"Our troops will flood your rivers with the discarded shells of their nut rations!"

Review: HAPPY ENDINGS
New Adventure novel written by Paul Cornell, 1996

I adore the New Adventures novels, and though I realise a lot of that’s nostalgia for an adult-oriented take on Doctor Who, and for the manipulative, charming, morally conflicted Seventh Doctor – and Benny, Chris and Roz – the series forms one of my favourite (and formative) periods of Doctor Who. Equally, I do appreciate how shit a lot of the (especially earlier) books were. At best though, I love their intelligence, emotion, and that they didn’t have to bend over backward to accommodate a mainstream audience – at least when their basis in fandom was characterised by the understanding and investigation of the series displayed by Cartmel, Aaronovitch, and Orman, rather than a devolution into fanwank. Those are the authors I love best – the ones who can genuinely write, not the fan-pleasing ones like Gary Russell, Gareth Roberts or, yes, Paul Cornell.

Cornell’s righteous, right-on ‘bleeding heart liberal’ standpoint bugs the hell out of me, even if my sympathies (ie, environmental) are probably quite similar. With this novel’s little references to a late twentieth century environmental collapse, it’s all a little holier than thou and finger-wagging. (Not to mention his mystical, spiritual approach to the British seasons and country village.) Also, Cornell’s characters are all terribly, terribly nice, even the bad or questionable ones – which, in this book, amounts to a whopping two, Hamlet Macbeth and Alec Steel.

Having bashed Cornell - and despite never having liked his writing - though I feel I should hate this sort of indulgent romp, while Happy Endings may not be representative, it is a worthy celebration of the NAs. Based entirely around Bernice’s rush wedding to the dissolute Jason Kane from Death and Diplomacy, such an unashamedly fun and silly novel is inevitably never going to be seen as an ‘important’ story. But, it is still a million times better than the convoluted, po-faced, and surprisingly emotionally cold Shadows of Avalon (say). In fact, though I used to have a soft spot for this book way back when (Jesus, 1996 is a looong time ago), revisiting it as part of my mammoth Oxfam haul, I wasn’t sure what to expect – but I actually found it a great deal more likeable than even Love and War or (the novel version of) Human Nature. Perhaps because of their more serious intentions, Cornell’s ‘signature’ stories expose his prose limitations. He seems to have an unexpectedly surer touch at comedy – for example in the scenes told from the alternating, and clashing perspectives of Benny and Dr Watson’s respective diaries.

Having said this is a fun romp, it’s unfortunate that anyone who isn’t up to speed with the NAs (ie, particularly anyone who came to Doctor Who through the new series) would be as baffled as a casual viewer stumbling upon The Stolen Earth’s inclusion of Gwen, Ianto, Luke, et al. (And that’s even if they could even find a copy.) It’s so (deliberately) heavy with NA references and characters and loose ends that it’d probably be impenetrable. Although… as a kid, it was fun for precisely that reason, being able to launch myself into all this stuff I didn’t understand.

Not being an active completist (there’s loads of NAs I have no interest in bothering with) a lot of the characters here are still a bit of a mystery to me, or my only experience of them comes from this book (eg, the Ice Lord Savaar). But, in spite of a lot still going over my head, the book feels charmingly rather than disconcertingly full – there’s a lot of substance to the world the NAs created, which is very distinct from any other strand of Doctor Who. Something never equalled by, say, the Eighth Doctor BBC books – even down to references to NA future-history in the form of the Thousand Day War with Mars, or that this story is set in a period of recovery after the grim cyberpunk dystopia of Warhead and Iceberg is a pleasing link.

The whimsy of numerous aliens and time-travellers visiting a country village - especially for something as innocuous as a wedding - could be awfully twee, but fortunately it is very likeable. The nudity and shagging that’s thrown in helps, too.

Along for the ride (so to speak – not necessarily the shagging) are a chuckling Master; Saul the sentient church; Ace (aka Dorothée Sorin-McShane – who I definitely prefer in small doses, as in these later books); a particularly sardonic, centenarian Brigadier, along with Doris, and an elderly Benton and Yates; Sherlock Holmes and Dr Watson; an Ice Warrior battlecraft; a unicorn; William Blake; Muldwych; a couple of gay Earth Reptile lounge singers; Leonardo da Vinci; the Travellers from Love and War; Audrey McShane; Kadiatu, with aM!xitsa disguised as an owl; two oversize gerbil reporters; Ishtar Hutchings (formerly the Timewyrm); Nathan Li Shou and Sgloomi Po (“Is maximum English muffin! Oh yes!”); Irving Braxiatel; and the Isley Brothers. Oh, and a couple of old, Dutch, lesbian dressmakers.

