way, live with their own very personal sins. Gods presence is felt throughout the book, unseen, a witness to all if not a participant. I am not sure when in Evelyn Waugh's personal timeline his writing of the book took place. Yet his understanding of many Catholics inner turmoil, our contradictory views on forgiveness and even its possibility, is all there. To begin with I saw Sabastianne's conflict with who he was born to be and who he actually was , was the most easily identifiable of all the characters but by far, for me, was Julia's and her story, the may twists and turns, the ups and downs and her beautiafic understanding of self imposed suffering. Its complex and easy to miss. She rambles so at times, but the truth is a painful journey into the lesser travelled roads of the human heart. As though her idea of a Christmas card would be an Hieronymous Bosch triptych, not sent ironically. For The Devil was at God's elbow when he made man. I have known a few Sabastiennes in my time. People write them off as dipsoes, but they are so much more than that and deserve more. People might look at a fig like Sabastianne and diagnose a weakness of character but thats too simple. He was far kinder, in his own ways, than others were to him. His was a heavy cross to bear, a great big piece of Catholic wood. I think, in the end, Cordelia understood her brother best. Her love for him made her description of the state she found him in truly awe inspiring. That she could look at this wreck of a fallen aristocrat and see an angel, albeit a very human one. They are every where if you could only see.

The Chaos Box.

This is the second , for me, in a series of Doctor Who novels in which The Doctor and friends meet up with real life historical figures, in these instances people who for one reason or another are considered Iconic. In this novella The Doctor deliberately travels back in time to meet his latest favourite writer; Shirley Jackson. In the past his favourite writer has been Charles Dickens, William Shakespeare and HG Wells, meetings during which "things kick off." He travels, with Ruby Sunday, Syracuse University 1937 to meet this much admired American writer, in the years befor she became the Shirley Jackson the wider world would think it knew. Way before she had accomplished anything which contribute to her being regarded an "Icon." Its a strange little novella, more remenescent of Jodie Whitaker's era than Ncutti Gatwa's, as when I read Kalynn Bayron's it fitted that iterations tone more closely. Also nowhere feels more alien a location for The Doctor's travels than America. Sublety goes out the window and stories are told in broad strokes, although The Chaos Box does feel more substantial than that. I could not help thinking that it might have been a more challenging notion to have this iteration of The Doctor team up with HP Lovecraft. Given Lovecrafts unsettling notions on race.To show that The Doctor was capable of a form of graciousness, a forgiving and understanding that most people seem incapable off.Imagine how Lovecraft would have reacted to this brilliant man from beyond the stars who turns all his daft notions on race on their heads. For all his brilliance Lovecraft was a very damaged man who might have responded positively to a mind and an open nature that he had never experienced in his life. But thats a novel in another reality... Its Shirley Jackson in this book and she has surely (No pun intended) earned her place on a list of icons.

Mr Teddy Dog And The Tapestry Of Destiny.

Look at the lovely montage one of Teddy Dog's fans made for him. Some of the fantastic cosplay efforts designed by his wardrobe master and chief Martin.A Lady named Sonja from Bangor (County Down not Maine-Stephen King Fans.) made it to celebrate the many times Teddy and Martin made complete strangers smile. I thought it was just fantastic.

The Chimes Of Midnight.

What a jolly Christmas feast.... Actually, despite some fantasic laugh out loud moents in Robert Shearman's novel adaption of his own script for this classic Big Finish production, it really is a pretty bleak affair. In fact, it remains the only Doctor Who adventure I can think off in which The Doctorwants to scarper in The Tardis, so dark is the situation him and Charley find themselves in.He really shocks charley when he suggests this possible course of action as she has never seen or heard him retreat from a desperate situation. This serves to highten the sense of jeopardy no end. Robert Shearman's novel is rife with dark humour but also has a few disturbing twist and turns, dipping in directions Doctor Who normally skirts by. He holds it all together though and it is not hard to see why this story is so higly regarded among the fans. There are familiar rifts which occur throughout but these have more to do with mannered nineteen twenties crime stories, Agatha Christie in particular.The Chimes Of Midnight is not so much a base-under siege trope as a spooky sel-contained snow globe of a mystery.It mostly takes place in one location, the servant quarters beneath a big house, its nearly all Downstairs and no Upstairs. There is the kitchen, pantry, butlers room and not much else. An Underworld of sorts, with no innocents and some troubled spirits. The Doctor does his best to help, off course. Its bleak, surreal and compelling. Christmas will feel even more Christmassey thanks to it, for this reader anyway.It did, off course, prompt a relisten to the original audio adventure and it does indeed still stand up well. The audio and sound production by the original team contributes to this in no small way. An adventure the listener experiences through the merits of some impressive sound engineering, its quite an achievement but Big Finish are masters at this sort of thing, having spent years refining their talents. This story was also released as a very impressive vinyl boxed set. The Chimes Of Midnightr is an outstanding Doctor Who production, in any medium.

