Doctor Who: The BBC Books #57 – Divided Loyalties by Gary Russell

Doctor Who: The Past Doctor Adventures

#26

Divided Loyalties

By Gary Russell

Oh boy, here we go. I was looking forward to this one in an admittedly morbid sort of way. Divided Loyalties is regarded as a bit of a stinker in some circles and there is a certain catharsis to reading that sort of book — or reviewing it, at least.

It would be refreshing to say that everyone’s just being mean and it’s brilliant actually, just as it would be rudely amusing to say that it’s as bad as the worst reviews make out. I’m going to be a pain and say that it’s neither of those things exactly — although Divided Loyalties still isn’t very good.

It’s on arguably shaky ground to begin with just by being a sequel to The Celestial Toymaker. This is all subjective, natch, but I find that story’s structure rather unsatisfying: the original Toymaker story is essentially ON, <however many random games you wish to include>, OFF, with little story or character progression in between. It could be four episodes long or forty. The same pattern was employed in another (unproduced) Brian Hayles script, The Queen Of Time, as well as in (to much stronger effect) The Mind Robber, which at least had the sense to mine storytelling itself for its random diversions, paying off quite spectacularly by mashing it all together at the end.

Gary Russell mostly avoids this problem. Divided Loyalties does the perilous if-you-lose-you-die thing, of course, but not until fairly late in the (ahem) game, at least where the TARDIS crew are concerned. We only see brief snatches of it beforehand, with an unassuming family kidnapped for the games and a man forced to play a giant form of Snakes & Ladders.

Rather than just play games all the time, most of the book is concerned with the characters playing them. Gary Russell is a past master at continuity links, which can be a slippery slope to just writing fan fiction, but if he’s going to put that list-friendly knowledge to practical use then I don’t really see an issue. He’s done it before: the strongest moments in The Scales Of Injustice are about where the Brigadier and Liz find themselves, and those ideas are genuinely informed by Russell’s fan card. A similarly concerted effort is made in Divided Loyalties to mine the lives of Tegan, Nyssa and Adric in order to Say Something about their place in the show, resulting in a sort of line being drawn under much of their Season 19 angst before setting off on the relatively low key Black Orchid. Kudos for trying, quite honestly.

Does the book still groan under the weight of continuity? Well, yes, but if you must mention Tegan’s aunt (Logopolis), uncle (The Awakening) and cousins (Arc Of Infinity) in order to make the point that she might miss the rest of her father’s life, and if you use that to put all her “Take me back to Heathrow!” histrionics into perspective, then I think that deserves a pass for character development.

Slightly less convincing is the repeated underlining of Nyssa’s trauma re the Master usurping her father’s body, and the Doctor failing to do anything about it. One of those opportunities for character development that’s missed by the original show and conspicuous by its absence when you put these characters into full length novels, it makes sense to address it, and effort is made so that it will be germane to the plot… but is it enough? I’d say not really. It’s enough trauma to fuel a novel, quite frankly, whereas here it’s only one item on the list; later on when we’re meekly told “Whatever did or didn’t happen between [Nyssa] and the Doctor regarding Tremas and the Master, it was dealt with”, it feels more like a “tell” than a “show” solution to the problem. Save it for a novel that has the Master in it, perhaps. (People who’ve read the book: hold that thought.)

Least convincing is what it does with Adric. As the book goes on and the mind games ramp up, with the three companions all seeing visions that somewhat displace their confidence in the Doctor, Adric is suggested to be trying his best to fit in and his intelligence is treated as unequivocal: the Toymaker himself is genuinely impressed. The early parts, however, include some of the most embarrassing fnar-fnar-nobody-likes-this-character takedowns I’ve ever seen in print. Adric is “someone who thought green and yellow pyjamas were the height of cool fashion”; he is “sarcastic, but unfunny … lazy and workshy and, above all, forgets to bathe regularly”; he is curious out of “an innate need to be nosy rather than because of any genuine intellectual advancement he might achieve”; he says things “pointlessly”, he “waddles”, he has a “snub nose”, he opens doors without thinking which causes the Doctor to roll his eyes (“[Adric] was all smiles, completely forgetting that it was his pathetic need to explore that had got them into this mess”), and he butts in “unhelpfully” with things like “‘I’m an orphan, too,’ said Adric, presumably noticing that he hadn’t yet become the centre of attention.”

Some of this is perhaps meant to indicate Tegan’s particular distaste for him, although to be honest that reflects almost as nastily on her as it does on him. And an effort is arguably made to walk it back by highlighting what Adric is trying to do. Either way, it’s loathsome to read. I remember starting Divided Loyalties years ago as a teen and giving up shortly after the author made an honest to god effort to canonise Adric having noticeable BO. I mean, what are we doing here? This is fan fiction of the worst kind: the sort of “you know it’s true!” convention banter that engages with the perception of characters and not with the substance. Matthew Waterhouse would probably like a word. The editor certainly should have.

None of this, however, is likely to top the proverbial Things People Don’t Like About Divided Loyalties list. For this, we must turn to the middle of the book, where the TARDIS crew still don’t consciously know about the Toymaker — he has appeared to them in visions but, for some reason, blanked their memories of it afterwards. A sleep-inducing drug is used and the Doctor remembers something that helpfully informs the rest of the plot. Specifically his youth on Gallifrey, which we then enjoy for 60 pages. You thought the companions’ back stories were a bit heavy on the continuity? Oh, sweet summer child.

The important bit is that as a young man on Gallifrey the Doctor made an ill-considered trip to the Toymaker’s realm which cost him two of his friends, one of whom in a way that influenced the Toymaker over centuries. This is the problem that now needs to be resolved.

I’m not a fan of hastily-introduced prequel facts because you can’t fake the mileage — it’s all very well him saying “I think about that fateful mistake every single day!” now but he never mentioned it on telly, did he? (You would think it might come up in, say, The Celestial Toymaker.) In its defence, this does set up the book’s plot… but then that’s a bit of a bootstrap defence, since the plot’s reliance on it is entirely the author’s choice.

But oh, the rest of it. The Doctor doesn’t just decide to go there: first he hangs around with his friends, the Deca, a group of 10 mildly insufferable Oxbridge-in-space students that includes the Doctor, Koschei (the Master), Mortimus (the Monk), Ushas (the Rani), Magnus (the War Chief) and Drax (he isn’t cool enough to have two names). So not only did all of the renegade Time Lords boringly already know each other at school — they were all in the same friend group. Most of their heroic-or-villainous attributes are handily already more or less on record, with the Doctor in particular having such rampant wanderlust that he gets thrown out of the Academy for it. Again, this is a pitfall of prequels, and it’s pure fan-brain in action: you take a sequence of events and make it destiny, actually, because everything must fit into a sequence. (See also an embarrassing in-universe reference to “Tremas” being an anagram of “Master,” and that apparently being a sign of inevitability.) You just don’t need this stuff.

The rest of the Gallifrey section runs the gamut from things that probably need to be there for world-building (there’s lashings of Lungbarrow material including Badger) to things crowbarred in because somebody mentioned them once (the hermit who showed the Doctor “the daisiest daisy”) to things that arguably break the show if they show up too soon (the Doctor and friends learn about Daleks and Cybermen). Certainly the feel of a book like Lungbarrow is nowhere to be found here, as we are far more invested in cameoing characters like Azmael than delving into the atmosphere of the place. I’m only amazed that when Russell makes a point of saying the Toymaker’s features “reminded the Doctor of one of the lecturers back at Prydon Academy” he somehow stops short of saying it’s the one played by the same actor. About the only thing we’re not being abjectly fanwankerish about here is the TV story this is a sequel to, which is mostly present in iconography only; I don’t know if that’s Gary Russell showing restraint or just a case of there not being anything useful to draw from — see, perhaps, my objection to its arbitrary ON-OFF games.

The key issue for me is its hyping up the specialness of the Doctor and his desire to leave Gallifrey, rather than letting it be a gradual resistance to his people’s principles. It feels like flatlining a character arc to say, he was always this. But let’s be honest, the whole thing is a massive indulgence. And really, what’s it doing slap bang in the middle of a novel? It doesn’t do the pace any favours: the Toymaker’s mostly been dropping unnecessarily cryptic hints up to this point (if he wants the Doctor so badly then why not just get on with it?), and then we take a whole fifth of the book out just to back-fill continuity. By the time we arrive at the actual plot with all the characters apprised of the facts it’s nearly home time.

I haven’t yet mentioned the plot particulars, but to be honest they’re not very arresting. The reclusive planet Dymok has gone radio silent; the orbiting station Little Boy II (a somewhat crass allusion to Nagasaki) is where the Doctor and co turn up, and they’re only too happy to help investigate. The crew, in defiance of Gary Russell’s usual writing style, don’t spend every waking hour sniping at each other, but there’s not much else to say about them. (There’s plenty of names, but that just gives us some useful losers for the games later on.) When some of them arrive on Dymok they find a people perpetually asleep; their dreams fuel the Toymaker, who we learn (in part during the Gallifrey continuity dump) is the Guardian of Dreams. The Doctor’s intrusion all those years ago is finally wearing off and the Toymaker needs his help to survive. And/or a new host, which naturally will be the Doctor. Cue the games, at long last.

Despite taking all that time out to set it up, there is a lot of explaining still to do around the Toymaker and his schemes. There’s also a lot of explaining to do around the Observer, a tangential figure with his own stake in events, and his schemes. The mind games affecting the companions are due in part to both of these figures, and the goalposts for what they’re actually trying to achieve move as all the explainifying goes on. To be honest, I just started nodding along by the end. The games — surreal exercises where people turn into giant chess pieces etc — ultimately feel like a minor concern, and certainly they don’t come alive as much in print as they would do on screen. The stakes, as far as the Doctor’s old friends are concerned, feel inevitably rushed since we only just met them. (Millennia, in particular, barely features.) The conclusion is rather hazy on this front.

