Terry Pratchett & Stephen Baxter- The Long War

The Long War

Harper

Terry Pratchett & Stephen Baxter

2013

Other Terry Pratchett Reviews- Colour of Magic - Light Fantastic - Equal Rites - Mort - Sourcery - Wyrd Sisters - Pyramids - Guards! Guards! - Eric - Moving Pictures - Reaper Man - Witches Abroad - Small Gods - Lords & Ladies - Men At Arms - Soul Music - Interesting Times - Maskerade - Feet of Clay - Hogfather - Jingo - Last Continent - Carpe Jugulum - Fifth Elephant - Truth - Raising Steam - Blink of the Screen - Sky Adaptations  - Video Game 1 - Pratchett Portfolio - Dodger - Long Earth

“Fear generates big profits.’
‘You’re very cynical.’
'Joshua, cynicism is the only reasonable response to the antics of humanity.”

Upon hearing and somehow absorbing the immensely saddening news Terry Pratchett's death, I had the creeping feeling that I'd need to write some sort of personal obituary. The news hit me as hard as the death of a person I'd never met possibly could; I'd grown up alongside Pratchett's words, he influenced my writing, my sense of humour and even my own ways of thinking in inestimable ways, and the thought of a future without him seems cold and alien, to be a tad melodramatic. Still, I haven't been able to write it, at least not yet, simply because I realised that this reviewing odyssey- which started as an attempt to just cover the core Discworld books but has since expanded to include Pratchett's entire bibliography and adaptations- is itself a much larger tribute... even if it might take a while to finish at my speed.

Stephen Baxter

To today's book- after a gap following reading its predecessor, I delved into the second installment in the The Long Earth series. Based on an incomplete Pratchett project named The High Meggas (now published in The Blink of the Screen collection), Pratchett and science-fiction author Stephan Baxter explore the concept of humanity collectively gaining access to infinite parallel universes through a planned series of five. The first mostly dealt with a small group of characters delving further into the depths of this unlimited multiverse, while hinting at further social and philosophical quandaries now facing the human race, who, as far as they know, remain the only truly intelligent species inhabiting these Earths. I enjoyed it, but it could've benefited from a lot of editing for length.

To cut to the chase, I enjoyed The Long Mars to an equal extent as The Long Earth, no more, no less. Obviously it's only going to appeal to people who read the first installment, but it's also only going to appeal to people who enjoyed said installment for what it was- and it's certainly not going to appeal to the many, many Terry Pratchett fans who read The Long Earth because his name was on it and then found it to be too dissimilar to the author's regular, more introspective and humorous style. If you're one of those people, I'd seriously consider reading something else. Oh, and if you don't like science fiction at all, give it up already. To be honest, I don't know for a fact how much input Sir Terry had in writing this book beyond contributing to the plot. I hate to insinuate, but by 2012/13 Pratchett was increasingly ill and somehow incredibly productive, seemingly determined to put as much of his imagination in print as he could before his final day eventually came. While I have no doubt Pratchett constructed the key aspects of the overall plot and characters, I think it's safe to say that Baxter put in the heavy lifting while Pratchett focused his solo novels.

I prefer this French edition

For me that was fine. I'm a long-time fan of science fiction and Baxter's style reminds me of genre luminaries Arthur C. Clarke and Ray Bradbury. It's descriptive and imaginative, with a wry sense of humility in the face of the power of the unknown. It's far from lyrical, imaginative, or evocative, though it is occasionally witty. None of the characters resonate particularly well beyond the basics; all are essentially boring genre archetypes, though I did find them mostly realistic. As sequels are want to do, the authors add a handful of new figures central to the story, and ostensibly turn the focused aim of The Long Earth into a wider ensemble piece, as various characters play their part in a slow-moving plot.

For over three-hundred pages of this five-hundred plus book, plot progression is delayed for as long as possible in lieu of attempting to establish the new characters and an ominous, foreboding mood. The real meat of the action only kicks in closer to the end, where the plot lurches forward with the inclusion of a new set of antagonists. I won't spoil specific details, but I have to say that with this the entire tone of the series shifts somewhat into a more outrageous, fantastical  science-fiction that I imagine might be the final straw for non-science fiction inclined readers, though it didn't put me off particularly, as at least it gave a solid direction to the meandering plot, assisted by the incredibly dramatic ending.

