TV Review - Better Call Saul S02E02 & S02E03 "Cobbler" & "Amarillo"

Apologies on the lateness of this review. College work has been sucking away all my energy over the past two weeks, but now I'm back to talk about the next two episodes of Better Call Saul. And to be honest, there isn't a whole lot to talk about. We're still at the stage where the foundations of the season's plot are being laid, before events really kick off.

The main thread so far is Jimmy trying to adjust to working in a large, professional law firm. From the way he carries himself in board meetings, it's clear why Jimmy would be such an attractive asset to them, given his magnetism and gift of the gab. We see it in slightly less scrupulous ways as well, like Jimmy ambushing a group of seniors in Texas, hoping to score more clients in Davis and Main's push against Sandpiper. We also get to see Jimmy's first major clash with the firm when he airs a commercial without their consent, adding the first nail to his coffin as a reputable lawyer.

Jimmy's most entertaining moment is undoubtedly where he's forced to explain away Warmolt's bizarre behaviour to the police. The show has a great way of forcing its characters into tight situations and getting them to come up with novel solutions; we saw it last season when Jimmy was kidnapped by Tuco, and again when he was forced to find the “abducted” Kettelmans. Here, Jimmy's explanation for Warmolt is hilarious in its sheer Would-I-lie-about-this? brazenness, while also ending on a more serious note when Kim lectures him on doctoring evidence. This is more a teaser for a major plot point than a plot point in itself, but like the Davis and Main commercial, it gives a credible explanation for how a lawyer as committed as Jimmy could end up getting kicked out of the firm.

It also causes some cracks in his relationship with Kim. I like how their relationship has become a lot more open since last season, with their romantic feelings becoming more overt as they get more comfortable with each other. Seeing how great the two work together obviously adds to to the tragedy of the whole thing, since the relationship can only end in disaster.

Chuck McGill (Michael McKean) returns, with a much frostier relationship with his little brother, understandably. While Chuck was characterised as the straight-laced brother back in Season 1, I couldn't help notice a slight change in his presence here. We first see Chuck struggling to occupy himself playing the piano in his darkened home. In the board meetings, he has to silently watch while Jimmy dominates proceedings. Maybe it's my imagination, but I wonder if Chuck is going to resort to more underhand techniques this season, not so much for the good of the firm, as out of resentment at watching his more reckless brother become more successful than him. It wouldn't surprise me – given how envy and bitterness was at the heart of Jimmy being forced to leave Cicero – if Gilligan and Gould decided to link the two brothers together thematically.

Mike's subplot also gets a bit more development here. Staking out his daughter's house to protect her and Kaylee from a gang is exactly the sort of compassion mixed with cold determination we've come to expect from him. It also links in again with Mike's disillusionment with the police; he does it himself since the Albuquerque cops don't seem that concerned. The “twist” where it's hinted that Stacey (Kerry Condon) may have imagined raises more questions: is she becoming paranoid? Is Mike going to have to become more involved with his family? How is he going to square his responsibilities to them with his further forays into the Albuquerque Underworld?

Episode 3 tantalisingly ends with Nacho offering Mike a job to “make someone disappear”. My first instinct was that it might be Tuco or even Gus Fring (just a little something to get viewers even more lathered up). But I guess if that were the case they would have shown just who Nacho wants bumped off – I suppose whoever it is is someone we haven't met before. It would also be a little too soon for Mike – who even in this episode is reluctant to get involved in anything too deep – would suddenly start playing politics by jumping from one crime lord to another.

I suppose Mike's plot at this stage, like Jimmy's, is not about linking Better Call Saul in with its parent show. Right now it seems more of a personal story, showing how Mike gets dragged down further into a life of crime. Unlike Jimmy, his weakness isn't recklessness, but his sense of duty to his family.

For the moment, the season is proceeding at a slow enough pace. But it's certainly not skimping on deepening and developing its characters.

Book Review - Century Rain (Alastair Reynolds)

Century Rain is a futuristic sci-fi thriller from Alastair Reynolds. It opens in the 23^rd century, where humanity has divided into two factions – the machine-augmented Slashers and the more conservative Threshers – and the Earth has been deserted in the wake of a machine-led catastrophe. War between Slashers and Threshers is looming, especially over who gets to possess the Earth, which has been overtaken by machines. An archeologist named Verity Auger is approached by the Securities Board of the Threshers (aka, the secret service) to investigate a secret phenomenon; an immense metallic sphere capable of housing a planet. Inside is a replica of the Earth set during an alternate 1950s. Auger is called on to retreive some top secret documents from Paris, while evading the hostile Slasher forces that have already penetrated the planet.