It’s so pleasing, meeting old friends again (though I hate it when Russell T Davies does it… repeatedly… because that’s not for a laugh; and just feels cheap and rating-hungry), and Cornell juggles the massive cast really well, so the book’s plotlessness doesn’t feel aimless. It’s surprisingly welcome to have a Doctor Who story with such a languid pace; a story set in the Doctor Who world, among recognisable, well-loved characters, but with no real conflict or plot getting in the way. (Notably, the setting of Cheldon Bonniface might as well be The Tides of Time’s Stockbridge, albeit with a Battlefield-like near-future veneer of an agricultural ‘Reconstruction,’ and (inconspicuous) references to automated night trains, electric cars and ten pound coins.)

Equally welcome is the conceit of one of the Doctors most capable of both humanity, but also one of the most alien, trying to do something as down to earth as organise a wedding in such a genteel environment - something that he doesn’t really understand. It’s a wonderful contrast to the often tedious insistence of the modern series to operate at a syncopated pace, to see the Doctor act as peacemaker between the bickering couple, providing plates of scones, taking the vicar out for an Italian meal, and even indulging in a nudist pagan ceremony. It’s those quieter, more down to earth moments (well, compared to Saving The Universe) that the Doctor is afforded in the novels that make me really miss them. They’re so much more rounded than the series’ insistence on unremitting crowd-pleasing.

The Seventh Doctor, the ‘odd little man’ – definitely an unusual hero – reminds me how much I prefer that approach to the Doctor, rather than a more predictable, young, good-looking, energetic, emotionally-entangled one in the mould of David Tennant. There is certainly something to be said for all those attributes, but it’s just so mundane, for the Doctor – he should be better, more interesting, less predictable than that. Cornell has an obvious love for the character which really lifts him above an often nothingy (or out and out bastard) portrayal in some of the more amateurish NAs. The tactility of his relationship with Benny and their obvious affection is lovely too.

Cornell is good at humour and emotion – the other stuff’s a bit blah – which is good, as that’s what this book comprises. It’s arch and quite postmodern, in the way a lot of the lighter NAs were – maybe that’s quite nineties, but it’s also very funny; lots of fairly filthy innuendo and deadpannery. And in spite of all that, the more typical Doctor Who plot elements, when they emerge, hang together almost unfeasibly well. The whole thing’s rather unfeasible, in fact – including the amount of enjoyment I derived from it. The book may revolve around a massive fan contrivance, but is more fun and less ‘unhealthy’ than that implies, just by being so unapologetically straightforward about it – it isn’t a tortuous sequel, just loads of memorable characters bunged into one place. The sheer reliance on past books for its cast (but not plot) makes recognising them all – or not – part of the joke. It even comes with a poem, a song, and cricket match!

The whole thing feels like a fun, throwaway joke – a big, silly wedding with loads of faces from the past – which’d be easy to dismiss as an apocryphal Dimensions in Time-like frivolity… But, actually, it really works, because with its energy, and the sheer amount of people (especially in the multi-author reception chapter) – it actually feels like what a real wedding should be like, and as such, doesn’t feel out of place in the series. And I actually felt very (emotionally) involved (ie, the Doctor’s plan to leave all his companions and slip off) - Cornell is very good at writing for the Brigadier, so the scene where he admits he’s dying is very moving. It manages to balance a refreshing lack of cynicism with a surprisingly realistic view of relationships.

All in all, Happy Endings can’t help but make me feel how tragic it is that the New Adventures never have or will be reprinted, so they only mean anything to one generation, and despite their influence, will be forgotten. However, the NA world may be a niche within a niche, but… it doesn’t mean any less for that. For what it’s worth, I love it.

"Cower before my most supreme ejaculations!"

Review: SKY PIRATES!
New Adventure novel written by Dave Stone, 1995

Dave Stone’s approach is quite marmite, but Sky Pirates! was a real relief, after reading a run of wishy-washy mid-period New Adventures. Coming across something this vibrant and individual was like, oh, I don’t know – getting home on a cold day to find a gang of furry animals had cleaned your house and made you a hot dinner (welcome, but slightly disturbing).