With three books remaining in the series, The Long War suffers from Two Towers syndrome most of the way through, relying on the readers' interest in world-building for now. It may seem far more relevant eventually depending on how the story continues, but by itself I ultimately found it to be a by-the-numbers affair, just good enough with its prose and imagination to keep me reading. The title of the next book, The Long Mars, promises further sci-fi interest, but I doubt the series will ever be considered more than an interesting curio from a man driven to put his entire imagination to print before his departure, and his capable but unspectacular co-author.

John Wyndham- The Kraken Wakes

The Kraken Wakes

Penguin

John Wyndham

1953

“I'm a reliable witness, you're a reliable witness, practically all God's children are reliable witnesses in their own estimation--which makes it funny how such different ideas of the same affair get about.”

Like everybody else in the known 'verse, the first and until now only John Wyndham novel I'd read was of course Day of the Triffids- his 1951 apocalyptic science fiction novel about a deadly invasion of extraterrestrial fauna, the novel that made his name and is now regarded as a must-read classic for fans of the genre. To be completely honest though that was a good few years ago and I dare say I didn't pay as much attention as I should've, so I can't give any more detailed thoughts than that I remember quite enjoying it. It didn't strike me as a genre-transcending piece of brilliance, but as a well-constructed fantasy thriller, inspired mostly by standard-bearers H.G. Wells and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle rather than Wyndham's more recognisable contemporaries Arthur C. Clarke and Isaac Asimov.

John Wyndham

The Kraken Wakes was Wyndham's first novel following Triffids, and it quickly shows his willingness to follow up on that success with a similar plot. The copy I found is the same edition as the cover above, the images alone from the start conjouring up the right connotations for such a piece of fifties sci-fi. The story wastes no time in delving into another unexpected planetary invasion; the opening frames the rest of the narrative as the personal testimony of EBC (yes) news reporter Mike Watson, faithfully accompanied by his wife Phyllis; their own uncensored recollections of the slow invasion of Earth by hostile but unseen alien forces.

Over the course of 200+ pages, Watson recalls the initial sightings of mysterious shooting-star like objects falling into the deepest parts of the world's oceans, and the increasing panic, disbelief and paranoia of the human race as shortly after ships begin sinking without trace. While Watson and a few others close to the heart of the matter come to the correct conclusion of an alien invasion, the general public as a whole and governments around the world are extremely reluctant to agree, instead preferring to blame each other. By the time undeniable proof forces the human race to come to a concencus. it is far, far too later, as the aliens' ultimate plan is put into place and the Earth is changed forever.

It's dramatic, world-breaking stuff, and I'd wager it'd make a good modern-day Hollywood adaptation. I found the pacing to be unforunately too drawn-out across the majorty of the novel, but there was just enough progressive action in segments, leading the reader with a slight increase of pace towards the final act. For me though, it was too little, too late to have much of an impact beyond the recognition that some of Wyndham's ideas were quite interesting, as there was far too much else that just wasn't. The main overall problem for me was the tone of the narration, which then effected the other features of the story.

Penguin-again

The character of Watson was initially an appealing one; amiable, polite and unmistakably English. His almost-naive optimism and relentless good manners seemed like a veil to cover a deeper character when put under pressure, but though there was a growing introspective intensity as things became calamitous it never became a particularly strong one. Somehow Watson and his wife stay unruffled despite the world falling apart around them, and this British steel damages the legitimacy of the alien threat. This wouldn't matter if Wyndham were a better philosopher, but he's not. That's not to say he doesn't have a good eye for some political criticism; his depiction of the world's governments as made inept through the paranoia of the west/east divide has some Orwell to it.