One thing you can say for Alastair Reynolds is that he knows how to convey a sense of scale. Like his other works, this book spans vast swathes of space, sometimes even bending the laws of reality to give his universe an even greater scope. Even then, this feels like only one portion of a much bigger story. We keep getting hints of other events, like the past wars between Slashers and Threshers, and the Nanocaust which destroyed the Earth. The biggest event is the creation of the spheres, which we're kept in the dark about. We never find out who created them, or “how” or “why” for that matter. While it can feel like a bit of cheat to string the reader along for 500 pages with no clear answer, I like how Reynolds keeps certain things back, making his universe feel so much bigger. He's tackled similar themes in other works like Pushing Ice, where another super-advanced civilisation creates an enormous structure capable of containing a planet. I imagine you'd have to read all his novels to really understand it, given how he likes to loosely thread them together.

The alternate Earth is a different addition to his other books. This is the first time I've read Reynolds trying to write a “historical” piece. The concept of averting WWII has been around a long time, but Reynolds handles it in a fascinating way here. Here the War hasn't been averted, but greatly shortened, lasting a few months as the Nazis failed to take France due to unseasonally heavy rain (caused by the artificial climate of the sphere). Without the arms race that followed, the human race didn't progress technologically and is still stuck in a 1930s type world without television, computers, and most crucially, spacefaring technology that would reveal the truth about their world. Technology is not the only change though; because the Nazis never got as far as the Final Solution, there was no widespread condemnation of Fascism and global movement towards civil rights. The alternate France is clearly moving down the Fascist route again, while our protagonist (an American PI named Wendell Floyd) can only helplessly watch.

While Reynolds loves to play around with his universe and invent all sorts of weirdness, I didn't think his characterisation was that strong. It's not that he doesn't try; we spend a lot of time with Auger and Floyd, finding out about their pasts, their motivations, and their relations with the other characters. Reynolds does a lot to make these people three-dimensional and interesting, but for some reason, I didn't feel as invested in them as I should have. I suppose the hyperfuturistic setting is part of the problem. Reynolds's universe is certainly alien, but it's so alien that I sometimes struggle to connect with the people in it. The constant presence of technology, which has become almost omnipotent in its development, also makes the universe feel a bit too dettached from ours, as technologically-driven as our world is.

The scenes in alternate Paris were the best for me, as here the characters felt strongest. The relatability of the setting may have helped here. Floyd's situation was one that I think almost everyone can relate to. He has a choice between continuing his life in France with its – limited – security, or he can go to America with his one-time flame, Greta, and risk starting a new life there. Between a corrupt society, precarious job and unfulfilled ambitions, this is certainly not easy reading, but it's still the part of the book I feel works the best. I thought the slow-burning romance between Auger and Floyd was decently handled. I'm glad Reynolds didn't make it too saccharine, or go the other extreme and have them clash so much that their feelings didn't feel plausible. That said, I didn't think their relationship was remarkable – it didn't stay with me long after finishing the book – but it was enough to fill up the middle portion of the story.

Something else I feel this story could have needed was a bit more humour. Reynolds doesn't often try for humour, and when he does it's usually characters quipping in life-or-death situations, a style I don't really care for. Most of the time, his work comes off as po-faced and too serious, which can make be hard to engage with sometimes.

The technobabble can also be overbearing sometimes. Reynolds spends a lot of time discussing wormholes, nanotechnology, secret communications, and God knows what else. It's just about legible if you pay attention, which can be difficult when the plot slows down. Be warned, the plot slows a lot in this book, especially near the beginning and the end. The final section consists of our heroes travelling through space, trying to stop a superweapon being deployed on Floyd's Earth. It lasts about a hundred pages but I feel it could have been pared down a bit. This is another tactic Reynolds uses to show how enormous the universe is, by having his characters take ages to get from A to B, which is understandable if you want to convey realism. But did it really have to be done this much? By this point, I was just trying to finish the book as quickly as possible.

