The Island of Lost Girls by Manjula Padmanabhan
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| Originally published: 2015 Acquired and read: January 2023 |
Steve[n] Mollmann's blog: it only knows that it needs, but like so many of us, it does not know what
The Island of Lost Girls by Manjula Padmanabhan
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| Originally published: 2015 Acquired and read: January 2023 |
In my capacity as associate editor of Studies in the Fantastic, I worked with Dr. Dennis Wilson Wise of the University of Arizona on an article he published about fan poetry; this caused him to remember me when a book crossed his desk for review at the journal where he works, Fafnir: Nordic Journal of Science Fiction and Fantasy Research. We had a lot of quibbling about citations, so he knew I was attentive to detail! The book was about Indian science fiction, and he remembered seeing my essay about Manjula Padmanabhan's sf on my CV. He was a good editor, helping refine my not-very-good first draft into a better review.
The review is of Star Warriors of the Modern Raj by Sami Ahmad Khan, a 2021 publication from the University of Wales Press that gives an overview and analysis of Indian science fiction in English. You can see it here; these are the first couple paragraphs:
A few years ago at the Science Fiction Research Association’s annual conference, I was on a panel about Indian SF; as I chatted with my co-presenter afterward, I remember bemoaning the lack of an entry for India in the Science Fiction Encyclopedia – there was no readily accessible broad overview of Indian SF, despite a tradition going back to the 19th century. The last few years have seen attempts to alleviate this, with Suparno Banerjee’s Indian Science Fiction: Patterns, History and Hybridity (2020) and now Sami Ahmad Khan’s Star Warriors of the Modern Raj.
Khan’s monograph explores what he calls ISFE (Indian SF in English), largely from 1999 to the present. Though Khan protests that his book has no pretensions to being either comprehensive or exhaustive (xii), Star Warriors of the Modern Raj nonetheless feels, at times, as if Khan were attempting to cram every work by every single writer of ISFE into the text; even individual short stories often receive multiple pages of discussion. This expansiveness drives the book’s strengths and weaknesses alike. The task he has set out for himself is incredibly difficult as little unites these works except genre and country of composition. What kind of overall thesis or perspective can one have on decades of SF from across an entire country?
Khan foregrounds this difficulty in his introduction, telling a story of two different approaches he could have taken if he had been politically motivated. The right-wing approach would be to claim that Indian SF goes back thousands of years because the Ramayana is actually SF; the left-wing approach would be to reject religion and depict ISFE as something totally new and unprecedented. He sums up all political framings as simplistic: “The right wanted to reclaim a golden past, the left wished for a red future, and the centre did not know which colour it sought” (xii, italics removed). He concludes that his book is “aware that there can be no single -ism or any grand unified theory that can explain the divergences of ISFE – and hence [it] flits across vantage points that arise out of markedly different contexts” (xiv). The strength of Khan’s book is its avoidance of a single overall frame, letting each story operate in its own context.
Pick of the month: The Sparrow by Mary Doria Russell. This was an easy pick, a quality work of original sf about Jesuits... in space! Of course I enjoyed it (much as I did its spiritual predecessor A Case of Conscience); more than anything else, Russell's characters come to life in their smallness and their largeness.
All books read:
Not a big month in raw numbers, but I read several large books: The Sparrow, The Island of Lost Girls, and almost all of (but not quite) Charles Dickens's The Old Curiosity Shop.
All books acquired:
Currently reading:
Next up in my rotations:
Books remaining on "To be read" list: 681 (down 4)
My biggest decrease since December 2020!
The Best Science Fiction of the Year, Volume 6
edited by Neil Clarke
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| Collection published: 2022 Contents published: 2020 Acquired: January 2022 Read: January 2022–January 2023 |
Of course there are some that didn't work for me, but I could imagine working for others; beyond that, there are the rare ones that I don't get why they were picked at all. Thankfully there were just three of those in this volume... but two were by probably the two most famous authors in the book! "Uma" by Ken Liu, like a number of Ken Liu's stories, felt more like exposition about future technology than an actual story, and James S.A. Corey's "Elsewhere" just didn't have much going on it: neat tech idea, but the story didn't have the depth to make it work. "Beyond These Stars Other Tribulations of Love" by Usman T. Malik had a neat idea again, but it was implemented in a way that made absolutely no sense to me and destroyed the storyworld's credibility.
On the whole, this is a strong volume, and shows that short sf is in good health. As always I would rate much of what I read here above the Hugo finalists for the relevant year (e.g., had "An Important Failure" been on the novelette ballot for 2021, I would have ranked it above everything except "Helicopter Story"). I look forward to volume 7, and to eventually going back and reading volume 1-3.