Though solo Bernice NA The Mary-Sue Extrusion might be the better book, benefiting from a tighter focus, this is an absolute blast. A big element of my enjoyment was the relief of getting to Chris and Roz (I’m a big fan – though sometimes it feels I’m the only one). The Chris and Roz New Adventures are ‘my’ period, coming after a run of po-faced wannabe-serious, tedious sci-fi runarounds; the series hit a particularly near-unbeatable run from Just War on (in my humble opinion).

Both Adjudicators are captured perfectly here, and are remarkably fully-formed considering this is only their second appearance. I love how atypical the xenophobic Roz is, while collectively they’re a great, complementary duo. Ben and Polly are a double act who could work equally well individually, but Roz and Chris’ effectiveness comes from the countering of his youthful naivety and enthusiasm with her jaded cynicism.

This is only the second time I’ve read this book, and, to be honest, I wasn’t hugely looking forward to tackling it again – but it is so much better on the reread (it seemed quite a slog first time, though reading it alongside Madame Bovary – a slightly ungodly combination – might not have helped). I really appreciate its vibrant ambition now; in fact, the more I read, the more impressed I was. I have a preconception that humourous approaches are inherently taking the piss out of their subject – which of course this book is, but not in a damaging sense – so it’s nice to just enjoy the humour and absurdity of it all. I expect Dave Stone to be very cynical, but that does him a bit of an injustice, because his writing isn’t lazy in that way. In fact, there’s some really lovely prose here, and his strong authorial voice helps make this a unique read.

Stone’s verbose style, with its self-deprecation and mockery of the genre’s clichés and limitations, is like a sleazier Terry Pratchett in its detail, delight in wordplay, obscure, archaic vocabulary, and broken English (ie, the villainous Sloathes’ speech: “Is dread and diabolical mutiny below the scuppers ahoy there matey?”). The frontispiece alone gives a good impression of his style: “A most Excellent and Perspicacious Luminiferous Aether Opera, Detailing the Strange and Very Exciting Adventures of The Doctor and His Trusty Companions amidst the Multifarious Perils of a System in the Foul Grip of the Hideous Sloathes!”

In a lot of Doctor Who books, situations feel familiar or fit into certain sub-genres and categories… But this doesn’t feel familiar. Here, we’re in a clockwork System with a smiley sun, a bouncing rubber moon, and planets including a wobbly blob of water, a giant tree, and a jolly snowman (where we encounter waiter-penguins, and the repulsive Snata – an ‘abhorravore’ that has evolved into a grotesque parody of Father Christmas, accompanied by crazed woodland animals in human-skin clothes who make perverse toys). There are also crocogators who breathe through stripy reeds, vampire chickens, and all manner of other insanity. However, though everything is shot through with Dave Stone’s trademark sense of ridiculousness, it doesn’t demean the plot; this is a big, epic story with high stakes.

I love environments you can really feel immersed in; the System of this novel is very ‘colourful’ (lots of brothels and drugs); big, bold and involving, and larger than life – it feels like a world with an existence beyond the confines of the book. I came to love the System because, for all its outrageous weirdness (which is justified by its not being part of the regular universe), it is grounded by recognisable styles or objects from an eclectic range of periods. There are Bakelite telephones, flintlocks, pig-iron manacles and India-rubber inflatable ocelots – and, admittedly, also living armour and a collapsible campaign table, but it doesn’t fall into the trap of being too ‘alien’ to be interesting. (Even the steampunk/clockwork technology makes a nice change from more typically flashy, soulless ‘sci-fi’ technology.)

As an aside, being a big fan of Mad Larry, I was surprised how comparable the prodigious imagination of this novel was to Lawrence Miles’ work (especially earlier stuff like Down, before he veered away from humour), considering Stone doesn’t get anywhere near that kind of kudos or status.

Stone’s take on the Seventh Doctor is rather wonderful too, encapsulating everything I love about the character: his capacity to move from imbecilic goofiness to melancholia, to calmly taking control and being all-knowing and goosebump-inducingly powerful. (“You have squandered any last chance of mercy I might have allowed you,” brings to mind the Tenth Doctor’s Family of Blood vengeance routine.)

He is also presented as hugely alien, unaffected by anything as trivial as local gravity; his hat never blows off, his suit remains preternaturally clean; food and objects appear around him at will (including a wind-dried amputated foot from his pocket); he can secrete electrostatically-active substances from his pores; and it is suggested that he is something monstrous in human form. (While anyone who notices any of this is likely to loose their train of thought…) Even the presentation of the TARDIS interior must be one of the weirdest takes: burning kites and whistling spiders, indeed.