One last thing I want to touch on are the villains. The most predominant are those weird kids on Floyd's Earth, who in reality are genetically-modified soldiers which have stuck around a bit longer than their sell-by date, and are now starting to malfunction in psychotic ways. I love to see this sort of genre-bending, and Reynolds uses it to great effect here. The children behave like ghouls from European folklore, yet also serve as a warning about the limits of technology – the merging of Old and New World symbols is definitely one of my favourite things about this book.

However, these are only grunts. The real villains, the ones pulling all the strings are far, far less interesting. In fact, we only meet one of them briefly, and for the rest of the story, all we see of them are the tail-lights of their receding spaceship. Hardly what you'd call memorable.

With all that said, I'd still reccommend Century Rain for any sci-fi fans out there. Its eye for the grandiose and spectacular may feel alienating, especially when it comes to making the story feel more personal, but it's still well worth checking out.

TV Review - Better Call Saul (S02E01) "Switch"

It's hard to believe that already a year has gone by since the premiere of season 1 of Better Call Saul. Season 2 opens with a reminder of where Saul (Bob Odenkirk) ended up after escaping the carnage wrought by Walter White; working at a Cinnabon cafe in Omaha. The episode opens with some tropes we've come to expect from Vince Gilligan; extreme close-ups, ironic soundtrack, and a dreary disillusionment with modern society. At the end of another long day, Saul gets locked in the dumpster area, where the only way out is an alarmed fire escape. His dilemma in the opening scene reflects the deeper one he faces in Albuquerque; should he wait around for someone to get him out (or offer him a job), or should he plough ahead and take a risk (in this case, getting arrested or fired)?

The episode then cuts back to where Saul (still going by Jimmy McGill) was at the end of Season 1; turning his back on the legal profession to live out a life of directionless hedonism. Jimmy's forced to question every choice he's made since coming to Albuquerque; if all his efforts to become a lawyer have been to win his brother's approval, why should he bother when Chuck has no faith in him anyway? The possibility of redemption arrives in the form of Kim Wexler (Rhea Seehorn), the one person who still refuses to let Jimmy throw his life away. As Kim tries to talk Jimmy into taking up the offer to work at Davis & Main, Jimmy rebuffs her with his own philosophy. Both arguments make sense given the characters' situation, and the episode toys with the audience's expectations about which way Jimmy will go in the end.

The scene leads to a lengthy sequence where Jimmy and Kim con an obnoxious stockbroker (Kyle Bornheimer) into treating them to dinner, in exchange for spinning him a yarn about their long-lost wealthy uncle. The script wisely doesn't tell us why Jimmy approaches him in the first place, or what his angle is when he plays up the role of a dupe. It's only when Jimmy and Kim run out on the check that Jimmy's motivations are made clear to us, and to Kim: scamming people is fun, and when life doesn't reward you for your hard work, why not have a little fun? This scene plays out like a lawyer's patter, with snappy dialogue and exuberant performances to lull the viewer in, not getting to the point until the very end. The closest analogue I could think of from last season was Jimmy's meltdown at the retirement home, where an innocent game of bingo turns into a truly unpleasant sob story. It's a form of storytelling that Gilligan clearly enjoys, and it's used to excellent effect here.

We also see it in the episode's other plot. Mike Ehrmantraut (Jonathan Banks) is unimpressed with the decisions made by his “boss”, Daniel Warmolt (Mark Proksch), and, in a most characteristic way, calmly walks away when he knows it's not worth his time. Warmolt had only a small role last year, but there are hints that he could become more central here. I certainly hope so, as this is a character with a lot of mileage – with his luminous runners and outrageous compensatory Hummer, one could read him as a more comical Walter White (if we didn't already have one). His Fargo-esque accent underlines how much of an outsider he is in sunbaked New Mexico. Endearingly, Warmolt lacks the most basic understanding of how to be a successful criminal, like not to call the cops when you've clearly got a dark secret in your home.

Tuco's lieutenant, Nacho (Michael Mando) also returns, still as menacing as ever. Interestingly, it's periphary characters like these that are currently driving the plot, as Jimmy, Kim and Mike don't really do much this week. Not that I'm complaining. The season's only just beginning and it's already itching to go places, throwing all manner of questions at us.