Ultimately the main flaw of The Kraken Wakes is that it just doesn't have enough interesting content to justify the length, not enough direct sci-fi or action for the genre, and not enough philosophising, satirising or post-modernising to be anything more. Wyndham hits upon some interesting ideas, but I think was hamstrung by some of the details of his plot, in particular the constant separation between the human race and this new threat. I'm all for an heir of mystery, but Wyndham gives so little away about the invaders that he makes them generic and uninteresting, unlike the distinctive Triffids of his past successes. I don't want to call it a bad book because it's not; the plot makes sense and Wyndham's prose is well-constructed- but it is the very definition of a three star science fiction book, entertaining enough in its way but with nothing new leaving any kind of lasting impression.

Keith Roberts- Pavane

Pavane

Orion Publishing

Keith Roberts

1966

“Becky walked to the sea late in the day, trod barefoot among the tumbled blocks of stone that lined the foreshore, smelling the old harsh smell of salt, hearing the water slap and chuckle while from high above came the endless sinister trickling of the cliffs. Into her consciousness stole, maybe for the first time, the sense of loneliness; an oppression born of the gentle miles of summer water, the tall blackness of the headlands, the fingers of the stone ledges pushing out into the sea.” 

A short review today for a novel that didn't leave much of an impression, bar a list of complaints that's going to comprise this post. I was led to Pavane by its cover; the edition I bought is part of Orion Publishing's SF Masterworks imprint, and while I'm a fan of science fiction I'm not a big enough fan to have a wide knowledge of the classics, making me more than happy to trust the good list-compilers at Orion. There were a couple of signs that, and I say this in hindsight, should have tipped me off, not least a back-cover quote full of praise from George R.R. Martin. Nothing personal, I just don't trust Martin's comprehension of good writing, and should've realised the likelihood that Pavane would be of a similar style, which it absolutely was, meaning it was absolutely dull from beginning to end.

Though Roberts was a well-known figure in the then-contemporary world of science fiction, Pavane barely counts as science fiction. It's an alternate history book with an interesting concept that also played a part in me purchasing it; in a short prologue, Roberts travels back to the year 1588 and the assassaination of Queen Elizabeth (the first one, of course) by the Spanish, leading to the eventual conquoring of Britain and its assimilaition into the Catholic church. Roberts' narration then jumps forward four-hundred years to the then-present. Still under the control of the Church, Britain is now a technologically-barren agricultural wasteland that has barely advanced whatsoever under the oppressive Catholic rule.

Lots of covers for this book.

Rather than simply writing one cohesive narrative in this interesting setting, Roberts instead chooses to split his book into six short roughly-connected stories that sort-of tell the story of England's rebellion. Each story focuses on a different character hopelessly slaving away in some muddy field before a grain of hope lights up their pathetic lives. In each tale the author spends plenty of time trying to create an evocative, meaningful psuedo-medieval impression of simple innocent down-trodden farmer folk. None of his characters were even the slightest bit interesting, to me anyway, and his depiction of the repressed societies, attempting to evoke some sort of communal spirit of agricultural county England honestly seemed patronising to me.

My dissatisfaction came almost entirely from Roberts' prose style, which was so drearily boring from beginning to end that the only reason I finished this book was so I can be a snob and tell people I've read it, if need be. I'm definitely a prose snob at this point, having been spoiled by the amazing natural ability of authors like Somerset Maugham, for example, but I like to think I can ignore some failings for the sake of an interesting idea. Roberts' seemed like he had one of those, but it was for naught, because nothing really happens anyway. I can absolutely see the resemblance between this and George R.R. Martin's work, where interesting ideas are suffocated in a mass of dreary, irrelevant boredom by a writer who simply seems to lack any form of natural ability. What he and Martin share is simply an unearned sense of gravitas powered by originally evocative concepts that soon turn out to have very little substance behind them. That's what I get, I suppose, for judging it by its cover.

Phillip Reeve- Fever Crumb

Fever Crumb

Scholastic Books

Philip Reeve

2009

 “Godshawk looked surprised, the way that people generally do when you ask them philosophical questions in shrubberies in the middle of the night.”