Those other ongoings were clearly the "main" ones. JSA Classified featured rotating creative teams on shorter stories that focused on one or two or occasionally a couple more JSA members at a time. There are two four-part stories; the rest are usually two- or three-parters, with the occasional one-off. No writer or artist works on more than one storyline, with the exception of Alex Sanchez (who illustrates two stories for a total of five issues) and Jimmy Palmiotti (who inks two stories for a total of eight issues, making him the series's most prolific contributor).
Very little of the series has been collected. Issues #1-4, a Power Girl story by Geoff Johns and Amanda Conner, have been collected a few times; I previously read them in The Sequential Art of Amanda Conner. #5-9 were collected as Honor Among Thieves, the only JSA Classified–branded trade. A couple more issues have been chucked into collections here and there: #21-22, by Walter Simonson, were included in Hawkgirl: Hawkman Returns and #25 and 32-33 were part of JSA Presents Green Lantern. Rather than track down the floppies, I decided to read the whole series on DC Universe Infinite, except I skipped the issues in JSA Presents Green Lantern, since I had just read that trade.
When I first read Power Trip (#1-4, by Geoff Johns, Amanda Conner, and Jimmy Palmiotti), I didn't like it; rereading it made it even worse. It's a story focused on continuity with nothing to say about character... except it doesn't even really say anything about continuity, either, as the story is just a series of fakeouts about things that are not Power Girl's origin. Amanda Conner's art is brilliant, though, and it made me decide to incorporate her Power Girl ongoing into this project.
On the other hand, I was pleasantly surprised by Honor Among Thieves (#5-7, by Jen Van Meter, Patrick Olliffe, et al.). This is about the Injustice Society planning a heist in JSA headquarters, and I have found most modern takes on the Injustice Society, from Roy Thomas on, gratuitously violent. But Jen Van Meter produces a charming story about underdogs who have to work together to do something that's, well, if not the right thing, not the worst thing either. I liked it a lot, and I'm excited to see that Van Meter returns to some of these characters in a backup she writes for Justice Society vol. 3.
Another villain-focused story did have the problems of gratuitous violence: "The Fall & Rise of Vandal Savage" (#10-13, by Stuart Moore, Paul Gulacy, and Jimmy Palmiotti) just went on and on and on, and had little of interest. Similarly, I didn't like the two Doctor Mid-Nite stories, "Skin Trade" (#19-20, by Scott Beatty, Rags Morales, and Michael Bair) and "Nightfall" (#23-24, by J. T. Krul, Alex Sanchez, and Jack Purcell). Both had lots of squicky stuff. Worse, "Skin Trade" mutilates some minor characters from other series just to prove the situation is serious, one of my least favorite superhero tropes. (On the other hand, it did pick up an interesting loose end from Ultra-Humanite's backstory.)But when the series is great, it's really great. One thing I didn't like about Geoff Johns's JSA run is that the actual people of the JSA often seemed lost in the way the series lurched from massive event to massive event. Here, we get a lot of nice character-focused stories about the people who make the world's first superhero team also its best. I am not a Scott McDaniel fan, nor a Bane one, so I was pleasantly surprised by "The Venom Connection" (#17-18, by Tony Bedard, Scott McDaniel, and Andy Owens), where Bane comes to Hourman and his son Hourman, seeking help with Venom... which it turns out might be related to the drug that gives them their powers, Miraclo. It's a great focus on the younger Hourman, Rick Tyler, and also Bane himself, with some good (if comic-book-level) discussion of addiction.
I often feel like Wildcat gets a bit flanderized: ooh, he talks funny and he gives Power Girl crap and he drinks beer. So again, I was pleasantly surprised when I ended up enjoying all three of JSA Classified's Wildcat stories: "Fight Game" (#26-27, by Frank Tieri, Jerome Moore, et al.), "Forward through the Past" (#35-37, by B. Clay Moore and Ramon Perez), and "Body and Soul" (#38-39, by Mike W. Barr and Shawn Martinbrough). Each story does a good job focusing on his history, and tying into his interest in wrestling without making it contrived. He uproots a gambling ring, takes on criminals using his old gyms in Gotham, and stops people from stealing the mental patterns of retired wrestlers. Each story is solid, but I particularly enjoyed "Forward through the Past," which has some great character-focused writing and, especially, great art. I don't know that I've ever really registered either B. Clay Moore or Ramon Perez before, but I will look out for more by them. Their depiction of the relationship between Wildcat and Catwoman intrigued me, so now I plan to circle back and read a couple stories about that as well.The only other stories I found particularly bad were the Justice League Detroit one, "Double or Nothing" (#14-16, by Steve Englehart, Tom Derenick, et al.), and the Mr. Terrific one, "Mr. Horrific" (#29-31, by Arvid Nelson and Alex Sanchez). The former was confusing and poorly explained—and also I'm totally over stories where villains force heroes to fight each other for gambling purposes. Maybe I'll like it more when I reread it in the Justice League Detroit omnibus? But I kind of doubt it. "Mr. Horrific" was just awful: nonsensical leaps in the writing, ugly impenetrable artwork.