There is some good use of the Toymaker here — I’m thinking of his mind-reading, which basically means picking up on the third-person prose happening all around him — but I did wonder if Russell could have gone further with a metaphysical character like that in a book setting. (Should this one be more like Conundrum?) I don’t know if I’d really call it a strong use of the Toymaker character overall, but then there isn’t much to go on. Making him the “Guardian of Dreams” seems like a reach? I don’t remember dreams featuring heavily in his one TV appearance. Nor in The Nightmare Fair, the cancelled 80s sequel that Gary Russell nevertheless bothers to segue into at the end of this.

It is, surprisingly, quite a good one for the Doctor, or at least for the incarnation we’re seeing here. The Fifth Doctor tends to be about as imposing as the celery he insists on wearing, but he’s pleasingly no-nonsense here, at one point pushing down an antagonist’s gun with a finger. Russell works in some authentically Davison-y “hmmm!”s, as well as incorporating the half-moon glasses from Frontios; perhaps they’re a talisman of Good Davison Doctoring. Russell is a bit less successful writing the “prequel” Doctor; obviously I’ve got my objections to his character arc and goodness knows to all that fanwank as well, but the actual character isn’t really distinct from the Davison one we’re seeing elsewhere. (Both do “hmmm!” and “my dear” at points.) It definitely feels like a stretch to put William Hartnell on the cover, even if canonically that is who it would be.

It might be less frustrating if Divided Loyalties had been a complete write-off, but there’s some real intent here to make something of the continuity (where the companions are concerned) and to do something slightly different (where the Toymaker is concerned). The choice to spend a lot of pages tying up plot points both pertinent and pointless is a millstone, however, weighing down any goodwill to the rest of it and effectively removing any sense of momentum. In the end, Divided Loyalties plays itself.

4/10

Doctor Who: The BBC Books #56 – The Taking Of Planet 5 by Simon Bucher-Jones & Mark Clapham

Doctor Who: The Eighth Doctor Adventures

#28

The Taking Of Planet 5

By Simon Bucher-Jones & Mark Clapham

Things are looking up for the Eighth Doctor Adventures. A range of books with much to recommend, they nevertheless often find themselves in ruts, usually consisting of visits to ill-fated colony worlds or, if Sam Jones is around, the nearest hospital. There’s a definite sense post-Interference that this will no longer do, and quite right. The scale of storytelling is much grander all of a sudden. You can’t move for all the ambition flying around.

This has its downsides. I found The Blue Angel all too pleased with itself and apparently keen to keep its genius out of reach of the reader. I felt like my time had been wasted. The Taking Of Planet 5 isn’t quite so obscure, but there is still that sense of authors trying really hard to prove how clever they are. I’m genuinely glad that there seems to be a renewed mission statement at BBC Books — be bigger, grander, don’t be afraid to get complicated — but I wonder if they’ve hit the accelerator a little too hard.

Once again we’re playing with ideas and entities established by Lawrence Miles (they didn’t pay that guy enough), and it’s not just him. The Doctor is intrigued by the apparently real existence of H.P. Lovecraft’s “Elder Things” so he takes Fitz and Compassion back to Earth’s pre-history to investigate. Here he finds Time Lords from his own future (Miles’s War In Heaven from Alien Bodies) masquerading as Elder Things after killing all the real ones. (Or, spoiler alert, the “real” ones.) They have a plan to help win their war, but this is in jeopardy because the Celestis (estranged Time Lord splinter group, also Alien Bodies) have infiltrated their group, hoping to usurp the plan for themselves. To make things worse, the two Celesti agents don’t share the same agenda. Meanwhile, 12 million years in the future, an Antarctic base in 1999 is investigating the fallout from what will happen here. Compassion has somehow straddled the two time periods.

It’s definitely complicated, and it’s not made any easier by all the characters being in disguise. The Time Lords look like blobby eldritch horrors, although that’s not their normal appearance; the Celestis look bizarre in their own way, but (when they’re not casually making themselves two-dimensional) they’re disguised as Time Lords disguised as eldritch horrors — actually, both are disguised as the same one. In the 1999 portion of the story one of the scientists is secretly a Time Lord agent, and pretty soon another one is a Celesti in disguise, killing and copying a little like The Thing.

Navigating all this can be tricky, especially when the Celestis are called “One” and “Two” and are sharing the same disguise. It’s harder still without a lot to get your teeth into character-wise. Both groups investigating this site either side of 12 million years, the Time Lords and the humans, could do with more definition.

The Time Lords are split into veterans and newborns, with the varying levels of experience that implies; their leader Xenaria has a certain no-nonsense attitude that comes across well, subordinate Holsred is quite likeable, but the rest could just as easily be random names generated as the novel went along. They believe the Doctor to be a general from their own ranks pretty much just because he said so, which is great as an example of the doctor’s ability to take (or fake) authority, but does rather diminish them as a serious concern. They’re all a bit silly, albeit knowingly so: busy people encumbered with tentacles.

The humans are worse. The Taking Of Planet 5 has quite an irreverent sense of humour, which is perhaps another carry-over from Lawrence Miles (he treats this sort of universe-bothering weirdness much the same, even in Interference), but it manifests rather awkwardly at times, particularly in 1999. Pretty much the only thing going for the humans character-wise is that McCarthy, an American woman, is fat, something the book finds very amusing. (“Luckily her butt was big enough to absorb most of the impact as she hit the ground.” Oof.) The rest all snap at each other or, where men and women are concerned, boringly lust after one another. The most interesting one isn’t human. There is indeed a joke to be made about whether you’d notice if these guys had been bodysnatched. You might hope to latch onto these scenes for their contribution to the plot, but nothing very interesting is happening in the 1999 part of the story, other than explaining how Compassion got there or why there’s a big hole in the dig site — things that, once revealed, are really more technical explanations given than great mysteries solved.

That’s the book’s main issue for me: a lot of it feels academic. That’s not to say it doesn’t have interesting ideas. The faked existence of characters from H.P. Lovecraft (and by extension, the ability to manifest any literary nonsense as real) is an obvious story goldmine, but the creatures are dead by the time we arrive and the device is hardly used again, very much damp-squibbing the Doctor’s assertion that “we’d better be prepared to meet anything. Anything at all.” The Time Lord plan is quite grand, involving the release of an ancient horror that might doom us all etc, but it rests entirely on close familiarity with a Classic story that is itself barely represented here. Granted, it’s safe to assume that sort of nerd pedigree in the readership — who else are these books aiming at? — but the casual way said story is invoked leaves us without any of its original legwork or sense of danger.

Then you have the Celesti plan — or plans I suppose, oy — which entirely concerns their headquarters, Mictlan. (A weird Hell analogue that is mysteriously falling apart.) Quite apart from why the reader should care about a place this fundamentally unpleasant, the existence or destruction of Mictlan is neither here nor there for most of the characters, besides One and Two. And heck, even those two feel differently about it. Blow it up, don’t blow it up. Ehh. (You can see how this will figure into the War In Heaven arc, so I’m willing to concede it will be interesting. But right now do the Doctor, Fitz or Compassion give much of a stuff either way? Not really. Should we, if they don’t?)

The best we’ve got in terms of stakes is general suggestiveness about the wider story arc(s), but for obvious reasons none of that pays off here. The War In Heaven doesn’t noticeably budge, although you can see how the removal of Mictlan might matter to all that. As to the other plan, it probably would have been a bad idea to try to control Evil From The Dawn Of Time #numbers anyway — it places the entire universe at risk to even try — but hey ho, they’re prevented from doing so because the Doctor is around to course correct, which is another thing that makes the Time Lords look like unthinking idiots for even attempting it. Still, this kind of thing suggests a way that a war in the distant future can affect the here and now. Considering the Doctor would rather not know about any of it, that’s probably the only way we’re going to integrate it into the EDAs.

Probably the most compelling thing about The Taking Of Planet 5 is another little ongoing Easter egg hunt, viz, what’s going on with Compassion? Fitz and the Doctor haven’t forgotten about her ease with piloting TARDISes in The Blue Angel, and we add to that a strange ability to make use of the signals around her and make inexplicable, powerful sounds that control her surroundings. Her personality is still a little on the rudimentary side — unemotional yet bitchy, a sci-fi favourite — but the authors are all in with the peculiarities of this ex-Remote person. She’s utterly unfazed by her wrench across 12 million years, and quickly falls into a sort of Doctor-companion role with the secret Time Lord, albeit both of them are a bit less friendly than the duos we’re used to. I still think it’s weird that the books skipped her addition to the crew, but there’s some back-filling of a sort here: the Doctor considers “whether letting her join him in the TARDIS had been the solution to her problems”, suggesting there had been a thought process there, and when Compassion thinks she’s stuck on Earth she thinks how “[she] could have hoped to travel for longer, but Earth would have to do for the immediate future”, telling us she actually wants (or wanted) to do this. Hey, it’s just nice to have it confirmed. Anyway, apart from that we’re engaging with the interesting things about her, which from past experience is not something to take for granted.

The Doctor and Fitz fare less well. The Doctor is a bit of a rough sketch in this one, with a “goldfish attention span and constant energy”. Between his not-trying-all-that-hard subterfuge with the blobby Time Lords and his getting caught up in a lot of TARDIS action near the end, he has a tendency to fade into the background of the plot, at one point ceding what feels like Doctorly action to that guy in 1999. (He even has an equivalent sonic screwdriver!) I liked the bit where he sympathised with the terrible evil thing and considered going back to rescue it one day.

