Stookie Bill.

(From my sketchbook.)

Dead Lions.

Oh My Giddy Aunt, really enjoyed this second book in the Slough House series of books, Nick Herron does a very subtle job oif embedding these characters, those who populate Slough House, and even those who torment them, in the readers conciousness so readily. I feel like I know them almost as much as I feel for them. Jackson Lamb and his...er,team feel like they are really out there somewhere. Dull, drab and dangerous to know. This one plays with the notion of "sleepers" and the notion that if you pretend to be a thing for too long you might find yourself becoming that thing. At times it felt like the most messed up episode of the Avengers, never written and even then I am just grasping for something to compare it too. When its not really like anything else, certainly not Le Carre. But then, what is?

The Distant Suns.

Well, this was a surprise. Discovering a science fiction yarn of an almost old fashioned disposition, about a perilous voyage across space in the hope of saving mankind, of finding a new home where we might start again. And bloody Nora, whos the pilot of this saviour ship? Its only bloody Jerry Corneilius. Just about the last person one would put in the Captain's Chair.Unless the destination was an orgy or a rock festival, or even an orgiastic rock festival. There is a great introduction to this edition of The Distant Suns, by Michael Moorcock, explaining the history of the piece. A job for hire intended for The illustrated weekly of India,intended as an educational foray into the not well explored field in India of Science fiction tropes. The then editor of the paper hoping to inspire its readers towards a broader understanding , if not outrightin India which accewptance of fictional science ( Interstellar flight, mercy missions beyond our solar system, new life on new worlds.) Alas, the story never saw the light of an Indian day, never reached its intended readership, due to social upheaval in India and a change of editorship, who cared little for past commissions by other editors. First printe in nineteen seventy five with this edition seeing print in nineteen eighty nine, with illustrations by Jim Cawthorn, this story did a bit of otherworldly traveling of its own. Michael Moorcock also states that he found the collaboration with Jim Cawthorn as a very happy one, which is always nice to know. Michael Moorcock has swept across so many regions of his multiverse over the years, with a map for navigation that has many unexplored regions ("Here be monsters" indeed.)It is nice to think of some of those regions as uncomplicated and satifyingly pulpy. The relative innocence of a space opera performed at this level is a pleasing discovery and comes very close to delivering an uncynical ending to a perilous journey. Although "close" in stellar cartography is a very loose term indeed.

Thirty Years Of Paul Mc Gann.

Oh My Giddy Aunt, can it really be thirty years? In what timey-whimey universe is that even possible? Well, as it turns out, this one actually.

Elizabeth

Lisa Hilton does a superb job of taking what could seem like an obscure thought experiment and turns it instead into an engaging view of a Princely preoccupation with the extensions of power, their continued control and utility. I have always loved this cover painting, this Momento Mori, the hub ris of power and its use and misuse. People throw the word Macchievellian around like its the hat of the day. Its the difference between how the world is and how we want it to be. You cant not play the game because sure as daybreak you will be played by others.

Black Dog.

What a lovely find.

"There were ten tongues within one head and one went out to fetch some bread, to feed the living and the dead." Was really enchanted by this little novella. Its the very definition of slim but perfectly formed.It is a follow up to some stuff found in the short story anthology Trigger Warninga, as the character Shadow Moon takes a meandering journey into the melancholy heart of the English countryside. In other words, Here Be Locals. the tight narration is accompanied by some fancifully rendered and hauntingly beautiful illustrations by Daniel Egneus. It all begins in a cosily lit English Olde Worlde Pub but it ends on a shadowy English hillside within some stealthily concealed catacobs, when this mound gives up its heartbreaking secrets. Not a paragrapgh is out of place, not a word is wasted, Black Dog is a short read but its memory will linger long after you have finished it.

City Of Death.

Absolute classic Doctor Who episode and a much loved novelization to boot. Couldn't resist this impromptu photo bomb. As one who watched these episodes on their original transmission I can attest to the slow movement of time between episodes. That story began in the pre-history dawn of a planet where life did not as yet exist. In a spectecular cyclic fashion we eventually find ourselves back there, in order for the calamitous Duggan to deliver the most important punch in human history. Along the way we experience an embarrassment of riches with a creative team on top of its game. Saturday nights were ever so special back then. Long weeks of strife and hardship rewarded with television designed to entertain and celebrate life. The seventies were a difficult time for many, particularly here in Northern Ireland, yet every now and then the stars moved to align and magic happened. Especially if Tom Baker was around.