Beyond that, you have a number of solid, enjoyable stories. If I have an overall complaint, it's that I wish we'd seen more JSA members. Some more focus on the younger members would have been good; Stargirl's only story was the terrible "Double or Nothing," and Jakeem Thunder just gets a one-parter (#28, by Fabian Nicieza and Steve Uy). Or, it would be nice to open the series up some more so it's not so focused on the present-day JSA: give me a good Atom story, or a good World War II–era one, or whatever.But on the whole I liked it a lot, more than I expected. I kind of though it was a series to burn off bad fill-ins by mediocre creative teams, but it was nothing like that at all. To be honest, I wish the regular JSA series had been more like this: nothing overdramatic, just good character-focused stories drawing on these people's long histories.
The Gnome King of Oz by Ruth Plumly Thompson, illustrated by John R. Neill
Since reading Kabumpo in Oz, I've felt that Thompson has a good handle on the former Nome King, Ruggedo—even if she does insist on calling him a "gnome"—and the appearance of the new Gnome King, Kaliko, in Hungry Tiger showed that she had a good handle on him, too. I've seen some complaints about how childish Ruggedo is in Thompson's portrayal, but to me that seems fairly logical. He started out a very serious, very dangerous figure in Baum's Ozma of Oz, but he was fundamentally a bully all along... just a bully with political and magical power. Take away both of those, and you're left with an impotent child. (Indeed, it occurred to me while reading that that an @realNomeKing Twitter account would make for a good Trump parody. Imagine it: "A vote for Kaliko is a vote to extinguish and eradicate your country’s mining industry. Kaliko is a corrupt politician who SOLD OUT the Nome Kingdom to OZ. Kaliko is the living embodiment of the decrepit and depraved political class that got rich bleeding the Nome Kingdom Dry!") We see this decay across the the course of Baum's Ruggedo novels: by the time of Magic of Oz, he's little more than a huckster dreaming of past glories and revenge, and Thompson just takes that a step further in Kabumpo, with Ruggedo's pathetic underground "kingdom" which consists of himself, a rabbit, and a wooden doll in a cave. Ruggedo running around in this book constantly exclaiming "I hate children!" is delightful.
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| Originally published: 1927 Acquired: July 2022 Read aloud: August 2022 |
So I was looking forward to this book. I didn't realize until reading it, though, that it also has a key role for my favorite Oz character, Scraps the Patchwork Girl. Again, she's a character that I think Thompson has done well by. Thompson likes nonsense verse, and Scraps has always been a good vehicle for that, but she also captures Scraps's impudence and skewed sense of thinking well, such as when she suggested to the Cowardly Lion that if he wanted courage inside him, he just needed to eat a courageous person. So when I saw this novel had a big role for her, I was even more excited, and indeed, it follows her for several chapters before we even get to the Gnome King.
This is the sixth Thompson novel to begin the same way: someone in a small magical country somewhere shouting at someone. In this case, it's the country of Patch, home to the Quilties who grow all the patches of Oz. When they wear out, Quilties literally fall to pieces. Don't worry, they come back together... but it takes time, and so when the Queen of Patch falls to pieces, her ministers end up impressing Scraps as the new Queen of Patch. At first she's delighted, but then she realizes that the Queen of Patch does more work than any of her subjects, including all the cooking and cleaning, and begins to plot her escape. Thompson handles Scraps perfectly; she's at first delighted to be put in such a position... until she realizes it entails responsibility!
After several chapters, we finally jump to... Philadelphia. This book's protagonist is Peter Brown, who is Thompson's first real child addition to Oz. (Cowardly Lion gave us Bobbie "Bob Up" Downs, but even though he settles in Oz at the end, he's never really seen again, and he's also narratively subordinate to Notta Bit More.) Peter is kidnapped by a balloon bird to be an "airand boy" in a balloon country (Thompson used this exact same pun in Hungry Tiger, fact fans); he escapes and lands on the island where Ozma stranded Ruggedo at the end of Kabumpo. I often feel like Thompson's novels are a bit too breakneck, but the first few chapters of Peter's adventures feel nicely methodical and Baumian: instead of plunging from place to place, Peter has to work out how to survive and how to escape. He forms an uneasy alliance with Ruggedo, clearly excited by the idea of being a general, but nervous about what Ruggedo might actually do. I like that his main motivation is to get back home in time for his team's next baseball game.