How does Jimmy go from a respectable lawfirm to a strip mall? What does Warmolt have behind his wall? Why wasn't Jimmy supposed to turn off that switch?

Answers to all these and more coming soon!

Book Review - The Maltese Falcon (Dashiell Hammett)

Private investigator Sam Spade is hired by a young woman to find her sister, fearing her disappearance is connected with her troublesome boyfriend, Phil Thursby. When his partner is shot while tailing Thursby, Spade starts to unravel a much deeper and more complicated case, centering around a coveted black falcon, a medieval artefact worth millions of dollars . . .

Being a noir novel, The Maltese Falcon is not without its complexity when it comes to plot. However, I feel the story works because of its relative simplicity. Dashiell Hammett's prose is less grandiose than the likes of Raymond Chandler. He doesn't add philosophical musings to the story, but merely describes what is happening in the present.

Although the book follows Spade, we aren't given an insight into his thoughts unless he talks about them out loud. Hammett likes to describe Spade's facial expressions, but leaves it up to the reader to decipher them. In this way, the characters are constantly kept at arm's length, keeping their motivations in the dark which leaves the reader more freedom to interpret them how they want.

Because the book avoids introspection, Hammett's focus on external description is heightened. He has a keen eye for detail and creates a vivid impression of what his characters look like. Spade is described at the start as a “blond satan”, and the V's of his face – eyebrows, nose and mouth – are emphasised (something here). Other characters, like Gutman or Joel Cairo, also get in-depth descriptions, which makes the world of the text feel more vivid, and its characters more memorable.

The lack of introspection also leaves Spade's relations with other characters often open to interpretation. I thought his relationship with his secretary, Effie Perine, was the most interesting. There's a mutual affection there, though friction sometimes comes into it. Spade likes to play at being brash and cocky, whereas Effie is more straightforward and can find Spade exasperating sometimes. Hammett gives away enough to keep the reader interested, without making explicit if their relationship has romantic potential, or is more of a friendship or avuncular dynamic.

I thought there were also seeds of an interesting dynamic between Spade and his partner, Miles Archer. Spade clearly doesn't like Miles, and doesn't respect him either as he has an affair with his wife, Iva. However, Miles is killed early on in the story, and Iva only appears in a few scenes, meaning this subplot is not explored as much as I think it could have been.

I also thought Bridgit O'Shaughnessy, the woman who comes to Spade at the start, could have been developed more. She milks the damsel in distress trope a few too many times, and her teary pleas for help come off very repetitive. Hammett at least doesn't take long to show she's not as innocent as she lets on, but the fact that it doesn't lead to any big change in her personality or behaviour leaves her feeling a bit flat as a character.

Despite its weak points, I'd still reccommend The Maltese Falcon to any crime fans. I'll also make sure to check out Hammett's other works in the future.

Book Review - The Space Vampires (Colin Wilson)

“Have you ever killed anyone, Benjamin? It's like sex only there's a winner.”

--- Mr Hyde, Jekyll (2007)

The Space Vampires has a deceptive title. I got my copy at a booksale and was told I could take ten books for €5; I only took this one to fill that quota. From the title and the blurb – about a sex-crazed lady who starts seducing men to their destruction – I was expecting a bit of disposable pulp.

I was surprised to learn that the book was in fact a philosophical tract written by a man who seemed to garner some controversy in his lifetime. I don't know much about philosophy, but I am interested to see how writers infuse their personal beliefs with their stories. Therefore, I approached Mr Wilson's book with more interest.

The plot of The Space Vampires is what you'd expect; a team of astronauts discover a derelict spacecraft built and abandoned by some formidably intelligent alien race, yet somehow harbouring humans in suspended animation. Three of these specimens are brought down to Earth, wherein they break free and start preying on any humans they find by seducing them and possessing their minds. The fate of the world lies primarily in the hands of Olof Carlsen, commander of the team that discovered the “vampires”, and Dr Hans Fallada, who becomes fascinated by their hunting techniques.

One thing I'll say for this story is how effectively it shifts between different genres. The opening chapters, from Carlsen's exploration of the space derelict (christened the Stranger) to Fallada's experiments with life-fields, are situated well within the science-fiction genre. Wilson gets the plot off running almost instantaneously with the Stranger's arrival, and creates an oppressive feeling of dread when the team embarks on it. Fallada's experiments with sea creatures creates dread of a different sort, where the simple act of an eel eating an octopus becomes an almost sexual act, as depicted by Fallada's “life-streams”.