1,001 Nights.

Sutekh's dust of death has swept across the universe, turning everything it touches to nothing. On a far distant planet, on a far distant plain, The Doctor and Ruby find themselves being told stories of days now passed, of things which may or may not have been.The sub title of this book is "Folk Tales Rescued From Around The Whoniverse", and that is exactly what you get when you find yourself between its covers. The stories are written by two Doctor Who writers who know their stuff and who can tell a hawk from a hand saw, on a good day, so to speak. thats Steve Cole and Paul Magrs, who also supplies some wistful and haunting illustrations for this lovely collection, which plays light with some very dark moments. Damn that Paul Magrs, with his words he has moved me and now i discover he can do similar with artwork as well. This is a superior effort, when it comes to what you can do with the book format in its efforts to extend what we saw on television. I fact, this continuation of last seasons cliff hanger is a very welcome addition to a story that enough people did not see( Ugh, my grammar is shocking at times, that Yoda-speak.). Hope it might inspire people to go back and give that season another go. The goes for the older stuff , which may well bewilder fans of the most recent eras. But you know what, dont shy away, jump right in, the water, and the tides of time and space, are just lovely. Paul Magrs once wrote an audio story about Bessie, the Doctor's beloved old roadster and it was one of the most bitter sweetest original Who spin-offs I have listened too. Imagine hearing Chittie-Chittie-Bang-Bang tell its own tale.There are moments in this book which lean into such sentiment and makes me suspect he is an old sweetie himself. If so, more power to him. The world needs more like him. Now more than ever.

England's Dreaming.

I have read this book before and there is every chance I might read it again at some point in whatever life I have left in me. The version I read before did not have the updated material, including a new foreward and some stuff related to the mid nineties Sex Pistols reunion. As always the Pistols remain the maypole around which this book giddily dances. Yet, in this particular reading it is the mirror held up to the crumbling culture of the nineteen seventies which really gripped me. Everything in history is by necessity of its time and the birth of punk rock is no different. Its womb was a disintegrating empire, its midwife societal ennui. What else was to be done at such a time? The punk sensibility, then and possibly remains, the notion of takingf a sledgehammer to everything which has gone before, sadly this includes the good with the bad. The tent was collapsing and everything had to go, be that the music scene, how people dressed and the social and political paths one choose to walk down. Anarchy in the UK indeed. Or was it.... Dear lord, I felt so old looking at the photographs in this book. The Pistols themselves look like little more than children to my ancient old eyes.A bunch of almost Dickensian waifs desperately trying to break out of a world that saw no worth in them.They were standing in the gutter laughing at the stars. These were days of strange alchemy, when weird aliances were formed, creative collisions and explosions that were to impact upon the shared cultural zeitgeist in the most alarming and entertaining ways. Jon Savage charts so much off it in what feels like authentic eye witness accounts, as one who was there. What a mad old time. What an interesting read.The first time, the second time and most probably before I shuffle off this mortal coil, a possible third.Its the only form of time travel that actually seems to work.

Kill-Devil And Water.

Well, Andrew Pepper has done it again. I read his first Captain Pyke book; The Last Days Of Newgate and was thoroughly rinsed dry by the time I had survived its gritty pre-Victorian Noir qualities and I enjoyed this one too. They are such compulsive page turners, filled with authentic feeling characters and horrors of another age. Although all the evils his characters flail against persist to plague us. His stories are a reminder that no matter how progressive we believe ourselves to be they are few new sins under the sun. Queen Victoria has only been on the throne for three years by the time the events of this book take place. It feels too early to be calling this The Victorian Age, but what do I know.Captain Pyke is well down on his luck, in debtor's prison to begin with but soon released in order to solve the murder of a young mullatto woman. He once more finds himself plunged into a brutal horror-scape full of the most despicable characters. But Pyke is more than a match for the fiends who cross his path. Sometimes exhibiting violent tendancies that would mark him as undesirable against the two legged monsters he often finds himself in the hands off or on the trail off. For all that he also possesses an overwhelming sense of morality, one that causes him to slide along a razor's edge in the dity underbelly of London. Others may feel that life is cheap but he does not. No matter who's life that may be. Sadly, for me that is, I missed the middle book in Andrew Pepper's series. I did not realise that until I started reading this book and found Captain Pyke in unfamiliar circumstances. By then it was too late to put the book aside as it was so bloody good.