(Like Betsy and Trot, Peter knows of Oz before he arrives because he's read about it. Specifically, he's read one Oz book. But which one? He knows Ozma and Dorothy live in the Emerald City, so it's post-Emerald City, but he doesn't seem to know Scraps, so it must not have been one with a big role for her. He has read about gnomes (though not necessarily in an Oz book, I guess), but he doesn't know who Ruggedo is. He knows who the Wizard is, too. Commenters on the "Book of Common Focus" discussions archived at Pumperdink indicate this narrows the candidates down to Rinkitink, Tin Woodman, Royal Book, Cowardly Lion, and Grampa. To me, Rinkitink feels like the best fit, as it has a small-but-key role for Dorothy and the Wizard. I don't think you would finish, say, Tin Woodman and ask after Dorothy and Ozma but not the Scarecrow and the Tin Woodman.)
Once Peter and Ruggedo make it to Oz, and Peter escapes from Ruggedo's company into Scraps's, the book gets a bit breakneck, but it features only two of Thompson's trademark wacky communities, a town where everyone is made of soap, and a town where everyone must sing and dance. The first I can take or leave, like a lot of the wacky Thompson communities (the image of Peter and company sailing on a giant bar of soap is pretty great, though), but Tune Town is very well done, and it ends with an absolutely divine pun from Thompson that the Patchwork Girl uses to escape.
Shortly after reading the soap chapter, my son was eating yogurt, leading to the following exchange:
SON: Is there a town in Oz where everything is yogurt?
ME: Hmmm... if there is, everyone there would be very... cultured! [much self-satisfied chuckling]
MY WIFE: You are very proud of that pun.
ME: Ruth Plumly Thompson wishes she could have come up with it! It practically writes itself!
This one has some nice side characters, too, Grumpy the Bear and Ozwold the Oztrich, and it all comes together pretty nicely when Peter's baseball skills save Oz. (Though Ozma herself comes across as pretty pathetic, as per normal for a Thompson novel.) Ruggedo is nicely threatening but also childish; the idea that he gets a cloak of invisibility and uses it to just go around the Emerald Palace pinching people and laughing at them is perfect.
Ruggedo plans to put everyone in Oz at the bottom of the Nonestic Ocean; this didn't bother my son. What did bother him is a bit where Ruggedo states that his philosophy is that if you want something, you should just take it! That he declared was not very nice. But overall, he quite enjoyed this one, though he was a bit nervous before we started reading it, due to its focus on the Gnome King, enhanced by the cover picture of him up to something malevolent by flying over the Emerald City. He's getting better and better with stories; during this one he often asked me questions that was clearly the question the story wanted him to ask, because the text itself immediately answered it.
One recurrent feature of Thompson's novels are magic workers who are largely off-screen but leave their artifacts behind for others to find, such as Wam in Cowardly Lion, Glegg in Kabumpo, and Gorba in Grampa. This book features two, actually Soob the Sorcerer and Wumbo the Wonder Worker. Soob never shows up, but we discover that Wumbo is one of many magic workers who, when Ozma banned magic, went underground in the remote Gillikin country of Zamagoochie, and have one brief chapter from his perspective. I like the idea of an enclave of secret magic workers.
We get a brief mention of Wumbo going to school to learn magic, the first time any such thing has ever been alluded to in an Oz novel—the only other magic worker's education we know anything about is the Wizard's, who was tutored by Glinda. Was there a magic school in Oz in the old days, before the witches? One imagines that it could have been where many of these one-off magic worker characters were educated: Wam, Glegg, Soob, Wumbo, Dr. Pipt from Patchwork Girl, Bini Aru from Magic, Ugu the Shoemaker's ancestors from Lost Princess, the Adepts at Magic from Glinda. One also imagines something like the four wicked witches shutting it down once they deposed Pastoria and divided up Oz, in order to stop any competitors from arising. I always like these glimpses of Oz prehistory! (We also learn about a magic emerald that can take away someone's power of speech for seven years; the ancient emperors of Oz used it on their wives when they wanted to go to war!)
Like Hungry Tiger, and as will be true for our next six Oz books, we read this in a Del Rey edition. I noticed fewer typos in this than Hungry Tiger, but I still mourn the fact that we don't even get black-and-white reproduction of the color plates. Several of the illustrations are in odd places relative to events they describe from the text, but apparently that is true in the first edition as well. Neill goes back to two-page chapter openers here, which yields a large number of great-looking illustrations of the events of the book.