This section seems to be inspired by the controversial theory of the physicist, Harold Saxon Burr, who argued that all organisms have an electromagnetic field surrounding them that corresponds with their physical state. Wilson uses this theory to add to the philosophical argument of his own work – he parallels the life-field theory with his own depiction of the mental/sexual relationship between the vampires and their prey. The concept of an interconnected universe is explored by the text in various ways, from the life-field experiments, to Carlsen's newfound telepathy, to the aliens' own concept of sexual attraction.

The story shifts into Gothic territory when Carlsen and Fallada travel to Sweden in the search for answers about the vampires. They come to a secluded mansion, owned by an eccentric count named Geijerstam, who has a trio of young, eager female students to greet the newcomers. Wilson undermines our expectations here; the count has all the trappings of the Stoker-like vampire but turns out to be benevolent and helpful. Instead, it's Carlsen who is the vampire – or more precisely, has a psychic connection to one of them after a brief encounter.

The act of seduction itself is the text's replacement of blood-sucking; it's through this method that the vampires infect their victims. Rather than bloodlust, it's sexual lust that the victims are overcome with, and Carlsen finds his personal magnetism skyrocketing in the wake of this new power. Unsurprisingly, he has to fight to keep a hold of this humanity in the face of this temptation.

I liked how the text subverts the classical vampire trope and transplants the Gothic theme into a form that contemporary readers could relate to. However, it really could have been handled better. Carlsen tries to use the thought of his wife and children to stop himself giving into his desires. I found this potentially moving development lacking, as we really don't see much of Carlsen's family life. His relationship with them isn't explored much, and so I found it hard to get too invested in this part of the story.

This point in the novel throws up a bigger problem, however. Wilson bases the vampires' methods around his own perception of men and women's sexual relations. The book uses the standard “Men are from Mars, women are from Venus” argument; in this case, “Men are inherently sexually aggressive, while women are submissive”. At one point, Geijerstam takes Carlsen to a psychic to examine the vampires' connection to him. She does this by hanging a pendulum over him, and Geijerstam explains that there are subtle differences in the experiment when it comes to men and women. In this case, the text seems to be arguing that a person's mental state is somehow connected with their gender. I'm not an expert on gender politics, but I wasn't much convinced by Wilson's argument here. For one thing, it completely ignores LGBT people. The argument comes off as very archaic and simplistic

Thankfully, the story does pick up again in the third act, where the truth about the vampires' origins is revealed. Wilson not only conveys how truly alien the vampires are, but how much of a culture shock it would be to meet them. When Carlsen is shown just how much of the Universe they have explored, it puts the Planet Earth in a rather obsolete perspective. Carlsen's nihilistic reaction to this – and to the vampires' unexpected fate – left quite an impression on me. Wilson also draws a broad outline of the aliens' culture, how they became vampires, and also of their intentions in coming to Earth. It's enough to make the novel feel richer, but not too much that it gets bogged down in technical details.

The theme of interconnectedness returns to the novel's climax. Near the start, Fallada showed how the life-fields of predator and prey work in harmony as one is consumed by the other. Here, the vampires' own predatory nature is a result, not of connection, but isolation. Cut off from their own world, they're forced to take genocidal measures just to survive. I couldn't help feeling some degree of sympathy for the vampires, but Wilson manages to avoid downplaying the horror of their acts.

The Space Vampires is an interesting if uneven novel. I didn't agree with all of its arguments and the characterisation is pretty thin. Where it succeeds is building a feeling of weirdness and horror, while hinting at some deeper, groundbreaking themes.

Book Review: Doctor Who: Lucifer Rising (Andy Lane & Jim Mortimore)

In the mid-22^nd century, the Doctor, Ace and Bernice Summerfield travel to Project Eden, a human expedition to find valuable minerals on the planet Lucifer. There are also rumours of “Angels” on the planet, which some among the crew wish to make contact with. When crewmembers start being murdered one by one, the Doctor's investigations lead to a horrific plan for the planet, one which Ace may be mixed up in . . .