While I do understand how people find Stone’s style off-putting, I skipped through this book in a few days, thoroughly enjoyed it, and am looking forward to Death and Diplomacy (which I don’t think I’ve read, although I do remember something about Roz grabbing a nude Chris’ cock, thinking it’s a doorknob… Ah, the impressionableness of youth!).

In the days of Doctor Who as a regulated global hyper-mega-brand, it’s refreshing to come across something so rampantly individual and unhinged. Fab.

Sky Pirates! fibrillates. And coruscates.

Review: ALL-CONSUMING FIRE

New Adventure novel written by Andy Lane, 1994

That I read the majority of this novel in one sitting has to be a pretty good sign. It’s not even amazingly written, by a long shot, but at the same time, it’s nowhere near as tediously inept as some of the earlier New Adventures. It certainly outdoes stories like Parasite or Theatre of War, which fail totally to even sustain their own internal logic.

One fault typical of the early NAs which All-Consuming Fire does share is that there is only the most basic description of the action or setting of any given scene; it’s all quite literal, and there’s very little emphasis on characterisation that really gets into the characters’ heads. (I did find myself comparing this book slightly uncharitably with the Faction Paradox novel Erasing Sherlock, which is a much more rounded piece of writing. Incidentally, I’d urge everyone to check out the Faction Paradox series. Except the one by Lance Parkin. That was crap.) Having said that, Andy Lane does do a nice line in local colour – both in Victorian London and colonial India.

I get the impression that this book was never intended to be anything more that pure pulp, and on that level it’s a huge success – it’s fast-paced enough to not feel like thin material is being painfully wrung out of its settings (stand up once again, Theatre of War, which I had the misfortune to read prior to this). The story is diverting, and has more twists and changes of allegiances than you could shake a stick at. The middle section borrows slightly distractingly from Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom (initially benevolent airy white palace harbours villains – including a young native noble – with their very own underground lair), but that’s balanced out by interesting ideas like the Diogenes Club and the Library of St John the Beheaded – which nevertheless don’t outstay their welcome. (It has to be said though, the Library’s security arrangements don’t seem particularly tenable to me.) Even the concept of the manservant, Surd, with velvet-lined compartments in his head and chest cavity, is a memorably grotesque image.

One of the main pluses of this book is that its Seventh Doctor is very well written, and Lane actually manages to capture McCoy’s mix of danger and apparent imbecility. It’s actually depressing how often the earlier New Adventures got the Doctor completely wrong – I love the manipulations and sometime-unscrupulousness of the Seventh Doctor, but to my mind this shouldn’t mean he has permanently lost his morals (or at least, when he does do something that chafes against his innate heroism, this should be acknowledged within the text) – so often the NA Doctor became a humourless, unpleasant bastard. And this is coming from someone who loves the NA Doctor! So, it’s a relief to have him written in such a way that his intermittent appearances in this narrative actually make you want to see him again, rather than wishing he’d piss off for good.

What’s funny though is that, as I say, Lane’s take on the Seventh Doctor is very close to Sylvester’s performance, and this actually makes some of the more unsavoury elements of the story’s locales quite shocking (probably more so considering the level twenty-first century on-screen Doctor Who has been pitched at). There’s some pretty strong stuff here: dog fighting, the degradation in the Rookeries, and even a brothel of child-prostitutes. I’m not one to rail against the NAs’ adult approach, so I’m reserving judgement on whether that is going too far, but it does seem very strange nowadays, given that Doctor Who has effectively been reclaimed for a children’s audience. Actually, I like Doctor Who to be challenging and I think it’s big enough to be able to encompass swearing and sex and drugs (although preferably not because the author thinks he’s being ‘radical’). But, it is interesting, with the perspective of the Davies series, to appreciate what a seachange has occurred in Doctor Who these days.

That aside – from previously reading reviews of this book, I was worried that everything would fall apart when the action shifts away from earth, but, strangely, the change isn’t that jarring. And Lane even manages to balance making it interesting (walnuts with five legs and an ice sky!) without it becoming so self-involved that it vanishes up its own arse (paging Parasite). Although I agree that Holmes is sidelined in these later sections, I’m not sure it damages the novel enormously.