Over a year after I read and reviewed Phillip Reeve's debut young adult novel Mortal Engines, I felt the urge to indulge in another piece of imaginative sci-fi/fantasy from the same world. The Mortal Engines universe had been a hit upon release back in 2001, leading to a bunch of sequels (research be damned) featuring the same characters. I skipped all those in one foul swoop, and instead moved straight to Reeve's first installment in a prequel series; Fever Crumb. Truth be told my very first knowledge of Reeve's work came from a recommendation from a friend about five years ago to specifically read Fever Crumb in liu of us both being very big fans of Phillip Pullman's His Dark Materials trilogy, making this book just another example of me finally getting around to an old installment on the mental to-read pile (and let's not get into the details on the physical one).

Anyway, Fever Crumb is set a few centuries before Mortal Engines, which still means it's set in the far, far future comparative to us. The whole premise of the universe is that it's set far after the fall of civilisation as we know it, even far after the rise and fall of civilisations after that. Secrets of old-world science and technology are either lost forever or hidden by those cultivating power, and so humanity goes on in an interesting hybrid of medieval-like surroundings and societal structure supported by the constant archeological hunt for mysterious old technology, manifested in things as varied as space hoppers and zombie cyborg sentinels. The action is set in future London, crucially differentiating itself from the Mortal Engines series with the city not yet having developed the huge trank tracks and massive engines to make it mobile. Reeve also introduces the concept of a genetic race war between humans through the Scriven, genetically advanced humans who consider themselves homo superior. It all makes up for an interesting world, though not original or charming enough for me to find particularly memorable.

Cool dude Phillip Reeve

As this is young adult fiction, the lead character is a young adult. Fever Crumb was a child of mysterious origins who suddenly finds herself questioning everything she knows about her past and her place in the world. Fairly standard stuff, but surely influenced by Pullman's Lyra in the way she's written and developed. As she becomes entangled with important figures in London and the leader learns more about the delicate power structure of this contrasting universe, the plot becomes more action-packed and revelatory, enough to keep my attention at least. It had to be like that, to push through the key problems I had with Fever Crumb, which upon reveal will surely prove that I'm a grumpy old man who probably shouldn't have been reading this book because it wasn't for me. Of course I'm talking about the quality of prose.

Mortal Engines was rough in that regard, but I forgave it and hoped for better in the future because it was Reeve's first book. Fever Crumb was at least his fourth, and disappointingly showed me no improvement whatsoever. It's difficult to fully judge, of course, because the genre of young adult by definition requires some dumbing down in certain ways to appeal to a wider audience, so I obviously don't expect the work of Joseph Conrad or something. But even with my limited experience with the genre, I've witnessed authors like Pullman and Terry Pratchett (with Dodger, for example) crafting the style in such a way as to remain simple to read yet still convey more style and substance within it. Reeve does have a knack for the odd funny line, and his universe building skills are not to be sniffed at, but his characterisation and attempts to build tension and mystery falls a little short of his better contemporaries. As a result of that I find myself left invested in the details of the overall universe, and so I'm not sure if I'll pick up any other books from it. I am a literary snob though, so I can absolutely see how any readers who don't have unrealistic expectations and are looking to invest in an imaginative universe could very easily get hooked.

L-Space- Can I Play the Piano Any More?

 

Just a quick, lazy post to draw attention to a great article on the BBC News website entitled The French Spy who wrote The Planet of the Apes, taking a fascinating look at the life and works of Planet of the Apes author Pierre Boulle. When I reviewed that sci-fi book almost one year ago now (where does the time go?) I was massively impressed by what I found to be a fantastic mix of sci-fi and classic Conan Doyle-esque adventure fiction. It was not a surprise, then, to find out through the BBC article that Boulle was a self-professed anglophile who loved all things literary and English. It was also fun to discover that his literary heroes were Joseph Conrad and W. Somerset Maugham, two men very highly regarded for their immaculate English prose, written of course in their second language.

I must get a hold of some more Boulle novels. In the meantime I have a review of Charles Bukowski's Factotum coming up sometime in the next forty to fifty years.

Terry Pratchett & Stephen Baxter- The Long Earth

The Long Earth

Terry Pratchett & Stephen Baxter

2012

Other Terry Pratchett Reviews- The Colour of Magic - The Light Fantastic - Equal Rites - Mort - Sourcery - Wyrd Sisters - Pyramids - Guards! Guards! - Eric - Moving Pictures - Reaper Man - Witches Abroad - Small Gods - Lords and Ladies - Men At Arms - Soul Music - Interesting Times - Maskerade - Feet of Clay - Hogfather - Raising Steam - A Blink of the Screen - Sky1 Adaptations- Dodger - The Long Earth (w Stephen Baxter)

“Maybe the only significant difference between a really smart simulation and a human being was the noise they made when you punched them.”