From that plot summary, Lucifer Rising may sound like a very traditional Doctor Who story, but it proves so much more than a murder mystery on another planet. This is a story that could never have existed on TV (and even as a film it might have suffered) and shows exactly what a Doctor Who book series can do.

The Seventh Doctor is captured very well here, especially in his darker, brooding moments. Unsurprisingly, he's already ahead of the game when he arrives. Lane and Mortimore succeed in keeping him and his motives a mystery from the reader, even when chunks of the story are told from his perspective. He also gets some comedic moments in there, which alleviate the story's dark tone without feeling forced. Other, broader aspects of the Doctor are also captured well here. We see curiosity at a new environment, a dim view of authoritarians, compassion for the misguided, and moral outrage at the destruction of a whole planet for personal gain.

There is one moment which might strike some people as quite out-of-character though, which is when the Doctor shoots the main villain at point blank range. It's a pretty bald defiance of the character's usual distaste for violence, but personally, I felt it was handled appropriately. In fact, I think it worked especially well for this Doctor. The Seventh Doctor had a habit of goading villains into destroying themselves while keeping up a facade of moral righteousness; here the Doctor's hypocrisy is challenged and he realises that if he's willing to manipulate Davros into blowing up Skaro, he may as well call a spade a spade and do the deed himself. All in all, the authors have done a fine job of capturing the Doctor here.

Then there's Ace, who's a bit trickier given how she's changed so much from her TV persona. There are a lot of references to her history with the Doctor, where she got fed up of being used by him for his moral crusades, but they add to the character and don't come off as fanwank. Anyone reading this who's never seen on Ace on TV shouldn't have much trouble getting a handle on her character.

Lane and Mortimore show how Ace has become more militant since leaving the Doctor; she's better able to give orders, keep a cool head in a bad situation, and switch sides to preserve her own life. I feared she would come off a bit angsty and too morose to be likeable and interesting, but I felt the balance was struck just right. We do get a bit of insight into how she's fared in the interim between Love and War and Deceit, with an especially effective anecdote about meeting the Daleks again. It's only a short scene, but it still says a lot about Ace's mindset, the universe of the story, and the relationship between her and Bernice.

And then there's Bernice Summerfield, who's in the unenviable position of getting stuck between the Doctor and Ace. Between the former's shadowiness and latter's bitterness, it is nice to have one character who just likes to travel for the sake of fun and discovery. There's a nice bit where Bernice explores the moon Moloch and notes its bizarre wildlife. The emphasis on discovery harkens back to Doctor Who's roots, when it was more about exploring an unknown universe than sustaining years of mythology. We also get some tense moments between Bernice and the Project Eden team, which also tie in with an old Doctor Who staple, showing how the companions deal with the people they meet. With the Doctor and Ace on one side, and Bernice on the other, two important aspects of the show are covered nicely here.

Then we come to the guest characters, and this I feel is where the momentum slows down a bit. I have several issues with the characters here, one of which there seem to be too many of them. The book is packed with them, and most don't seem to have any attributes aside from their names. There are glimpses of interesting stories here, but the competition for space means none of them feel quite as developed as they should have been.

One character, Alex Bannen, starts off as a smug scientist who cares more about material gain from Lucifer and not the deeper significance. We then find out about his tragic past, which gives him more depth and the promise of better development. And then . . . he kind of disappears from the book, only to reappear towards the end.

Then there's Adjudicator Bishop, who's introduced as a narrow-minded bureaucratic who's obsessed with paperwork and (of course!) suspicious of the Doctor. Then somewhere along the way, he morphs into a pulp action hero who gives speeches about truth and justice, which he administers with his gun. I'm sorry, but where the hell did this come from?

This technique of hinting at characters' motivations without showing them outright works for the TARDIS crew, since the series will be following them and the authors know they can take their time with them. But for the one-off characters, the ones whose stories are meant to be wrapped up in one book, it just feels like a waste. I'm not saying Lane and Mortimore can't create interesting characters – I would have loved to have seen Alex, Bishop and Christine all get their own stories. It's just a shame that they get so squashed against each other that we don't get to know them as much as we should have done.