Let The Tribe Increase.

Mark Wilson, lead singer of The Mob, way back in the day. Still remember the visceral quality their album "Let The Tribe Increase" had on me.

The Absolutist.

Oh John Boyne, what have you done? Was very engaged by this wonderful book by John Boyne and found myself being drawn to its emotional conclusion and I found myself hoping it was not going to end in a certain way. I have absolutely no doubt if I had been a soldier in the trenches in WW1 I would have been a white feather man. I would not have been able to help myself, with WW1 pretty much being my idea of Hell on Earth. Yet it was not just the horrors of war which rippled through John Boyne's book which caused me to engage so readily with it. I found myself ache with the knowledge that so many prejudices and cruelties which permeated society in those days would persist until my own lifetime. I felt the same pains the lead character did, even made the same "mistakes", leaning into a relationship that mostly only existed in my head. I remember the pain of that as a teen, when I discovered feelings I had were not only not reciprocated, they were utterly rejected, in a way that made me feel like I would be a pariah all my life. If who I was came as a shock to the other person it was no less painfull to me to imagine a future where this would be a common event, rejection and scorn, ugh.As I read the novel I found myself whispering "find a way, just find a way." I wont say if this played out the way I hoped but it played out indeed, in a most human way. And right there is the life trap so few of us can escape.

Salvador Dali Finger Puppet.

"I am Dali! You are not!"

Michealangelo's David. (Pobably.)

I sometimes help out at a local Hospice Shop which people donate all sorts of stuff too. Recently someone donated a statue of Michealangelo's David, in perfectly formed plaster. One of the lady volunteers thought she would "protect" David's modesty by making him a natty pair of pants. I think she honestly meant it in a respectful gesture as all "His doins" were hanging out, bless her.

talking with ghosts.

Came across this lovely piece of art whilst browsing for John Dee.Cannot speak for its provenance but it feels real to me.

Destination Daleks.

I wondered how they were going to do the second part, to finish the gripping wee Pete Mc Teague vignette on the recent Season #21 bluray boxed set. And here it is, the second part is a comic book and was given away with this month's Doctor Who Magazine.

Albert Einstein.

Hows this for a bit of relativity. Yesterday I watched Genius, a biographical drama on the life and times of Albert Einstein. Came across it on one of my book hauls in the Oxfam Book shop.It being a day off work I watched it through to the end, spending one day, and a psuedo-lifetime in the company of the great man. There are some very powerful performances throughout its long run, not just from the leads, with some characters being recast as they aged.Found it a compelling and interesting (Not always the same thing) watch as it gave new life to so many others in his life, especially his first wife Mileva Maric,a remarkable thinker in her own right and the rock upon which his school of relativity was built. Overlooked during much of his life and sadly ever since he passed. Which leads me to the curious coincidence that is today, the anniversary of his death on 18th April 1955. I heartily recommend a watch. There is much in it that modernity can, er, relate too.

Lux.

Enjoyed this adaption of last seasons story Lux in which The Doctor And Belinda are transformed into animated characters by a God-like being, one of The Pantheon of old Gods making life so difficult for our hero. Its a lovely and experimental conceit, adapted here as a novel by Dave Goss from a screenplay by Russell T Davis. in the episode The Doctor comes crashing through our televisions out into "our" world, into a flat with three Doctor Who fans, who know the whole canon of the show and as such all the details of The Doctor's lives. They also exercise this conceit as best they can given the novel's paperback format, breaking the text wall into vision. It s a bravo attempt at stretching the format and another reason to give the show a big clap on the back for attempting to surprise and entertain. Surely, even the hard to please Gods Of Ragnorok.

The Barney Blues.

(From my Sketchbook.) My older brother Barney would sit on the top window ledge above the lower drain, playing his guitar and singing. Mostly James Taylor, who's work he loved, but also republican folk songs and rebel music to annoy passing army foot parols. They would swear and hurl abuse and threats but this only made him sing louder.

Slow Horses.