Fitz has never been friendlier or, in all honesty, less useful to the plot than he is here, but he’s a delight to be around; highlights of his activities include an arguably sexual encounter with an Elder Thing-disguised Celesti, because Fitz gonna Fitz. He’s mostly here to bluntly and repeatedly ask what’s going on, which feels like something I ought to be critical of but to be honest this time I was relieved to hear it. Even the Doctor at one point remarks that “It’s all so confusing I could do with explaining it to myself.”

I wonder if the mixture of ambitious-bordering-on-convoluted scheming and the occasional simple restating of facts is a hint of the cowriting process between Bucher-Jones and Clapham. See also, the helpful (I mean it!) recaps of how Fitz became Kode and then Fitz again, what Compassion’s deal is, and even a whiff of how The Blue Angel came about and where it’s left the Doctor emotionally. Maybe that was all done by one author or the other or both, but I think in mixing it up The Taking Of Planet 5 keeps just on the right side of confusing. It doesn’t help with the general sprawling state of it as a piece of drama, but at least you’ve got plenty to think about.

A last thing to mention would be the general jolly nerdiness of the thing. Obviously there’s the geeking out about Lovecraft, which is mostly lost on me as I haven’t read any. (See also White Darkness.) There’s an obvious debt to a certain 70s story, although as mentioned that’s not handled all that well. The stuff I liked most was the sprinkling of references, something I’m normally immune to but in the context of a big complicated event, and with the general sense of humour employed, it adds a certain levity to an at times stodgy book. There are nods to things as disparate as zygma energy, Karfel, Morlox, Stangmoor Prison, Raston Warrior Robots, Ogri and D-Mat guns. There’s a pre-emptive puncturing of the mysterious Enemy of the Time Lords: “They’ll probably be terribly disappointing. With my luck it’ll turn out to be Yartek, leader of the alien Voord, with a big stick.” The plot manages to explain (although did it need explaining?) the way the people on Delphon communicate with their eyebrows, as well as the way the Tersuruns communicate with a less subtle bodily function. (The Curse Of Fatal Death is canon!) There are oodles of references to looms, helping to settle that debate, as well as a brief mention of Tehke, a deity who’d turn up in the final New Adventure co-written by Mark Clapham two months after this. (Nice to see a bit of Virgin cross-promotion. All friends here.) And on the less meta or piss-taking side there’s also the casual suggestion that the Doctor’s poor piloting in the early years of Who was a deliberate effort to avoid the Time Lords. Head-canon for sure, but I’ll allow it.

I think all of that mild indulgence helped ground The Taking Of Planet 5 for me during its bigger indulgences — a knowingly fuzzy plot with tons of moving parts that all leans on Importance To The Arc(s). I was rarely hooked but I made it through quite painlessly. Saying that, this now makes three Important And Slightly Difficult books in a row. I appreciate the jump in ambition but it’s starting to get a bit stuffy in here. Does every book need to be a massive mind-boggler?

5/10

Doctor Who: The BBC Books #55 – City At World's End by Christopher Bulis

Doctor Who: The Past Doctor Adventures

#25

City At World's End

By Christopher Bulis

Now for something a bit more normal.

After the continuity-bending antics of Interference, which affected the Past Doctor books as well as the Eighth Doctor ones, you could be forgiven for expecting the PDAs to play a little fast and loose with the rules. Christopher Bulis probably wouldn’t be your go-to guy for that — his book The Ultimate Treasure was used, however fairly or unfairly, by Lawrence Miles as an example of an unadventurous PDA — and sure enough his next one is set before Interference, which keeps the established rules in place.

I don’t think that really matters though. Despite any preconceived notions of mine, Bulis is no more obligated to write an unusual book than Miles was to write Revenge Of The Quarks. A self-contained story set between telly episodes might automatically mute the “main characters might die” alarm but — all due respect to Miles — there are other things to be gained from a story set in a specific moment of continuity. Look at The Witch Hunters, The Roundheads and Eye Of Heaven. Just try to write something compelling and/or in an interesting way. If it’s good, it’ll be worth it. Lots of things can be at stake other than the Doctor and co.’s literal lives.

To its credit, City At World’s End puts a lot of things at stake. Right from the prologue an asteroid collision has knocked the moon of the planet Sarath out of a stable orbit. It’s going to smash into Sarath and end all life there. The TARDIS deposits the First Doctor, Ian, Barbara and Susan there with roughly one month until the collision. Their understandable urge to leave right away is thwarted when the building they’re on collapses in a meteor shower; suddenly the TARDIS is lost under rubble, Barbara is missing and Susan is hospitalised. Soon the TARDIS key is missing as well. They must recover it, get back together and leave before the planet is doomed. 

But even apart from all that, what are the people going to do? Should the TARDIS crew simply leave them to their fate? Forcing the characters to stick around automatically underlines this question, and the ultimate fate of Arkhaven (the only city on the planet) is kept up in the air for most of the book.

Our first impression is a memorable one: the building where the TARDIS lands is a fake, mocked up to give the appearance of a functioning city full of moving cars and busy activity. Arkhaven is actually nothing of the sort, the human population having been devastated by war with the native Taklarians. (The initial purpose of the fake buildings was to create false targets in the war.) Most of the survivors don’t know about this. Are they being lied to about anything else?

This whole phoney-city setup would still be interesting, in an admittedly doolally but recognisably 60s-sci-fi way, even without the moon collision aspect. I enjoyed the thought experiment of whether you can really be sure that London has millions of people in it. (I mean you probably can if you give it some thought, but it’s still imaginative to ask.) I’m less convinced though that the survivors could be kept from realising that 98% of their population had died just by turning everything around them into sets and animatronics — at least some of the survivors would have missing friends or family, surely? — but by that point we’re relying on your personal reserve of suspension of disbelief. The further we get into Arkhaven’s problems, and there are many, the more it seems that Bulis is over-reliant on that.

The book’s next big idea is a class system. Arkhaven has Functionaries (regular people who mainly work towards the exodus from Sarath), the Elite (rich people whose grip on society is slackening as the planet is endangered), the Church (who believe “the Maker”, and not a migration from Earth, put them all on Sarath — their grip is also slackening) and the NC2s (“Non-Citizen, Non-Conformists” – an underclass kept in internment camps). There’s heaps to unpack here, and I suspect no amount of the Doctor and co. sticking around would be enough to sort it out.

The thorniest issue is probably the NC2s. When one of them escapes a camp with the Doctor’s TARDIS key, the Doctor is happy to report the man to the authorities. Ian rebukes him for this (“I’m not sure I like the way you’ve implicated that trader, Doctor. After all, he was only helping what amount to refugees and political prisoners to escape”) but not much more is said on the disparity and cruelty towards this underclass. Escapees are, unknown to the prisoners, rounded up and returned by young Elite members as sport, which is another dystopian idea that would be interesting even without the “world’s about to end” setting. We don’t do enough with it here; the main NC2 we follow outside the camp (Gelvert, who nicked the key) ends up exiting the story abruptly and somewhat flushing away the time we spent with him in the process, also taking away our main link to the NC2s. (Minor point, but it’s here that the key disappears and is never found. Luckily there’s another one in circulation, but still — where did it go?)

If someone like Ace had featured, you can bet they’d be leading the charge to rescue the NC2s and indict the ruling class. I get that the First Doctor is unlikely to think like that — such compassion is literally what the companions were for in those days, particularly Ian — but it feels wrong to let this aspect of Arkhaven society slide in a Doctor Who story. It’s explained to the Doctor and Ian that not everyone can escape the calamity and therefore some people must be excluded, which makes a brutal sort of sense I suppose, but it feels like there is a wider and very heated conversation to have off the back of that. Such as, how can you condemn a whole subset of society out of hand? Why treat them so badly when they’re going to die anyway? Doesn’t the hatred coming from the Elite suggest that a new world won’t solve your society’s problems, and maybe you should work on them now? Are you ultimately more deserving of survival than anyone else? City At World’s End clearly isn’t the sort of book to get into the moral weeds on any of this — the NC2 camps drop out of the story for most of it, that’s that I guess — so why set up the debate in the first place?

There’s a lot going on here, and inevitably some of it feels extraneous, there to give the characters (and the book) something to get on with other than the end of days. This meta concept figures into the plot at times, so it must be deliberate, but I’m not willing to give every idea the same pass. The Church’s power grab is definitely running its course just to keep people busy — okay, score one to Bulis. (They’re not very interesting baddies, evangelical characters rarely are, but they’re surprisingly well armed.) Then there are the disappearances happening outside the city — these feel random for ages, but they do eventually feed into the “fate of Arkhaven” story. Fair enough.

Even the machinations that do serve a purpose though serve to distract the reader (and not just, however usefully, the characters) from the looming threat — there are barely any material reminders about the moon collision, and there’s no sense of escalation as it gets nearer. They’re weeks away from the end of all life on the planet! Shouldn’t we see some evidence outside of the opening scenes? And yeah, I know it’s baked into the plot, but the lack of panic about all this begins to work against the tension. Scenes of police officers investigating dangerous church members feel superfluous in the extreme. (As if Bulis has only just remembered, the collision is moved up to about four hours in the final chapters. Oh right, now they panic.)

Then we have the subplot about Taklarians kidnapping and brainwashing people to interfere with the launch. This accounts for most of Barbara’s story in the book (although she is made to forget about it) — however, events conspire so that she didn’t even need brainwashing, and by the end most of the characters didn’t even know about the Taklarian threat. So what were we building up to, exactly? Or was it just to imply a greater purpose for Barbara than “thanklessly trudge through pipes and rubble until you are rescued”?

And hey, since we’re talking about them, what about the Taklarians? They’re native to this planet, apparently. Are we not going to touch on colonialism at all, since the Arkhaven settlers presumably chose someone else’s planet to live on? Yes, it’s sad that millions of humans are dead, but so are nearly all of the Taklarians. No, they’re not very nice, but why should they be? Again it feels like someone ought to be asking why group X deserves to make it out of here alive and group Y doesn’t. The fact that the Taklarians are painted exclusively as Baddies seems to nullify the point. I’m sure I don’t need to highlight the various BBC Books that already mentioned indigenous aliens as well as the rights thereof, however much those books might have bungled it. It’s just weird to skip all of that here.