Another annoying habit, which is especially clear in the early stages, is that the introductions are very clumsy. The introductory scene is one of the worst cases of telling and not showing I've seen in a long time. It crops up at other points as well – Bishop's past is unknown until we get a handy paragraph explained to us. Again, this feels more like a pitch for a fascinating character than a proper story for one.

And then there's the really confusing choice to skip over their introductions to the Doctor and his companions. For some reason, Lane and Mortimore skip this part – I actually forget if the crew's memories were modified to make them accept the time travellers or not, and the book is so dense I didn't feel like going back to check – and so, it made it hard for me to engage with the story early on. This kind of tricksiness when it comes to plotting makes me suspicious, or maybe I'm just sick of it being pulled by Steven Moffat so much. Either way, I couldn't quite understand the reason for it.

Now we come to the science fiction part, which is where I feel the book really excels. Legion is probably one of the weirdest beings ever created for the Doctor Who universe. You'd have to read the book to see why as I couldn't explain it here, but all I can say is that this could never have worked on TV at the time. It shows how far Lane and Mortimer have taken the print format and run with it. I also loved how Legion explains itself using a mundane analogy of a pond, as it reminded me of the Fourth Doctor explaining transdimensionalism to Leela using boxes.

We also get some pretty inventive death scenes towards the end, which I also won't bother trying to put into words here. All I'll say is this is certainly not a book for the squeamish. At this point, the story becomes pure Lovecraftian horror of a sort that some people will surely love, but might turn others off. I admit I enjoyed reading it at first, but I felt like this section dragged out for too long. Going back to the character issues, some are introduced just so they can get killed off, which struck me as a bit of a callous move. This is one part of the book that I'd say was gratuitous.

In keeping with the spirit of the Seventh Doctor's era, the book also contains some heavy-handed ecological and anti-capitalist themes. Lines like “the rape of Lucifer” will likely discourage some people by their sheer blatantness. Personally, I'd say it was warranted, given how these issues are even more relevant today. The depiction of a future world that's overpopulated and polluted certainly clashes with the upbeat philosophy we're used to seeing in Doctor Who. But Doctor Who at its best has never been one to shy away from harsh truths, and so I feel the metaphors work to the book's advantage.

Lucifer Rising is by no means a perfect book, as I've said. It's characterisation is often clumsy, the plot can drag a little and it could have been cut down a bit. Its tone is dark throughout with only a few spots of fun, which certainly won't be to everyone's taste. But if you want to see the Doctor Who formula taken to its full potential, I would highly recommend it.

Book Review - Moon Over Soho (Ben Aaronovitch)

Moon Over Soho is the second in Ben Aaronovitch's Rivers of London series, which follows Met DC Peter Grant as he investigates the supernatural underbelly of his native city. This installment opens with Peter looking into a strange pattern of deaths – jazz artists who keep dropping dead of seemingly natural causes, and all around the area of Soho. The trail only gets stranger and more disturbing from there, and Peter discovers that the truth lies in his own past, and the past of the city.

There's a lot to love about this book, but its narrator has to be number one. Peter is a wonderfully engaging lead, both an impulsive young maverick and a somewhat aged cynic. His sardonic view of the world and the force he works for brings a lot of levity to the story. His conversational tone gives him a chance to go off on tangents, but Aaronovitch never lets this slow the story down. Instead, it makes the reader more intimate with Peter as he shares his thoughts with them, as if talking to them in the pub.

Peter's somewhat flippant tone also provides a curious lense through which we see his personal life. The story opens with him going to see a friend and colleague, Lesley May, who was badly scarred due to events in the last book, to the point that she doesn't show her face and communicates with a keyboard. It's a pretty grim start to the book, but Peter never lets this get him down. Indeed, this could be seen as one of Peter's flaws; he hints several times that he's afraid of what he'll see when Lesley shows him her face. Being a young man, Peter's not one to go on and on about his feelings, but Aaronovitch gives us just enough of a glimpse to show Peter's vulnerability without wallowing in melodrama.

He uses a similar approach when writing about Peter's homelife. The reader gets an indication that Peter had a less than happy childhood, with a short-tempered mother and an aloof father who spent most of his time working on his music. Aaronovitch never spells this out for us, but there does seem to be some vague rift between Peter and his parents, which could explain why Peter has such an independent spirit.