I had been in the mood for a little Le Carre and came across this Mick Herron novel instead. Damn, it turned out to be an excellent road taken, as opposed to a road less traveled. Ahem.. I am so glad I did. It was a fantastic read. To learn that there were even more obscure agents than the down-trodden and world weary "secret agents" than those who populate Le Carre#s world.It reads like Baby Raindeer meets Daniel Craig's Bond. Jackson Lambb is a fantastic find, for me. Rather than amalgram of Bondian tropes he represents an altogether more unsettling vision of those who secretly serve the state. And what a state they are in, so to speak. He is marvelously offensive, there is no ego he could not puncture, no faux-concern he would not throw into recycling. I have not seen any of the television series that is based on the books that include and follow this one. Gary Oldman plays him in the television. I can think of no actor better suited, or more capable, of layering the percieved personality with its many contradictions. This is one book you judge by its cover at your own person risk, cause whatever demons that drive this very damaged man will devour you. No one is who they appear to be and nothing is what it seems. Outcomes, good or bad, can be adapted too. Today's friend is tomorrow's enemy. As the Duke Of Wellington once said "There are a lot of things one can do with a bayonet but you cannot sit on it." In Slow Horses a young man is snatched off the street. It is an obviously racially and politically motivated event. In fact there is nothing obvious about what took place. The clock is ticking, as his kidnappers plan to cut his head off, live online. I garuntee that in your minds eye you are already making assumptions about the identity of the victim and the agenda of his kidnappers. You would be better to let go of your certainties, in this case, as up is down and down is anything the kidnappers wish it to be. In fact, even those who seek to rescue the kidnapped man adapt to situations as they unfold, molding narratives that suit their own ends. It is a bit of a head scratcher as to who are the good guys in this world, the world that belong's to Mick Ferron's Slow Horses. I highly recommend this introduction to that world. Leave your certainties at the door.

In At The Deep End.

What a fantastic anthology. A JG Ballaed inspired collection of unsettling visions (Not a bad title for this particular collection.)It has some zeitgeist refining writers paying tribute to a writer whos work transends the medium. I would read books written by the contributors, so finding a thread off sorts running through their work is double plus good.Although that sounds more Orwellian than Ballardian, a rose by any other name blah,blah.When reading anthologies, particularly with an array of writers I usually try not to skip the order they are printed in or favouring writers whose work I am familiar with over those whose work I am not. But in this instance I found myself jumping in with the story by Iain Sinclair and it did not disapoint. He writes as he talks and I find both means of communication compelling and always interesting. His ghosts I can believe in.That said, I did go back to the beginning and read through as the editors intended.

Jubilee.

Could not put this down. Robert Shearman took me on a nightmare journey with The Doctor and his lovely companion Evelyn. It is one of the darkest distopian rides of the Doctor's many lives. It is also not any easier for his brave and loyal companion. After a trip like this one could hardly fault her for wishing to be dropped off at home. One hundred years before The Doctor had touched down and "helped" the population of that world and time to overcome a terrible genocidal conflict with The Daleks. Then, as usual, he had departed bfore the dust had even settled on that conflict. He trusts those he aided to sort out the remaining messes so that he may fly off in his magical blue box to most likely do the very same somewhere else. Generally there is no harm in such things, the worst having past. Or so we believe, without ever giving thought to how the survivors might put their world back together and what room there is for the old ways in these brave new times. And what we get is...Jubilee. As I said I could not put this down. Despite having heard the audio drama it is based on years ago. There are details in the book which never made it into the audio play. Unsettling aspects of that tale which flesh the version out in ways which are even more horrifying. The Dalek is in the details, so to speak. A whole society based around its conflicts and encounters with The Daleks is not going to produce a bed of roses. That is the second time in this review I have mentioned that particular flower, one more closely associated with romance than world wars aand atrocities. Itself not a bad word to be associated wuth Daleks. An Atrocity Of Daleks... Robert Shearman used the idea of a sole Dalek imprisoned to great effect in his episode during Christopher Eccelson's run; Dalek. That plot thread alone survives in this even darker tale of what one Dalek is capable of doing as well as the terrible things its very presence inspires. The whole thing has a terribly English feel to it, not just the locations but the very dark sense of humour that is one of that nation's most enduring characteristics. Jubilee sounds like a celebration of something and if it is it remains something probably best laid to rest. The Doctor's past actions, or in some aspects the lack of them, come back to haunt him in a way he does not deserve. In truth, no one deserves the horrors waiting to unfold for him and Evelyn and the planet he saved.

Deep Breath

Peter Capaldi, one of the greats, intro story was one of the most darkly comedic television shows ever transmitted at tea time on a Saturday night. How is this history?From that and straight into INTO THE DALEK. Both episodes directed by Ben Wheatly, also one of the greats. At least I think he directed both. My memory can be a bit foggy. Michael Smiley was in that episode so it might well be the case. He seems something of an actorly mascot to Ben Wheatly, both bringing out the best in each other. These stories set the tone for a season unlike all the others which followed. The new Doctor's first seasons always prove to be a treasure trove and are still gifting years after their transmission.