Next up in sequence: The Giant Horse of Oz
Legion of Super-Heroes: The Millennium Massacre
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Collection published: 2021 Contents originally published: 1978 Acquired: March 2022 Read: November 2022 |
DC has been taking its "tabloid editions" from the 1970—massive oversized comics—and reprinting them as high-quality hardcovers. I previously read the Suerpman vs. Wonder Woman one; most recently, they've reprinted All-New Collectors' Edition #C-54, which depicts the marriage of Saturn Girl and Lightning Lad. This story was previously collected in Superboy and the Legion of Super-Heroes, Volume One, but I wasn't passing up the chance to see some Mike Grell and Vince Colletta art at jumbo size.
Thankfully it looks great because as a story it's not up to much. Superboy travels to the future to see the wedding, only the timeline has changed, so everyone is mean. He still manages to convince the Legion to look into this; the team splits up into three groups to handle different aspects of a crisis. It has its moments—I do always like some Saturn Girl—but even by the standards of comic-book time travel, I don't think it really makes sense, and the Legion in twentieth-century New York doesn't seem to be worth getting Mike Grell to illustrate at enormous size. Give me something cosmic and epic! Still, I'll take Mike Grell drawing Dream Girl any day, and the new afterword by Levitz providing background and context is nice.
I read a Legion of Super-Heroes collection every six months. Next up
in sequence: Before the Darkness, Volume One
The Child of Time: Collected Comic Strips from the pages of Doctor Who Magazine
by Jonathan Morris, Martin Geraghty, Dan McDaid, et al.
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Collection published: 2012 Contents originally published: 2010-11 Acquired: December 2013 Read: November 2022 |
So, Doctor Who is back on screen. David Tennant regenerated into
Matt Smith on New Year's Day, and the show once again has regular
episodes and a regular companion; the strips reprinted here span from
"The Eleventh Hour" to "The Doctor, the Widow and the Wardrobe," the
entirety of series 5 and 6.
You might expect the strip to return to its pre–Crimson Hand format, which was well honed by the time of The Widow's Curse:
unconnected stories featuring the tv TARDIS team, by a rotating group of
writers and artists. But, surprisingly, the strip opts to go for the Crimson Hand format again: a single writer and linked stories. It seems to be that off the back of the success of The Crimson Hand, they must have wanted to try that approach again.
But it's not exactly the same. The strip using a single writer with
continuing story threads hadn't been done while the tv show was on since
Steve Parkhouse's run (#53-99, June 1981–Apr. 1985)!* As writer
Jonathan Morris notes, this did cause some issues: when Rory became a
regular companion during series 6, the strip couldn't accommodate this,
as the entire run was set during series 5 when Rory had been erased from time. (Steve Parkhouse, of course, solved this kind of problem by pretending
there were no such people as "Adric," "Tegan," "Nyssa," "Turlough," or
"Peri.")
So while The Crimson Hand was a success, the run of strips collected in The Child of Time is a bit hamstrung in a way its predecessor was not.
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| from Doctor Who Magazine #423 |
Indeed, it gets off to a rocky start. I remember this one from its original appearance in DWM... and I remember not liking it. The usually strong Mike Collins once again pencils the DWM debut of a new Doctor, but he seems to struggle with the faces of Matt Smith and Karen Gillian in a way that wasn't true of Eccleston, Piper, Tennant, and Agyeman. On top of that, while the introductory stories for all the previous new series companions do a good job of highlighting them, this sidelines Amy quite a lot, complete with a very Colin Baker–era transformation into a hideous creature. The story never really engaged me, and neither did the side characters.Planet Bollywood!, from Doctor Who Magazine #424 (Aug. 2010)
Props, though, to the excellent joke about the gun held together with screws, that made me laugh, and Morris does a good Moffat pastiche in the recurrent glimpses of the colony's emergency message. (Oh, and in the gratuitous Amy nudity.)
Somewhat surprisingly, I would argue, screen Doctor Who has never given us a musical episode. Morris delivers a fantastic one here: the lyrics are good fun to read, the technobabble excuse for it all is actually convincing (enough), and of course Roger Langridge was born to draw it. (His stylized art is also the perfect fit for Matt Smith's chin.) I particularly liked the "Technobabble" song but they're all good. Might be the best story in this volume, except for the next couple.