Everywhere you look in City At World’s End there’s an idea or a character that’s probably quite interesting in isolation but doesn’t have the room to breathe. It can be argued, for example, that the last act villain reveal is a valid one, folding into the overall idea of rulers lying to their people about the state of their city and adding a twist to those mysterious disappearances, as well as finally examining the remarkable machine technology of Arkhaven. But this leads to yet another new group who arguably have rights (they seem to have awareness) and therefore, despite their violence, should have as much claim to getting off this rock as the humans. But they’re largely done away with when the bad guy (or “bad guy”) gets his comeuppance, so once again just never mind I guess. (PS: they have their own brainwashing plot, entirely separate from the Taklarian one. We’re seriously doing “army of sleeper agents” twice in one story, where neither group knows about or impacts the other?)

Probably the most interesting thing about this largely unexamined new group at the end is that one of them is a duplicate of one of the regulars, but that too is (of course) mostly not examined, a can of worms opened just enough to help round off the resolution. Certainly the behaviour of the Doctor towards this character raises questions about identity and the soul, questions he’s very much not engaging with. Now, I’m not against throwing in weird and crazy ideas — please do! But if they don’t mean much to the characters, what are they for? Certainly at this late stage in the story.

City At World’s End is somewhat at odds with itself. Its ambitions are grand, even sprawling at times, but the writing is entirely down to earth. Some of the story mechanics are as old as the hills, particularly the “we lost the TARDIS key” gambit and (stop me if you’ve heard this one) “we wouldn’t be in this situation if it wasn’t for [the Doctor’s] insistence on exploring the city.” Never mind that this is BBC Book: umpty-squillion set on an old Earth colony world. (Although kudos for making it so far along in its history that they’ve forgotten Earth even existed.)

Speaking of ancient mechanics, there’s a tendency towards bland rhetorical questions in the characters’ inner monologues. (“Ben looked at him curiously. He’d spoken quickly and easily, though his face was lined with worry. Was Ian privately losing hope of finding Barbara alive?”) Also the amount of info-dumping here could concuss a rhinoceros: in one scene the Doctor blackmails Gelvert into delivering a blow-by-blow account of how things work on Arkhaven, which is efficient for book purposes but far from subtle. Elsewhere people are always in need of updates which then require further summarising because we know it all already. (“‘While we’re stuck in here anyway, perhaps you could tell us what’s going on in your city?’ Curiosity replaced Plax’s bluster. ‘You really don’t know about the Ship, do you? It’s going to take us to Mirath…’ He gave a concise account of the situation in Arkhaven and a more grudging explanation of his own presence.”)

The writing creaks in a nuts and bolts way at times, with as-you-know-Bob name usage (“‘Please be patient, Prince Keldo.’ ‘We must know what she was doing down there, Thorken’”) and dialogue where one party only seems to show up to provide feed lines. (“‘I’m afraid the explosion might not have been an accident. It is consistent with the existence of the secret tunnel.’ Lant looked dazed. ‘What tunnel?’ ‘The one that runs under the city towards the mountains… at least, so the alignment suggests.’ ‘Alignment from where?’ ‘From the Ship through the point where you lost your mystery quarry.’ ‘What do you mean?’” You remind me of the babe, what babe, the babe with the power, what power…)

It probably should be an interesting one for the regulars, but — despite a very well-organised chapter structure that keeps the focus on one group at a time — they’re never doing all that much. Barbara trudges through a defunct subplot; Ian looks for Barbara; the Doctor tries to move things along with the rocket but keeps vital information to himself, when not refusing to engage with the morality of anything going on around him; and Susan arguably has a very interesting experience that raises questions (not including the action-y hostage crisis with the Church), but none are thought about in depth.

Despite everything though, City At World’s End kept my attention. Bulis has far too many hooks here, but the main one — how are these people going to get out of this? — is actively engaging for as long as possible. There’s a good amount of interest generated just by asking questions all the time, like what the hell that giant snake monster was about. (Not a question you’d expect to hear in a “survive the moon collision” story.) Some of the characters have a tendency to blur together, such as Draad and Lant, but there’s enough of a general air of likability to be invested in them when they’re in it, even if I suspect that Bulis had no idea what to make of any of their actions.

It’s messy, no doubt about it: thoroughly in need of a good prune and in dire need of more focus on the big questions. But as an exercise in plate spinning, what can I say? It’s quite engrossing and you could do worse.

6/10

Doctor Who: The BBC Books #54 – The Blue Angel by Paul Magrs & Jeremy Hoad

Doctor Who: The Eighth Doctor Adventures

#27

The Blue Angel

By Paul Magrs & Jeremy Hoad

Huh.

It’s sort of quaint, really, remembering the way Interference made me feel the first time I read it a decade ago. Confused, miserable, the dreaded is-this-even-Doctor Who… but fast forward to now, and I see its value! Hooray! It was doing a thing and I mostly see what that thing was! It’s great when you can learn and grow as an audience and find a new appreciation for art and storytelling. Perhaps there’s hope for every unsatisfying book experience.

You can probably tell where this is going. Which, as we’ll learn, is an unusual phrase to hear in relation to The Blue Angel.

Much to my surprise, and I imagine the surprise of many contemporary readers, BBC Books immediately followed their guns-blazing weirdo of a two-part novel with something even more bizarre. Paul Magrs is back, with assistance from partner Jeremy Hoad, to deliver an adventure that uses much the same scattergun-of-imagination approach as The Scarlet Empress. Only more so. Much more. As in, hit the deck.

We’ve got the Doctor, Fitz and Compassion (hold that thought) in an adventure with some angry Star Trek types and some maybe-or-maybe-not malevolent people made of glass. We’ve got Iris Wildthyme, in her younger form from the end of Empress, in an escapade with a gaggle of older ladies and the currently inexplicable ersatz long lost son of one of them, escaping a shopping centre beset by giant owls. And we’ve got some sort of alternate world going on with another Doctor, Fitz, Compassion and Iris but not quite as we know them, with only the loosest connection to what’s happening in those other strands. These, by the way, include a travelling city made of glass, a universe set apart from our own, a realm that sits between the two, corridors of possibility (or maybe they’re just corridors), various alien races of varying animosity and a megalomaniac who looks like a green elephant with talons and magic powers. You’ve got, in short, lots to be getting on with. A pretty stocked shopping basket for lucky old you.

One of the things I struggled with on my most recent read of The Scarlet Empress (so much for learning and growing as you get older, huh) was its profusion of ideas with not exactly a heck of a lot of connective tissue. The Scarlet Empress, though, was a story about storytelling. I don’t love the lingering impression I got (however projected and erroneous it might be) that all of its ideas are automatically good ones and they will go together as long as you make the point that stories are sometimes messy creatures, but it at least felt like that point was being made. And to be honest, you could and perhaps should enjoy The Scarlet Empress as an adventure apart from any (I would argue rather on-the-nose in this case) meta writing commentary, provided you can (wince) switch off a few pernickety faculties and just let a story be for 280 pages, in whichever direction takes its fancy. I know all of that, but for whatever reason I struggled to get past it as an almost-40-year-old reader in a way that I just didn’t at around 20. There’s something to be said for being a young reader, clearly. I’ll probably read it again some day and I sincerely hope it’ll flip back the other way. I’d love to love it again. The Blue Angel, though, will be a tough one to pick up a second time.

I’ve read, or listened to a good chunk of work by Paul Magrs; enough to not take this book lightly. Okay, perhaps “lightly” is the wrong word — if anything his books are going for “lightly” with gusto, like frilly pink missiles — but what I mean is, I don’t assume there’s no thought behind it. He’s obviously a writer of skill. Even just looking at Empress, his prose had a deliberateness rarely found in the humble annals of Doctor Who fiction. It’s clear you’re in practiced hands; if you don’t get it, well that’s unfortunate, but it seems a safe bet that there is an “it” that you might “get”.

Well, I got nothin’ this time. The Blue Angel starts with an eerie sense of the uncanny with its surely-that-can’t-be-right alternate TARDIS team living in domestic normalcy, but it’s weird even to the point that I couldn’t tell who (out of the oddly phoney characters) was narrating at times. This is the first chapter. Then we’re off to visit a gaggle of ladies on a Christmas shopping trip, trying to ignore the (green) elephant in the room that is the miraculously returned son of Maddie, who is clearly not really her son Ian but is just as clearly intent on letting people think he is. This stuff is easier to get a grip on, at least.

Then we’re off to see the “proper” Doctor and co. in the midst of adventuring, but there’s a new elephant in the room in the form of a new companion — Compassion, one of the Remote from Interference, who we must assume at some point asked to join the Doctor and Fitz on their travels, or was asked to do so? That moment isn’t in Interference and it’s not here either. Should I miss it? Is something going on there? I know stuff is going on with Compassion, that much is made clear later on when she displays a weird aptitude for piloting TARDISes, but how much of what’s not here is important and how much is just because it was not of interest to Magrs and Hoad? I’m aware that I might just have New Series Brain when it comes to companion intros — Fitz also did the official “hey come and join us” scene when we weren’t looking — but I feel like even Classic Who bothered to at least state it.

There’s a sense of disorientation from the off, a sense that it’s not clear how things are connected (that’s hardly a crime) or how much we should invest in the characters we’re seeing (maybe a bit of a crime). No doubt it’s personal taste but starting the book with ersatz protagonists cut me adrift straight away: now I’m thinking, how many fakes are floating about? Since we’ve skipped what would obviously be a critical moment for any Doctor Who companion, can any of this be trusted? Are legs being pulled in all directions? That stuff with the owls is a bit silly isn’t it — but is it fun silly or “I’m Doing A Thing” silly? I know on some level this is down to me as a reader, but I was sat there asking these rather dull questions instead of simply enjoying myself. I never rowed back to the centre of the book after that uncanny opening; it resisted all attempts to get into it, not least because it was always hot-footing it over to another story strand.