The Lives And Times Of Jerry Corneilius.

Mad, Bad and Bloody Dangerous To Know, thats our Jerry, all right.Here is a collection of stories and vignettes that stagger all over the place leaving bodies and chaos in their wake. I took this copy with me on a train going down the track to Dublin. When traveling I always seem to end up with my back to the direction I am heading in. That seems like a good metaphor for Jerry Corneilius route through the Moorcock-zone. Countries erupt into war, regimes rise and fall and Jerry is up to his elbows in controlled anarchy or whatever passes for the illusion of control.

The Father Brown Stories.

Three Father B rown book collections in one Folio Edition Slipcase (Only, no slipcase.I had come across a copy in the Oxfam bookshop, Ann St) The three collections in this largerv collection are; Incredulity Of Father Brow, The Secret Of Father Brown and The Scandal Of Father Brown. The short stories contained are just lovely, well written and thought provoking. Its the way he tells them, so to speak, Father Brown that is. An incident occurs, whether Father Brown is nearby or not, generally a mystery is recounted and then Father Brown relates the impressions he gets from said incident. His clarity, even when he has not seen as others have, is unsettlingly precise. The answers he comes up with not neccessarily what he or the listeners want to hear. His empathy is boundless, not so much his patience with his fellow man. Others seem to hear what he is saying but they fail to listen to what he is telling them.He will not always tell others what they want to hear b ut he will always tell them what they need to hear. Father Brown's duties take him far and wide. He meets people from all walks of life, even those who are openly hostile to his faith. nearly all underestimate this shabbily gentile moon faced holy man. His venerable sense of dress setting him aside from the mainstream. He must have looked old fashioned even as a young man.What a thinker,though. T.S. Eliot once said of GK Chesterton "He was importantly and constantly on the side of the angels." That wonderful brain seeing the world as it is and not as we wish it to be, which is achingly human, a pain that comes with a deligent religous observance. Murder, the act of human destruction, has been gradually whittledc down in its positioning as a terrible act of evil. Almost every visit to any bookshop, new or old, has its dedicated sections aimed at the cosey notion of murder. We find it in the quaintest of villages, under the moon and beneath the sun, even under the mistletoe. Father Brown observes the many faces of murder in many different places and at all times exercises the world weary wisdom of a slightly rumpled angel in black.

Karla's Choice.

After reading Slow Horses I still felt like some grungy down at heel British espionage. And that does not come more down at heel than Le Carre. Nick Harkaway, who pens this novel set in Smiley's world is actually John Le Carre's son, so its to be hoped his b rain is hard wired the same as his father's. As it turns out, there are the ghosts of his father's verbiage in how he writes. Not as in some one doing an impression but with a voice of his own, nuanced accordingly. For all that, it all feels very real and authentic, the way a good spy master would most likely make you feel.

Gaze of the Medusa.

Rewatching Season 13 made me dig out this Titan Doctor Who collection, which wonderfully features a Tardis Dream Team, The Doctor and Sarah Jane Smith. Just check out the amazing attempt to recreate this period, given that the bluray for Season Thirteen was so recently released. Well, relatively recently and isnt all time relative? Mind you, you can see that some of the reference photographs used by the artists are from different seasons of Tom Baker's tenure in The Tardis. Its all good though, he walks in eternity after all. There is an extra on the bluray, a behind the scenes interview with the lovely Elizabeth Sladen and it now feels so poignant.

Ronnie's Video.

Roll Up,Roll Up! Step this way, yes, just step through the curtain, illumination awaits. Two chums of mine, Artist Jim Mc Kevitt and Renaissance Man Mark Mc Keown, had produced a thrilling piece Ronnies Video, which can be found on Youtube. Its a mixed media retro-1980s video treat. An analog King In Yellow (Sorry, its almost a reflex for me to word an entry point for new visions. It is a way of reassurring viewers or possible listeners that there is a way in.) Way, way back in the day we used to have these things called high streets, they were centres for commerce and social interaction, where people would gather to buy and trade, sadly a concept slipping out of the shared cultural zeitgeist. And on these "high streets" you would find all manner of commercial outlets, food shops, clothing shops, record shops and even video stores. Vast libraries of video archives, where one might find the unexpected sitting right next to the unrentable. Mostly these finds were pleasing, the perfect distractions from the knobbielist of lives, but just occasionally there were terrors waiting in Betamax boxes...