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| from Doctor Who Magazine #426 |
Sometimes the strip very much tries to pastiche the kind of thing Moffat was doing on screen (see: Do Not Go Gentle into that Good Night). At other times, though, it does its own thing: this is a fast-paced contemporary sci-fi thriller, the kind of thing Moffat wasn't interested in, but Russell T Davies gave us on screen in Aliens of London/World War Three or The Sontaran Stratagem/The Poison Sky. Or, to put it in DWM referents, it's like The Flood or The Age of Ice. It's very well put together, and I really enjoyed it. Good twists, quick jokes (you can tell Morris has got the hang of the Eleventh Doctor), nice moments for Amy, amazing visuals. The whole thing looks excellent; Martin Geraghty just ups his game every time he comes back. It's neat seeing the eleventh Doctor and Amy in a slightly different genre, and this is a good example of it.
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| from Doctor Who Magazine #429 |
This is, I think, the first comic strip you might call a Christmas special, but there will be more to come over the years. It's a good tradition to start, and who could draw it better than Rob Davis? There's not much of a story, to be honest: C. S. Lewis tells the Doctor and Amy a story about two kids meeting a man with a bookshop that leads to another world, with lots of references to Narnia and other children's fantasy stories; the story is a bit simple, though it has a pretty clever resolution. But it looks brilliant and feels evocative, and well, this is a comic strip after all. Davis's bookshop interior is in particular amazing, and the thing is shot through with the chilliness of winter.
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| from Doctor Who Magazine #431 |
Dan McDaid is back! And what a story for him. Again, it oozes with creepy atmosphere; it's like a better version of The Vampires of Venice. The villain's plan is convolutedly great in a way that makes perfect sense. Well, except for the bit where he uses flying hypnotized opera singers in their nightclothes as his minions! But all the time travel lark is a well-thought-through twist on a common trope.
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| from Doctor Who Magazine #432 |
If I was feeling a bit mean, I might say that as a writer, Morris can sometimes be better as pastiching other's styles than having his own. But again, this is one of those stories that feels like it could have been on tv: it's straight out of the show that gave us, say, Night Terrors to have creepy ghosts in a retirement home. It's got some good stuff, but it all wrapped up a bit too easy: basically the Doctor and Amy find out what's up, and then the story is over.
Long-time DWM inker David A Roach (by the time this came out, he had inked 85 strips) makes his pencilling debut here. He's good at likenesses, and it's interesting to note that I think he uses finer lines on his own work than others'. I did sometimes find the action less fluid.
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| from Doctor Who Magazine #433 |
I don't have much to say about this one, except that Adrian Salmon does great both by Amy in a 1960s minidress and probably the creepiest-looking villains I can ever remember from DWM. The story is a bit of a confusing jumble of mental states; feels like it needed one more draft to sort it out.
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| from Doctor Who Magazine #435 |
And here, the plot arc all comes to a head.
Plot arc? Indeed, I haven't mentioned any plot arc because there's not really a plot arc. In some individual stories, people would disappear between panels when touching the TARDIS: the TARDIS had been infected by the spores from the planet Basingstoke way back in Supernature. I don't think I noticed at the time, and I wouldn't have noticed now without the hints in the commentaries. This might be what you want with the show on the air: a viewer who picks up a random issue because they liked "Closing Time" doesn't want to be confused by a Glorious Deadesque epic, or even something like Uroboros or Mortal Beloved. So I would say there's not much of a plot arc to grab on to here, but I'm not sure there should be one.
As for its reveal in the story, it's done very well. It reminded me of that way that "Flesh and Stone" wrong-foots the viewer halfway through. You know, as a viewer of the revival's first four series, that series-long plot arcs never matter until the twelfth episode, so when the crack in time suddenly starts mattering, it really throws you for a loop. Similarly, you know that there's no plot arc at all in the strip when the programme is on tv, so the reveal about the TARDIS itself being the cause of problems is a great twist. What a cliffhanger! And the story has a lot of other stuff to like, both courtesy of Dan McDaid and Jonathan Morris. The nun warriors are well-handled: very Moffat but good fun.
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| from Doctor Who Magazine #439 |
The problem with the arc, however, is that it's not really about anything. By which I mean, there's a bunch of events that have happened, but they don't really matter to the characters. This was very much not true of Majenta in The Crimson Hand, or Izzy and the Doctor in Oblivion. That means this story, aside from the fact that its villain Chiyoko had appeared before, is pretty much like any other one. Nothing is at stake here for the Doctor and Amy... even though the story arc means that the Doctor has been inadvertently responsible for a number of deaths! The story ends with an emotional climax, as the Doctor convinces Chiyoko to stand down... I wish we had seen more of her as a person throughout the arc, because I found this kind of unconvincing on its own. It felt like a lost opportunity to do something more.Stray Observations:
That said, this is a pretty fun story on its own terms. The cliffhanger ending to part one is amazing, as is its resolution. (On the other hand, the resolution to part two is rubbish.) Alan Turing is a good temporary companion, and the Doctor flirting with him is great. The take on the Brontës is pretty delightful. I like that the backstory to Apotheosis is picked up and explained here, deepening the DWM universe. The Back to the Future shenanigans are fun. Overall, fun, but I am not sure it feels like the climax to a run of twenty in the same way Crimson Hand did.