That’s not to say The Blue Angel isn’t fun. Oh, it’s got whimsy and frippery for days! What else do you expect with the involvement of Iris Wildthyme, with her funny bus and her crazy outfits? That evil elephant is funny even just to look at. (Well, to imagine at least.) A carful of mildly acerbic older women is sure to be a source of mirth; there’s plenty of inherent whimsy in being on the run from massive owls, and then escaping in a double decker time-and-space bus. And did I mention the Star Trek thing? There’s a spaceship full of awful simplistic people (the captain is called “Blandish”) who check how much every action is going to cost them and otherwise shoot first and ask questions later, then barely progress as three-dimensional characters. It’s satire, Jim, but not etc.

I’m sorry. It’s difficult not to sound like a grumpy old sod when you’ve struggled with a book this badly, but struggle I did, and all of that Magrs (and apparently, Hoad) whimsy just didn’t wash with me this time. I fundamentally didn’t connect with the story (really, stories) unfolding all over the place here, which eventually started to pile up next to each other with various parties encountering various alien species who have hang-on-what names like Sahmbekarts and Steigertrude, all using various space-time conveyances to get from one to the other. Following it from page to page was something of a headache, and cheerily lampshading that with an “I don’t understand any of what’s going on” or an “everything has been brought here from somewhere, from some time. But it’s all without rhyme or reason” or a “call me prissy, pedantic if you like, but I do like to know where I am” or a “my concentration has been all over the place” or a yes-we-are-doing-this-again “learn to think of all these things as stories. And stories can’t contradict each other because, in the end, they’re all made up” does not actually help. A story that’s hard to follow and harder to care about on purpose risks being just as troubled as one that did it by accident.

The Blue Angel obviously is rewarding for a lot of people. I know I’m in the minority here — hell, I’d politely concede that I’m flat out wrong if you told me so — because I’ve seen the positive reviews. Even they seem more or less to agree though that the book doesn’t worry itself about an ending or tying anything up or making much sense in the first place, which frankly makes me wonder what the cheat code is for enjoying this thing because good grief all of that sounds iffy to me. I know it’s different strokes; clearly I’m someone who needs to feel a certain degree of understanding or I just feel as though I’ve wasted my time. Clearly I can’t benefit that much doubt. That doesn’t make it invalid to write a weird story, but it does freeze me out somewhat.

Okay, think positive. Praise has been levelled at Compassion in this. I’m so weirded out by the lack of a proper segway into full time adventuring that I don’t know what to make of her, though. (Or of BBC Books taking this particular swing — although to be clear, I am pro taking-swings.) She’s presented as a cold fish who fails to endear herself to new people (“And who did you say you were, dear? Contrition or something, wasn’t it?”) or people she already knows (“You could never have a really good argument with Compassion. You couldn’t wind her up”). Of course it’s early days but she’s not particularly impressive at the companion lark either (“‘[Compassion’s] a good person to have around in an emergency.’ Actually, [Iris] was thinking the exact opposite”), even getting lightly character-assassinated in the third person prose (“She was one of the least companionable of [the Doctor’s] many assistants”). We are presumably meant to get something out of her involvement here, but it’s hard to see what. She’s fully rebuked by the Doctor at one point — a moment I’ve seen held in good regard, but which flopped for me as a character beat, partly because I can’t quite picture the Eighth Doctor saying “You, madam, are stepping out of line” (not his only weirdly anachronistic line, see also “villainous scum”) but mostly because I don’t know this person and I don’t know that the Doctor knows this person and if she’s such an arse, well, why did you bring her along, then?

Fitz keeps his Interference continuity in check — both he and the Doctor highlight the rather odd rebirth he’s had recently — whilst also getting back to some good old fashioned horniness, as he hangs around with an aesthetically pleasing Iris and briefly considers a) leaving the TARDIS for the big red bus and b) whether she’d shag him. There isn’t a great deal else for him to do with his plotline (Iris, owls, horses at one point) being one of many that seem to have gone into a blender, but I liked the brief recognition that he’d never got a chance to say goodbye to Sam. I can, like most reviewers, see why Iris won him over so fast.

It’s… a story for the Doctor. I would hesitate to say it’s a good one because I don’t think he really rings true a lot here, even when he’s the “real” one, flying off the handle so much more than usual, but there’s clearly a lot of significance to him as a character throughout these events. Look at all that alt-universe stuff, with its suggestive oddities and its other Doctors squirrelled away in minor roles; the implicit importance of all this to him and Iris. Again though, we’re back to that sense of significance where I wish I could find the actual significance. At least the writers meant to do that?

The Doctor’s (spoiler) failure to make events turn out any better because that’s how Iris wants to do things is a serious fork in the road between them, and surely a statement about his interaction with the universe around him and how much he can really achieve there. Things are being said, definitely, I can see that — but when the events themselves are such a quasi-fantastical mishmash (I would summarise further but I really can’t be bothered) and the villain is such an overall silly goose, it feels a bit like firing a blank to posit them as relevant to an overall arc, especially when we run away from it all as fast as we do here. The crisis of another universe impinging on, and going to war with ours is huge. It should feel momentous. It doesn’t, with this kind of crazy pace and this much of a frivolous tone. I felt told about the Enclave (and much more so, the Obverse) more than I ever felt that I truly saw or understood it. When it all concludes, did those events suddenly end like that because something-something-the-Doctor or is that just the kind of adventure we were having this week? I bet I know what the answer is, but I don’t quite believe it. Even the gang of older ladies — surely the earthy heart of this novel — get bundled out of the story in a) a fantastical payoff for two of them that doesn’t stop to examine how they feel about it and b) y’know what I can’t remember where the other one went. The whole thing about the son didn’t seem to add up to much either.

Attaching a lot of its significance to Iris feels at least a bit overblown, even if the version of Iris in most of The Blue Angel is a much more competent one than we met the first time. She knows more than we do — must be nice. There’s something of an explanation for her and her weird relation to the Doctor’s history, but it’s moved on from just as quick as the main action. I don’t think I’m as invested in Iris generally as a lot of readers; her brand of randy nonsense ought to have been a tonic for all the confusion I felt reading this, but here it just added irritation to obscurity. I’m sorry, Iris. Maybe next time.

I made a lot of notes on this one, because there’s loads of stuff to pick up on — nudge-nudge plot arc stuff about the TARDIS, picking up the change to Planet Of The Spiders from Interference, fun little references to things like Looms and in one paragraph “new adventures” and a “virgin”; there’s plenty of imagery, some of it quite striking, like the weirdly Dalek-ish glass people and their whole society, plus all that suggestive alt-universe weirdness. And if you haven’t inadvertently made yourself cross and got a headache — ahem — there’s the sense of fun that always comes with Paul Magrs.

I just wish any of it helped. Sorry, Paul. Don’t mind me, people who love this one regardless. Despite everything I found The Blue Angel as impenetrable and insufferable as the bad old days of Virgin first-time novels, and the almost certain knowledge that I’m missing something thought-provoking here didn’t help in the slightest.

3/10

Doctor Who: The BBC Books #53 – Interference: Book Two by Lawrence Miles

Doctor Who: The Eighth Doctor Adventures

#26

Interference, Book Two: The Hour of the Geek

By Lawrence Miles

Right then. Two books. Two Doctors. Multiple story threads. Different ranges. 600-odd (very odd) pages. Now that Interference is over, am I clear what it was all about? And was it worth all that?

Mostly yes to both.

I think it all comes down to a question: why does anyone do anything? And off the back of that: what are you going to do? And going back inside that — which feels like a suitably Interference approach — nature vs nurture. All of this is wrapped up in the meta-text with what sort of thing you should be trying to do with Doctor Who books at this point in their lifespan, if Lawrence Miles does say so himself. Everything about the two books seems on some level to interrogate these questions.

Interference asked in Book One why the Doctor does what he does, and more importantly why he doesn’t do certain things that might be helpful. It also challenged the notion of what Sam, and people like her hope to achieve, and the ways in which (or so it argued) this is lacking. Book Two crystallises these arguments somewhat.

Sam, in particular, has her outlook not only placed under the microscope but externalised for an entire city to think about. Miles/Compassion continues to give this a certain degree of side-eye: “[Sam’s] political streak was based on what she’d seen on the Nine o’Clock News, or, at the very least, on what her parents had seen on the Nine o’Clock News.” Once again we’re asking if her ideas are truly her own. Sam, in the context of Interference, also becomes a placeholder for the human concept (or at least the late 90s human concept) of progressivism and empathy — where she has failings, so do we all. “[Compassion’s] world was the same as Sam’s, only without the camouflage.” / “London and Riyadh were the same, Kode decided. But London thought it was different. London thought it wasn’t scared. The people there had used the signals to cover everything up.”

All of this ties in with the book’s wider and, let’s be honest, slightly-getting-away-from-itself argument about politics vs culture. The Remote are a society without principles or agendas, they just exist and get buffeted about by random TV signals. They’re posited as a mostly positive ideal, albeit one that is easily corrupted, because they don’t do politics. “There’s no good and bad. There’s just… politics.” They’ve got something they want to achieve, something that will cause enormous harm because they don’t really understand what it is they’re doing, but there’s an innocence to them not found in stinky old humanity, what with its arms dealing and politics and hypocrisy.