Oh yes – Holmes. I’ve always had a sort of soft spot for Sherlock Holmes (not, I should stress, the Guy Ritchie version), or, at least, for the idea of him, as I must shame-facedly admit I’ve never read any Conan Doyle. I found myself particularly enjoying the earlier sections of the book where he is essentially the main character (or, at least, ‘the hero’ – in a way the Doctor isn’t until he gets more involved later).

I’m not even sure why I was compelled to review All-Consuming Fire immediately after putting it down – it’s not mind-blowing, just fun and entertaining. But maybe that’s it – I’m working my way through a stack of Virgin novels I relieved my local Oxfam of, and I have to say, the majority (although, not all) of the first half of the NA run – the White Darknesses and Dimension Riders – do very little for me. They really are dry and unimaginative and lousy with mediocre writing in a way I’ve always persuaded myself the NAs aren’t. Don’t get me wrong – the best are genuinely amazing. But right now, it’s a relief to have read one that isn’t a complete waste of my time. Ah well. Onward!

Review: LOVE AND WAR

New Adventure novel written by Paul Cornell, 1992

Love and War’s a weird one for me, because I’ve never really understood why people gush so much about Paul Cornell.

Reading it for the second time, I can see why people like his books – they’re neatly constructed, and Human Nature especially benefits from having a really strong Doctor Who premise – but, personally, I just don’t think Cornell’s prose is that strong. Ben Aaronovitch and Andrew Cartmel, for example, blow Cornell out of the water in terms of the quality of their writing, but because their stories maybe don’t conform to what people think Doctor Who ‘should’ be like, they don’t get the same sort of recognition.

Love and War has a very conventional plot, and aside from some neat twists and the presence of the manipulative Seventh Doctor, there isn’t anything particularly original going on. People say there’s some amazing characterisation here, but, although it’s nice to get a bit of insight into the Doctor and Ace’s relationship, pretty much everyone else is quite colourless (barely even differentiated by description). There’s a bit more to Bernice (and, in retrospect, it’s surprising how many of what will become the staples of her character are established here), but I still wouldn’t say she’s three-dimensional. Everything’s a bit flat, really.

To my mind, this novel is a traditional Doctor Who plot with some added emotional manipulation. I’m not dissing it, but whilst reading it this time I was very aware of the buttons that were being pushed (although I’m fairly sure it wasn’t written this cynically). I did enjoy it, and, while I understand that when it was published the level of emotional involvement would have felt very fresh, now, with not only so many other excellent Doctor Who novels published subsequently, but also the increased emotional content of the new series, the emotional additions to Love and War’s slim plot almost feel like a very self-conscious choice. Though well-drawn at times, Ace’s doomed love affair mostly gives rise to quite a mawkish sensibility, where I imagine Cornell was attempting something more penetrating and honest.

I guess this novel is good Doctor Who – it ticks the right boxes, has some nice ideas (the Hoothi are genuinely repellent, but fascinating – brilliant name too, even if it was misheard from The Brain of Morbius) – but the concept of ‘good Doctor Who’ all too often comes down to an idealised version of the seventies series, I think, and Love and War has that feel. Personally, the books I’d rate highest are the ones that really push the limits of Doctor Who – Transit, Cartmel’s War trilogy, The Adventuress of Henrietta Street, The Man in the Velvet Mask, etc. I think it’s the difference between genuinely good authors tackling Doctor Who, and okay authors creating by-numbers ‘good Doctor Who’. (If you get me.)

Where Love and War is a total success, however, is in its Doctor. Ever since I discovered the New Adevntures as a kid, the NA Seventh Doctor has been the ultimate Doctor for me (and continues to be, even in light of the new series). Here, he’s recognisably McCoy’s Doctor, but maybe slightly expanded upon, with more rage and sadness; and he’s spine-chillingly effective. There are some slightly hyperbolic lines in regards to him (of the ‘I’m what monsters have nightmares about’ variety)… but, somehow, they work. He really does seem like a force to be reckoned with, and it’s glorious. You’re fully behind this funny little man, wanting him to decimate his opponents, but at the same time you’re kind of scared of what he’ll do next…

As I say, a weird one: it’s snappily effective, but there’s something quite inorganic about it, for want of a better word; it has a kind of committee-written feel, like there were twelve Cornells in a boardroom adding touches of poetic justice or irony every now and then to strategically tug the heartstrings… Perhaps for a tragic love story it feels a bit too meticulously pieced together?