This post is the thirty-fourth in a series about the Doctor Who Magazine comic strip and Marvel UK. The next installment covers The Chains of Olympus. Previous installments are listed below:
It's been a minute, huh?
The first week of classes came to an end this week; today is my second day back. We had a good-if-busy break. The timing this year was such that the end of our semesters slammed right into Christmas (I usually have two weeks off before Christmas but got one; Hayley's last day was the 23rd!), so we didn't travel for Christmas as we usually do. We did Christmas at home with the kids, complete with real tree, then flew up to Ohio on the 28th. The kids had a great time, of course.SON ONE: "I told Santa to bring me lots of cool things, and he did, he got me lots of cool things!"
Cleveland was good: we stayed with Hayley's brother and his wife for a few days, then an Airbnb. We got to see our new nephew for the first time, even though he's over a year old, and the kids enjoyed playing with their first cousin. Flying home is getting to be expensive, though, now that Son Two is too old to be a babe in arms! Unfortunately, Hayley's dad had COVID... for the second Christmas in a row! We haven't really seen him since early 2021, I think.
Completely by coincidence, it turned out that a Cleveland theatre was putting on a performance of a new musical based on the second Oz book, The Land of Oz, while we were going to be in Cleveland. Son One and I went... it was good stuff! Better than the book, to be honest.Then back home and Hayley and the kids back to school while I try to get my life under control... only somewhat successfully. My parents flew down MLK weekend for their customary January visit, which was good if as always busy: my father comes with all sorts of home improvement plans for me, though I did get him to help fix my dishwasher.
The nicest thing of all was that my parents offered to watch the kids so Hayley and I could go on a date. Our first in I don't know how long? We went to a restaurant on the bay where you could watch the sun set. When we are home together we are always in parent mode; it was good to be in another context for once. (The food was fine.)
Back to the grind, I guess. This is my eighty-student semester, so we'll see how things go!
The Kairos Novels by Madeleine L'Engle
The Wrinkle in Time Quartet: A Wrinkle in Time / A Wind in the Door / A Swiftly Tilting Planet / Many Waters
The Polly O'Keefe Quartet: The Arm of the Starfish / Dragons in the Waters / A House Like a Lotus / An Acceptable Time
As stated in this earlier post, I spent some time last fall reading Madeleine L'Engle's so-called "Kairos novels." For the Murray novels, they were all rereads, but all the O'Keefe novels were new to me. I was reading them in publication order, so that I could get a sense of L'Engle's development, and so that I could intersperse familiar books with unfamiliar; the Murray and O'Keefe novels alternate in publication, even if all the O'Keefe ones take place a generation after the Murray ones.
That said, I decided to make an exception, and I swapped Many Waters with A Swiftly Tilting Planet. I had a couple reasons for this. For one, I read the original three Meg books many times as a kid and only discovered Many Waters much later, so having read them in publication order to begin with, I was curious how they would work in chronological order. Second, I remember not liking Many Waters very much, while Swiftly Tilting Planet was my favorite as a kid, and I preferred that my reading of the Murray novels would end on a high note.
Many Waters (1986)
Meg and/or Charles Wallace are the protagonists of the three original Murray novels; Many Waters focuses on Sandy and Dennys, the "ordinary" twins between Meg and Charles Wallace in age. They accidentally travel back in time to the age of Noah's Ark...
...and it is so so boring. Like, inexplicably so. Unlike all the other books, there's nothing at stake. There's no reason for Sandy and Dennys to travel back in time, either from a narrative standpoint (there's no threat they're alleviating) or a personal one (all the Meg/Charles Wallace novels have her learning and growing through her actions, but the twins are just there). You could write a book about them coming to terms with their (supposed) ordinariness, or about them coming of age sexually, but this book doesn't really give you those things, it just hints at them.
I also agree with Mari Ness that the book's past era just doesn't convince: "somehow, perhaps because of the language, or because this culture does not fit in with either the Bible or archaeological evidence of any early society (and not just because of the unicorns), it never manages to feel quite real. [...] [I]t [...] serve[s] to reduce any suspense the novel might have had. It’s not just that I know the flood is coming anyway, but that I can’t bring myself to care about the complete destruction of a place that never feels quite real."