For instance, jazz is a huge part of the story, and Peter knows so much about it because of how much his dad listened to it and played it, yet Peter admits that he doesn't even like jazz that much. He says this to the reader, but not his father, as if he doesn't confide in him that much. Peter may not be the type to wear his heart on his sleeve, but I get the feeling like Aaronovitch is dropping hints for a character arc that will explore this in greater detail.

Other characters are treated similarly, particularly DCI Thomas Nightingale, Peter's mentor in magic, and superior officer in the supernatural branch of the Met known as “The Folly”. We get a few hints about Nightingale's past, like his boarding school days with other wizards, and his time during the Second World War. I liked the contrast between the cool, composed figure that Peter knows and the more powerful younger soldier who blew up a Tiger Tank.

For all this, we get the sense of tragic quality to Nightingale's character. For instance, he and Peter visit his old school at one point, where Peter finds an enormous memorial his mentor carved by hand to commemorate the wizards who fell in the War. There's also the fact that, despite his powers and intelligence, Nightingale spends most of his time shut up at home with only his silent maid, Molly, for company. As he says at one point, “while I lived here with Molly, the world continued on without me” (P. 218)

The theme of life wrecked by the cataclysm of the War is returned to throughout the story. The wizarding community was rapidly depleted, leaving the survivors cut off and unaware of each other's existence. This allows a sinister black magician to go on operating for years without Nightingale being aware of it. This is an interesting contrast to other fantasy series like Harry Potter, where the magical communities, though in hiding, are extensive and interconnected. Here, they're cut off and scattered, reflecting the devastating effect the War had on people across the world. The London Blitz also becomes a major plot point, and is used to show how disaster can transform people into monsters, sometimes in unexpected ways.

If the wizarding community is fractured, the city of London is buzzing with life, and Aaronovitch never misses a chance to show off the depth of his knowledge of the place. Peter wryly observes the architecture and people of the city, and sometimes diverts into little anecdotes about its history. These parts of the book will obviously appeal more to people who know London well. I sometimes found it a bit hard to relate to, especially when it came to placenames and geography, but I appreciated the personal touch all the same. Aaronovitch once said he'd only be seperated from London when it was prized from his cold, dead fingers, and that devotion is as much a cornerstone of this book as its characters.

His characterisation of the Met is also interesting; while many urban fantasy books have the hero try to keep their supernatural dealings a secret, Peter works for an institution that knows all about his line of work. In a diplomatic “See no evil, hear no evil” arrangement, the powers-that-be tolerate the Folly's presence so long as it doesn't impinge on other areas of the Met or reveal itself to the public. However, it also means the Folly receives no funding so as to avoid a paper trail, meaning Peter and Nightingale are brought in to investigate the unusual cases while receiving little credit for it in return. It plays in well with the cynical tone of the books and also gives Peter another shaky relationship with authority.

In a similar vein is the testy relationship between the gods of the River Thames, with Peter stuck in the middle. The gods don't get as much focus as they did in the last book, but it's clear that this is an arrangement that could get Peter in serious trouble further down the line. The sinister and manipulative Lady Tyburn makes a few appearances, casting a shadow over proceedings and setting the stage for further clashes with the Folly.

Another character of interest is Simone Fitzwilliam, former lover of Peter's first victim. She's introduced as a typical dettached ice maiden, and her effect on Peter has the sort of effect you'd expect from their first meeting. While I found parts of this subplot a bit predictable (Spoiler: They end up fucking), there were other parts that I didn't see coming. Not only was I glad of that, I felt the way this plot progressed tied very well into some of the book's other themes, while also making Peter a more vulnerable and relatable protagonist as a result. It also sets up another arc, with another enigmatic villain.

While the tone of the book is often slow in keeping with the arduousness of a police investigation, the action is also well-handled when it occurs. Whether its to do with commandeering an ambulance or chasing a suspect, Aaronovitch does a good job of balancing tension with dry wit. There are also a few inclusions of gore which take the book down a much darker and more disturbing path.

In conclusion, I'd say Moon Over Soho leans heavier on the criminal side than the fantastical. Overall, it feels more like a gritty modern thriller with the supernatural sometimes dropping in, rather than an equal blending of the two genres. That's not to say that fans of the latter genre should be put off – even if crime isn't your usual cup of tea, I'd say this book is still fun and funny enough to win many people over.