Guest, ostensibly the leader of the Remote (or this particular bunch anyway) wants to get back to their roots and contact the Cold, aka the mysterious force they’ve been trying to sell to humanity. That last bit’s really just a cover to get the Time Lords’ attention by doing something dangerously anachronistic to the timeline, so they will (hopefully) snag a TARDIS to get to the dimly remembered coordinates for the Cold. (The Cold that Guest wants to find and the Cold that he’s selling on Earth are different things, a thing and its byproduct respectively. Ehh, don’t worry about it.) As part of all this, he figures it would be a good idea to plug Sam Jones into his people’s media so they can learn from her — in essence, learn to properly care about what they’re doing so they can’t be stopped. I’m not sure they entirely need this (his peeps already seem pretty far along in the mission without having any measurable fanaticism about it) but it’s the bulk of Sam’s part in all this, so it’s important for her.

Using the same script-format interludes seen in Book One, Sam relates a bunch of moral dilemmas. Save a person or a planet, kill a baby to prevent its evil future, sacrifice animals for a greater good, etc. These aren’t the choices Sam would have made, but that’s sort of the point — using Sam’s understanding of things, a sense of morality that is both informed by and divorced from what she brings to it, it’s like moral dilemma in a raw form. One of the main concerns in Interference is “signals” interfering (ahem) with our decision-making, and we take them away here, We don’t exactly interrogate how Sam feels about these scenarios — as with Alien Bodies, I think Miles is happier characterising Sam the concept rather than Sam the person — but taking her away from her baggage and seeing what’s left seems to be the point. It’s something that we revisit right at the end of her journey in Interference, which is the last time we’ll ever see her and is also, maybe just because it’s Miles, before she joined the series.

Sam doesn’t have a huge amount to do in Interference. There are a lot of moving parts so perhaps that is to be expected, and god knows the EDAs have thrown their collective back out before now trying to figure out what to do with her. This is her last bow, but what there is to say about Sam has mostly been said already, and most of that by Blum & Orman.

Interference, for its part, makes an effort to take her seriously. It’s easy to dismiss Sam Jones as a quip in a Greenpeace T-shirt, in no small part because that’s exactly how she was sold to us; the question of whether there’s even a real person underneath is one that the books themselves have grappled with, with Miles himself introducing the idea that she’s suspiciously phoney even within the text. Interference might occasionally throw more shade at her, but it also gives her the chance to speak for herself. Her decision to leave in Autumn Mist was sudden (and not, in context, very satisfying) but following through on it here shows real conviction. She’s done what she wanted to do with the Doctor and is ready to move on now, simple as that — she’s more, implicitly, than just his plucky companion. She is set apart by the Remote from the kinds of moral judgements she is likely to have made, which can only have made her think more about who and what she is when set apart from the Doctor.

When her leaving scene comes around it’s entirely low key and arguably more human for it, a little like how Ace’s second go at a departure in Set Piece was refreshingly free from histrionics, all that being over with by that point. Then, in a sort of deleted scene we catch up with later on (which The End Of Time sort of copied, but never mind), the Doctor finds a way to visit a younger Sam at a critical moment, without giving away his identity. (I won’t say how, but it’s fun.) He uses the opportunity to ask what she wants to do with her life. Is this truly her crusade, or is it her parents’? Sam says no: she knows what the world is and she earnestly wants to help, and there’s a difference between that and what her parents half-heartedly did in their day. It’s not the Doctor or Faction Paradox dicking around that ultimately matters, she is her own person and she’ll think of something. Together with the flash-forward in Book One I think we get a respectable picture of Sam Jones. By god, it’s been harder work than it should have been because of her sketchy beginnings, but there’s a person in there if you care to try writing about her. Not many did, but oh well, at least some did.

Sam’s nature (vs nurture) is a major part of Interference, just as her departure is another perhaps underrated example of Miles trying to shake up these books once and for all. (He can’t take credit for that decision but it sure fits his mission statement.) He also applies the “why do we do anything” question to humanity, answering with a beleaguered sigh that it’s mostly down to politics and we should really stop that. He also applies that train of thought — or continues to apply it in Book Two — to the Doctor.

There’s a sense in Interference that he is not following his normal path — divorced, perhaps, in a similar way to Sam when she was plugged into the Remote media. His stay in Saudi Arabia is definitely out of the ordinary for him, albeit not unprecedented. (You really can’t get away from Seeing I here, or for that matter Genocide.) His visit to Foreman’s World, bookending One and Two and punctuating the Third Doctor bits, allows him to ponder just what the hell this all means for him, as he still (unusually for him) doesn’t know by the end of the main plot. This is especially relevant when it comes to the Third Doctor portion of the story, which is itself perhaps the biggest gauntlet-throw of Doctor Who bookdom up to this point.

Whilst in his prison cell, the Doctor (Eighth) attempts to find help. In doing so he contacts his earlier self, causing (or did he, stick a pin in that) a diversion in the timeline: the earlier self learns about Faction Paradox too soon, and makes an unscheduled visit to the planet Dust. There he meets I.M. Foreman, namesake of an important junkyard and Gallifreyan with a travelling circus. Dust is besieged by the Remote (a less friendly and much later version) and when we left off in Book One, things were escalating.

In the course of this the Doctor (Third) learns that Foreman was an early Gallifreyan renegade, and inspired the Doctor’s (First) actions both by example and as a physical presence when he and Susan left London in 1963. An echo of Sam, the Doctor now finds himself asking if his ideals are entirely his own — sort of a proto-Timeless Child conversation. We are done with Sam but not with the Doctor, so it makes sense for his outlook to be a little more uncertain now, for his tenets to be shaken rather than stabilised.

This is not, of course, the most interesting thing that happens on Dust. In the course of the adventure the Third Doctor is killed, triggering his regeneration early and potentially upsetting future events. It’s heavily implied that the immediate future will be much the same — Tom Baker through Sylvester McCoy will still happen, although god knows about the events of Planet Of The Spiders — but the possibility exists that the past isn’t what it used to be, which introduces an element of danger to the Past Doctor Adventures. Whether anyone picks it up is another matter, but Miles wasn’t enthused about the closed-off continuity of the PDAs — ya think? — and this seems like a good way to allow those authors an out. I hated this device when I first read Interference, long ago in the before-marathon times, but I can see its value now. Even if, seriously, it might not amount to anything more than sending a “sorry” letter to the Planet Of The Spiders fan club, the sheer fact of using the EDAs as a springboard for the ongoing PDAs makes an actual virtue of there being two book ranges, tying them together for the first time since (and to much greater purpose than) The Eight Doctors.

It serves a dual purpose, however, enriching the EDAs as well. Faction Paradox work a bit of magic while Pertwee is making his early exit, implanting a virus that will come to fruition once the Doctor is McGann-shaped. This handily cocks Chekhov’s Gun for the next stage of the EDAs. (It’s also a possible explanation for the Eighth Doctor’s half-humanness, although that really only makes sense if this is the prime timeline and not “interference” after all. But I mean, whatever, I’ll take it.) It also serves a character point to introduce some danger to the Doctor — is he in control of his actions? Does he control his destiny? (See also, his inability to escape from prison.) All useful stuff for a character that some authors, like Gary Russell, have vocally struggled to find a voice for in these books.

I’ve got questions about how well the Third Doctor stuff integrates into Interference. I know Miles has 600 pages to play with but it’s not hugely beneficial to the pacing. I sort of wish he’d gone off and written a Past Doctor book instead that gradually incorporated Eighth Doctor things like the Remote and then shocked us by tying together and detonating both ranges at the end. I certainly think its presence here dampens Sam’s exit, which for heaven’s sake happens almost a hundred pages before the book properly ends, turning it into more of a memory than a lasting impression once you’re done.

Also, by being the true lasting impression of Interference it keeps the focus more on Where These Books Are Going than What This Book Is About, Here And Now. There’s a definite sense that the wider arc stuff is of more interest than, say, the struggle to prevent the Remote (whose investment is so arguable that they need a pep talk from Sam) from accidentally triggering a galactic whoopsie-pooh. Even within their plot there’s a direct influence from the Time Lords’ war with The Enemy (another Alien Bodies morsel and rainy-day plot point), which is cool and lore-y and everything but doesn’t actually go anywhere in this book.

I also found, on my first read through years back, all the stuff about arms dealing rather dry and mean, to say nothing of the Doctor getting the shit beaten out of him for ages. I felt some of that again this time, although it’s at least obvious that Miles has things to say here, occasionally (like in the chapter that’s just a chunk of the Voodoo Economics documentary) pausing the wider concerns in order to say them. I know “soapboxing” is a simplification but once you’ve identified the Remote’s real reason for being here, all that’s left on the human side of things is finger-wagging.

Perhaps the most interesting part of the “now” plot is what happens to Fitz, which is ironic as he barely seemed to feature in Book One. “Seemed to” is the operative phrase, however, as Fitz’s centuries-long stay with the Remote has in fact looped back around to the present. Following the Remote process of “remembering” where people are reincarnated in new bodies using the shared memories of others (be thankful it’s not the Venusian “remembering” where they keep your memory alive by eating you), Fitz is in fact one of the Remote agents we’ve been seeing all along under a different name.

Miles isn’t just Doing A Cool Thing here with the timeline, encouraging you to read Book One again and go “ohhh” the second time; it’s also an excuse to bed in how much Fitz belongs in the TARDIS, showing us his determination to use any means necessary to stay true enough to himself so that he’ll want to go back to his old life even if on the surface he no longer remembers it. The eventual transformation back to “Fitz” and away from his Remote self is very affecting, with the Doctor ensuring it’s his choice. It’s a subtle bit of character work that follows on nicely from books like Unnatural History and Autumn Mist where he’s more and more becoming one of the guys.