Bizarrely, even though it has the least going on of any of the Murray novels, it's also the longest. So it just keeps on going and going and geeze louise was I bored.
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Collection published: 2018 Novels originally published: 1984-89 Acquired: July 2021 Read: September–October 2022 |
A House Like a Lotus (1984)
In my last post, I talked about how the first two "Polly O'Keefe novels" are anything but; A House Like a Lotus is the real first Polly O'Keefe novel. Narrated in the first person, it tells two parallel stories, one about Polly's friendship with an older woman, and one set later in Greece, as Polly enters into a romance and tries to come to terms with what happened to her. I've seen some complaints that this isn't the same Polly that we got in earlier novels... but, you know, she was a preteen in those, and here she's in high school, with all the changes in confidence that can bring. (Especially when, like Polly, you've gone from being part of your weird family's homeschool enclave to American public high school.) Unlike all these other novels, it basically has no sfnal elements: it's a pretty realist coming-of-age story.
I enjoyed it. As she was with Meg in A Wind in the Door, L'Engle is good at capturing the difficulties of growing up. The use of the first person is effective. I think as a teenager, especially if I was a girl, I might have found this captivating, but it works well enough—probably my favorite of the four Polly novels.
I felt validated by my reading order when reading this, as Sandy and Dennys have decent roles here, in a way that picks up on what we learned about them in Many Waters. In that book, they wanted to be a doctor and a lawyer; here, they're successfully engaged in those careers.
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Collection published: 2018 Novels originally published: 1978-86 Acquired: July 2021 Read: September 2022 |
A Swiftly Tilting Planet (1978)
The last Meg novel was my favorite as a kid. I guess I was a weird kid, because this is a weird book. Nuclear war is seemingly imminent on Christmas Eve, and Meg and Charles Wallace must stop it by using a unicorn to travel across time, untangling a family lineage that goes from Wales to Connecticut to South America with the help of a mystical Irish poem. While Meg remains in the present day, telepathically communicating with Charles Wallace, he subsumes his personality into historical figures to better understand what's going on and give the occasional nudge.
Rereading it as an adult, I was less into the time travel shenanigans—much more familiar to me as someone who has watched too much Steven Moffat Doctor Who—and a bit metaphysically bothered by the novel's idea that families could be doomed across time. But the book has some captivating chapters, in its vignettes across the years. The story of Calvin's mother is darkly tragic stuff.
The poem L'Engle uses to unify the narrative isn't her own composition, but is used in an utterly captivating way. Rereading it all these years later, I found it still contained the power I first found in it as a child. On the whole, I liked Wind in the Door more this time through, but I still found a lot to like here. Like L'Engle's best work, it hints at a strange cosmology beyond our comprehension, but also a universe where the most powerful force is ultimately our ability to listen to one another.
Also it's interesting to note that a big part of this book is a legend about a Welsh prince who came to North America before Columbus, and a year before this book came out, there was a historical novel about that same topic: Madoc, Prince of America by Bernard Knight. Now seemingly forgotten, but did L'Engle read it and get inspired?
An Acceptable Time (1989)
In some editions, An Acceptable Time is published as the fifth "Time Quintet" novel. This is clearly a bogus attempt to market the book by tying it into the more popular Meg novels;* though it returns to their setting and includes some of their features and characters, it's a Polly novel through and through, following up on the events of House Like a Lotus. Why would anyone care about this book without that one? I have read a lot of reviews from people who bounced off it, and definitely part of the reason is that the publishers try to get you to read it without the three books that come before it!
Anyway, this is a lot like Many Waters in that it's slow and dull and nothing much seems to be at stake for Polly. I feel like the return of Polly to the location of the Meg novels ought to feel significant, but it doesn't really. The "series," such as it was, ends with a fizzle.
Also note that the book refers to the present day of Polly as the twentieth century, but as I discussed in my last post, the evidence would seem to indicate that A Wind in the Door and A Swiftly Tilting Planet are set in the twenty-first century, much less this book a generation later!
* That said, my wife's edition of An Acceptable Time (Laurel-Leaf, with a Cliff Nielsen cover) has a 1997 introduction by L'Engle where she calls it part of the "Time Quartet." Was she counting Acceptable Time but not counting Many Waters? I've never seen that particular configuration anywhere else. It does seem so, because when she lists the characters, she focuses on Meg, Charles Wallace, Polly, and Zachary, but doesn't mention Sandy and Dennys.