There is an inverse to this, of course, which might come into play later. Fitz had a choice: stay as he is and be corrupted, or die and be reborn now, the remembering process hopefully keeping alive that spark of his true self. In the Eighth Doctor story it’s implied that he did the latter — and for all intents and purposes, he did. But in the Third Doctor story it’s revealed that he didn’t — the copies still happened and so all of that worked out, but the “real” Fitz wanted his own identity and life to remain in tact, which meant he grew old in Faction Paradox, became warped and now hates the Doctor. (He also kills Time Lords for fun. The Master and the Rani are among his trophy heads. Yikes.)

This is, of course, bloody horrible: “our” Fitz is even more of a fake than he appeared. It was bad enough that Fitz had to endure yet another indoctrination, hundreds of years stranded and an apparent suicide all because the Doctor said “hey could you keep an eye on things in Geneva kthxbye” without then going all Dark Side too. I think there’s an argument to be made that this is just the sort of edgy, try-hard character journey you’d expect Miles to roll his eyes at. But it lends itself to future stories. We learn that “Father Kreiner” has now been whisked off to the bottle universe — a Miles device that allows the New Adventures to exist simultaneously, which is nice, and which featured in Dead Romance. The Doctor, in his epilogue on Foreman’s World, doesn’t know who Kreiner is and clearly wants to speak to him again. (Interestingly we are ahead of him on this, as well as on the virus he’s carrying.) It’s worth noting that in his final scene Father Kreiner seems open to seeing the Doctor again not in the context of getting his head on the wall. If this whole thing comes back, hopefully that spirit will enter into it. But I’d understand if a reader simply looked at all this and thought, Christ, that’s a bit harsh innit? Must all companions go through absolute Hell? It’s another ongoing trope, whether Miles-the-great-disruptor likes it or not.

On a lighter note — perhaps the only one — we’re still doing The Sarah & K9 Show, guest starring Lost Boy the adorable Ogron. This continues to be a welcome addition to what is, let’s face it, a lot of heavy-going material, but all the same you get the sense there isn’t a huge amount of room for it: Sarah and co. are politely parked towards the end, and they might only have been there so someone could let the Doctor out of that damned prison cell. It’s still nice that Miles throws the more conventional fans a bone by having these characters turn up, and letting them have fun. (Apart from maybe the bit about Sarah’s belief that the Doctor has made her sterile. Come on, mate.) There’s less stuff about Ogrons in Book Two, the species being — god love ’em — easy to sum up, but a dollop of world-building in the Third Doctor section suggests that we could still do more with them.

I suppose a key concern with Interference is if it makes sense or not. I’d say yes: Miles may have a mind-boggling number of mind-boggling concepts but his writing style is engaging and wry enough about it that it doesn’t feel like work. I raced through both books; enough epilogues queue up politely before the Third Doctor stuff rounds off, and then there’s even more summing up after that for a clear-ish understanding. It’s a lot to take in but it puts the work in to be comprehensible.

Some bits still seem to be hanging though, and I don’t just mean the leftover bees in the Doctor’s bonnet. I’m still unclear on how the confluence of Doctors (surely the main “interference” of the title) came about, since the whole point is that it’s an aberration. We know now that the TARDIS’s recent odd behaviour is because it knew this was coming and the damage it would cause — but what new thing happened to get the Doctor into that cell, and consequently get that message to his earlier self? It matters since this is a paradox, and those don’t just happen naturally: this Eighth Doctor follows on from Planet Of The Spiders and he is now causing that not to happen. It’s entirely possible that I missed a spot, but I couldn’t see the intervention/interference that caused it. You would think Faction Paradox would take the credit — they’re happy to “as you know, Bob” their other achievements at the end. And while we’re at it, was that the only reason the Third Doctor ended up on Dust? Maybe it was, but given all the highfalutin machinations Interference sets in motion, you would think the inciting incident itself would be clear. Again, maybe I’m just thick, or maybe it’s still to be revealed — although I doubt that as Miles is tapping out now. I have a feeling that he simply couldn’t spin every plate perfectly.

Is Interference satisfying? As a piece of world-building and as a general milestone in two book ranges, I’d say a big yes. Of course books like Seeing I have shown that it’s all well and good setting up ground rules but it does depend on others making use of them, so this could still be a damp squib. But Miles engages with the books before now and with his own prior ideas in a way that should, by rights, make everything more interesting from now on. It’s a pleasantly fizzy experience to think about for now.

As a novel though, or the latest weekly adventure of our TARDIS trio, I think it’s rather lacking and certainly a bit dour: the Doctor mostly rots, Fitz mostly waits, Sam mostly watches a script unfold for the benefit of someone else, the Remote struggle with agency generally. I can see why younger me wasn’t engaged, but when you’ve been following all of this at least the character work pays off. Miles is here to ask big questions about the books as a whole and the characters in particular, and I generally found those answers satisfying. It’s just not much fun in between, save for Sarah and cool bits like that whole I.M. Foreman conundrum. Both books are also the most obvious mouth-piece for the author’s views I’ve encountered so far, which is a lack of subtlety that works against them.

Is it the best Lawrence Miles book(s)? Well, that’s all totally subjective, but I’d say Book Two is comfortably stronger than One, although some of that is the sheer contingent of big moments and answers he held back for this one. For what it’s worth I had more fun with Alien Bodies, which works for a casual reader despite all its lore, and although Dead Romance is even more horrible than Interference it’s at least self-contained, its focus more on what story it’s telling now than what stories we could tell later on. Not that that’s a bad thing for Interference per se, but — personal preference — I’ve seen enough sequel setup in movies to feel a little weary of it now, and I’m more excited about what’s in front of me. Again, you maybe have to look at Interference as a character piece for that.

I’m starting to worry that this review’s going to need two books, so: Book Two’s even busier, but it’s good. Sam’s exit works well — farewell, now let’s hope the next companion doesn’t face-plant immediately. (I haven’t mentioned Compassion because the fact of her companion status isn’t addressed in Interference. She just hasn’t left yet. Tune in next week?) Miles has definitely been a benefit to both book ranges before and here in particular, but I suspect that his desire to have and eat both cakes leaves some of what he’s doing in Interference on a lower volume than it ought to be. I know he hoped to write the Best Doctor Who book here. I don’t think he’s done that, but it’s a contender for the Most.

7/10

Doctor Who: The BBC Books #52 – Interference: Book One by Lawrence Miles

Doctor Who: The Eighth Doctor Adventures

#25

Interference, Book One: Shock Tactic

By Lawrence Miles

First a bit of preamble. Interference is one book in two parts, so it would make sense to review it all at once. Nevertheless, I’m doing it in two chunks. There’s a few reasons for that.

1) I’m a glutton for punishment, apparently. 2) I’m not sure my memory is up to the task of keeping Book One entirely in reserve until it’s time to review Book Two. I barely remember Autumn Mist at this point. (Admittedly that might say more about Autumn Mist.) 3) A major reason for me reviewing these books in any depth is so that I’ll have something to remember them by — see 2) — ergo the more I write, the merrier I’ll be. And 4) as anyone who’s had to track these down via eBay can attest, Interference is still two books, like it or not; reading it does require two trips, so I might as well record what that experience was like. And while we’re at it, what, if anything, makes these books different. (Anecdotally: people seem to sell off Book Two more than they do Book One, which suggests to me that there exists a niche for just reading the first one. So I guess this is for you, weirdly specific collectors.)

Right away it has to be said that Book One is a tough subject to break down, precisely because it is not a whole book. (Whose stupid idea was two reviews, anyway?) This isn’t a story in its own right that ends on the promise of something more, like for example The Empire Strikes Back. (Or Across The Spider-Verse which is possibly better, fight me.) Apart from an almost trivial cliffhanger generously tossed in at the end, Lawrence Miles has pretty much just Finished The Bit He Was On here. Nevertheless, I think the first half of Interference bears examination. It doesn’t round off any plot points but it makes some pretty definitive statements.

For starters, there’s the fact that it exists at all. Interference is many, many rodeos deep into published Doctor Who fiction, but it’s the first bona fide two-part novel in the series. Sequels and “linked books” be damned — this is truly ambitious, particularly (no shade intended) the assumption that readers will come back/shell out for the second half.

It matters that this one has come along after so many prior books. An upside and downside of BBC Books picking up the license after Virgin is that backlog of material, delivering both an understanding of how to handle the format and a long list of ideas that are already crossed off. Since the relaunch we’ve already had a couple of celebratory novels that rapidly grew in ambition from “have lots of Doctors show up” (standard) to “alt-universe prequel” (decidedly not). There have been plot arcs, necessarily more so in the Eighth Doctor Adventures than the more chocolate-box sibling range; we’ve asked big questions about the companions and even disrupted that status quo a few times. Clearly, there’s life in the old dog yet, but even so the books are quick to wriggle back into an old groove, regurgitating character beats and munching the same plots and settings. (Nice alien artefact/ancient weapon/human colony you got there, be a shame if etc etc.) More than once it has felt like something’s gotta give.

It’s not entirely surprising that Lawrence Miles is the one to lob the hand grenade. Alien Bodies — despite being a delightful and fun little bag of ideas, seriously it’s a hoot — was the one to crystallise the idea that Sam Jones was not what she appeared to be, a thread that later exploded in Unnatural History. It also introduced Faction Paradox, the most exciting thing to happen to the Time Lords since Dead Romance. (Okay, that was later, but y’know — time travel.) He’s one of those writers equally entrenched in series continuity and a willingness to set it alight, and for better or worse, they’ve set him loose again.

On a creative level Interference (or at least the first half) is gagging to do things differently. There’s the two-book format of course, but also a framing device: the Doctor is telling the mysterious I.M. Foreman all about what happened. This curiously includes chunks of story he wasn’t a party to, and those chunks vary in format, with things like different time periods, transcribed documentary footage, diary extracts, plus real events and flashbacks interpreted by the characters as scripted action (we’ll get to it) at one point starring Brian Blessed. For good measure there’s a whole other story bolted on towards the end (or begun anyway — Book One strikes again) featuring a different Doctor altogether. And then you get to the ending and oh right, there isn’t one! You truly do get the sense that Miles wanted anything other than to write Just Another Doctor Who Book.

That sense of “do things differently” is baked into the story as well. This is no typical alien invasion or deadly spaceship encounter: the Doctor, Sam and Fitz have been roped into a mysterious arms deal going on in 1996, which involves the mostly human-seeming Remote, a group with an unusual reliance on television signals. Despite the lack of a clear-cut threat (or any clearer than “this shouldn’t be happening in 1996”) all three of the regulars are out of their depth, with the Doctor whisked off to a prison cell to be tortured, Sam stuck on an alien world with one of the Remote, and Fitz lost 600 years in the future to be drafted into Faction Paradox. The only convincing note of hope here is that the Doctor will eventually turn up in the framing device to look back on it all, but even then, the ever-present stink of Faction Paradox suggests that we shouldn’t get too comfortable.

It’s a bracing setup, grounded more than usual in disappointingly human concerns like arms deals and prisons, but all the same there are some familiar notes here. Fitz barely features and is then hardly missed — to be fair, the other two are having a sufficiently crap time that they wouldn’t notice — and to cap it off, indoctrination, again? Miles is no continuity slouch so Fitz’s similar experience in Revolution Man is front and centre here, but with so little time to develop it that simply feels like lamp-shading. Even Fitz seems to think, here we go again.

And then there’s the Doctor, also helpfully recalling a prior experience, this time another inescapable prison — Ha’olam in Seeing I — and while Miles makes it clear that this is an entirely different kind of inescapable prison, and an even more unpleasant one at that, it is still another one for this Doctor. Having your hero go through the same thing and have the same difficulties again threatens to make it a trademark. It would be like erasing his memory a second time. (Oh, too late. Perhaps a third, then. (Oh.)) It’s weird to be going anywhere near old ground in this sort of book.

Ah well: the specifics are where Miles makes his mark. There’s not much you can say about Fitz’s journey at this point — see you next week — but the Doctor’s prison stint allows some of the book’s themes to get up on their feet. He has a fellow prisoner, Badar, and they strike up a conversation about what the Doctor does and where the limits are. Specifically, why he can do what he likes on back-water planets but he can’t stop the everyday horrors on Earth. This is one of those things that exists out of boring necessity — if the Doctor changed Earth beyond recognition we, uh, wouldn’t recognise it any more — but here he’s allowed some justification. “Mankind is always spreading outward, towards the edges of the universe. And the universe is a big place. If I change history on some of the outer planets, the ripples usually only spread outward. Into the void. If I change things on Earth, the ripples touch everything.”

That’s not a bad explanation (although again, the real explanation is extra-textual), but Badar doesn’t buy it, and eventually the Doctor admits to having a degree of preference here. Miles is clearly a bit unimpressed by the Doctor on a fundamental level, and keen to demystify him. Indeed, there is no magic reprieve for his prison sentence here, despite a few astral jaunts to visit others for help. The Doctor, denied his usual tools and even the comfort of bad guys following a routine, has little to do here but lie on the floor and bleed. All of that might change in Book Two, but the important thing seems to be that we’re asking the questions. That, too, is a way to do things differently in a Doctor Who book. Do you always let the character get away with having an escape route, or always letting bad things happen to some people? I don’t know if these are things we can ever meaningfully change, but it feels like a milestone to address them.

Similar questions are asked of Sam, a character you sense right away does not enormously impress Miles. (In the foreword: “‘Political’ usually means that Sam’s going to spend the book lounging around in a Greenpeace T-shirt.” And in Alien Bodies, a novel I already praised for doing interesting things with the character, Sam barely had agency in said things.) Sam has occasion here to consider her political activism and how far along it has come — something novels like Seeing I already did, but hey ho: “The demonstrators were, by Sam’s usual ethical standards, Good People. They were more or less the same people she’d marched with in the ANL rallies, back in the early nineties … So why did the protestors suddenly look so ridiculous? Because the ANL marches hadn’t achieved a thing, maybe?”

There’s at least a sense that she has progressed from where she started — the story features Sam’s bedroom in 1996, pre-Doctor, and all the somewhat naive political posters therein — but then she is directly challenged on her moral stance by Compassion, one of the Remote. These bits echo the Doctor’s talks with Badar, only here I’m less convinced. Partly that’s because Miles already put some of these views into the foreword (so whether I agree with them or not, they feel a bit like authorial soapboxing), but also it’s because they’re just a bit obtuse, and/or examples of false equivalence. See: “You still haven’t told me what’s wrong with [selling weapons]. Why it’s worse than selling matches. Or motor engines. Motor engines kill thousands of people around here. More than shock batons do. So what’s so bad about what we’re doing?” And later: “People die all the time … Traffic accidents. But there’s no organisation in your entire nation-state that believes in banning traffic.” “But people who drive aren’t trying to kill anyone.” “So that makes it all right?”

I know Compassion isn’t necessarily to be seen as in the right here, but nevertheless Sam can’t seem to disagree, which is surely suggestive. I think there’s a pretty clear difference between mechanisms that can cause harm and mechanisms designed to do harm; the former has the possibility of refining its methods and improving safety, whereas the latter is ideologically opposed to that sort of improvement. Fire is a source of life, and it can be managed. People need to get to work, but they can take some precautions. Stun batons exist to attack. This is my own soapbox, I guess, but I think it’s cheating to go “these things are the same so a) nyer and b) Sam is foolish.” The suggestion also that Sam is just a trendy activist because she doesn’t care equally about all causes all the time is setting an impossible standard. I mean, come on, you’d go crazy otherwise. (For good measure Miles lets Sarah Jane, who is also in this, have it as well: “Sarah Jane Smith cried when she saw ET, but two hundred thousand people died in East Timor and it was all she could do to go ‘tsch’.” Yeah, everyone’s a hypocrite, we all suck, cheers Lawrence, please do keep on about it.)

Still, it’s somewhat appropriate to be asking these sorts of questions in Sam’s last adventure (or part one of it anyway). I had forgotten her sudden decision at the end of Autumn Mist to leave the TARDIS on their next Earth trip; the Doctor, in the framing device, confirms that this has now happened, so she’s on borrowed time in these pages. We’re not there yet, and there aren’t many opportunities for her to shine — not when the resolution is paywalled, dammit — but the use of Remote signals to trigger script-themed flashbacks allows her to get a bit more background before we leave her, specifically a dalliance with drugs that darkens her previously perfect record. (Maybe it’s a bleed-through from Other Sam; I forget how that works.) There’s also a maybe real-maybe not vision of her years from now at a friend’s funeral, lamenting how deep down she travelled with the Doctor just because she wanted to see the universe like anyone else, biodata and activism be damned, which feels rather honest.

It might be best to keep some of the specifics back for Book Two — after all, what it all means has yet to be made clear, so there’s no point trying to rate how much of it makes sense. To summarise though: the Remote seem like an interesting enough bunch, people whose decision-making comes from interpretation of random signals, mostly TV. The implicit satire of “letting TV do your thinking for you” is, well, that’s all there is really, but it’s interesting how essentially amoral they are. (Even if I think some of their arguments are full of it.) It’s not clear from Book One why they’re such a big deal overall, even with the shadowy backing of Faction Paradox; they possess a weapon or possible lifeform called the Cold, which ultimately seems to be what’s worrying everyone, but the nature and capabilities of that are mostly for Book Two to worry about. Which is fine, but the stakes don’t feel especially high when you stretch them out like this. On current evidence the Doctor, Sam and Fitz mostly seem to be up a creek just because.

There’s some delightful stuff on the periphery, particularly a post-K9 & Company Sarah Jane investigating, not to mention K9 coming to the rescue, not to mention an Ogron sidekick. (There’s some great stuff about the overlooked depths of Ogrons: “[Ogrons] give you poetry, and you hear it as… as meaningless words about rocks.” At the risk of overreacting though, I think Miles’ intentions get a bit muddy the more he draws attention to the inherent racism surrounding Ogrons. If you’re going to underline it and then keep writing about them anyway there’s a risk of circling back around and just doing it in earnest.)

There’s also the weird, exciting lurch into a Third Doctor story near the end — you’ll have noticed Perters on the cover, of course Miles has found a weird way to do a multi-Doctor story, lobbing a hand grenade into the Past Doctor Adventures as well as the more serialised ones. In sixty pages this creates a lot of atmosphere and suggestion of impending doom. From the Third Doctor learning about Faction Paradox too soon to the TARDIS randomly bleeding to a local authority figure refusing to comply with his charms, and even a smaller suggestive moment where the Doctor (rather than the companion) wanders off, something is clearly wrong here. Again though, it’s all setup and no payoff, so the atmosphere is all there is currently. There’s a ton of weird detail about a travelling circus that’s just weird at this point.

Halfway through, I think it’s fair to say that Interference hasn’t made itself clear, but it has grabbed attention. I’d be hard pressed to describe most of it as fun — prisons, cults, drug flashbacks, oh my! — but the constant variety in storytelling style keeps it at least engaging. The inclusion of Sarah Jane generally seems like a sweetener for all the rough stuff; it also has that same sort of generally amused undertone found in Alien Bodies, with cheeky meta nods taking aim at, among other things, the book itself: “Lord of the Rings? Too long. My attention span only stretches to about three hundred pages.”

Book One is interesting as an opening salvo but also as a shake-up for the range, so that even if you just read this one, there’s at least something to take away. It would be a stretch to call it really satisfying as an instalment — Book Two has the luxury of being what Interference is actually about, as Miles for all his experimentation can’t escape the latter half of a story being the bit where it all knits together — but I think it goes far enough out of its way to be at least memorable.

7/10