With Sir Terry markedly increasing his output over the past few years, certain releases fell by the wayside for me, the most notable of which was this curious co-authored start to a new science fiction series. The origins of The Long Earth novel and series began more than twenty years ago in an uncompleted Pratchett story entitled The High Meggas, which was included much later in Pratchett's recent collection of short fiction A Blink of the Screen. When I read that collection a year ago that particular story didn't capture my attention because I couldn't get invested in an unfinished concept, though the basic idea itself was interesting. Clearly the process of assembling Blink of the Screen inspired Pratchett to go back to his idea, and he collaborated with respected science fiction author Stephen Baxter (who I've never read anything else by, since I'm not that interested in new sci-fi thanks to the amount of classic stuff I've never read). 

I wasn't expecting too much from this book then, thanks to Pratchett's varied level of quality over the past few years and the fact that this was a venture into a somewhat new genre for him (I say somewhat because I don't believe that sci-fi and fantasy necessarily sit that far away from each other). The plot is essentially a high concept one, in that it all revolves around one single idea taken to Pratchett and Baxter's versions of a logical conclusion. It's all about parallel universes, which obviously isn't an original subject by itself, but is defined well enough with its own set of rules and mysteries that it stood out to me as a well-developed concept. The set-up is thus; a mysterious scientist has discovered a way to travel to parallel dimensions with the aid of very simple home-made machinery, which he posts in certain places on the Internet for children and adolescents to replicate. Suddenly a whole bunch of inquisitive kids create their own 'stepper' boxes, and use them to 'step' away from our Earth to adjacent dimensions.

TP & SB

Obviously this doesn't go unnoticed, as suddenly humanity has to come to terms with the new power to travel through an apparently infinite number of different Earths, none of which contain any human beings or living civilizations, essentially meaning that problems of world hunger or lack of space are a thing of the past; though, crucially, metallic objects can't be taken with you when stepping,  meaning migrating humans have to fight hard to survive and create their own lives in their new homes . The authors jump forward a few decades after establishing this to introduce their main character and set up the plot for this first installment of the series. Main character Joshua Valente is a natural stepper, able to traverse the dimensions without the need of a stepper box, seemingly making him the perfect person to join a mysterious expedition to travel further through the worlds than anyone else has.

Despite establishing its own set of rules, this book is not hard science fiction. It's a science fiction adventure story with more in common with the works of Arthur Conan Doyle than Frank Herbert, for example, and with the pen of Terry Pratchett driving the adventure on I (inevitably, in hindsight) ended up completely loving this book- so much so that it took my just two sittings to finish the whole thing. It's not Pratchett's best work by any means; some of it is clunky (particularly the specific references to famous sci fi novels and films, which felt very forced), probably due to a clash between authors, but the vast majority of it runs very smoothly. It's not a literary classic, it's not even a science fiction classic, but it takes just enough inspiration from genre classics and contains just enough mystery and suspense to hook the reader very early on.

The Long Earth was my favourite piece of light reading for a long time. I found it takes concepts from and pays obvious (but well-mannered) tribute to classics like 2001 and Planet of the Apes, as well as 90's TV standbys Sliders and Quantum Leap a mixes them up well enough to create a fictional universe that offers ample opportunities for sequels. In the time it took for me to buy and read this book Pratchett and Baxter have released the next two installments in the series with another two to come, so I hope the same sense of adventure prevails through them all, so I can praise them when I finish reviewing them in about three hundred years.

Comics Snobbery I

 Comics Snobbery I

 In the near two year history of this humblest of humble blogs I've successfully managed to resist the constant temptation to write about the comic books I've been reading (or 'graphic novels', if you're insecure), based on the entirely accurate logic that I can barely write two individual book reviews per month anyway. This has been hard since I've been a big reader of comic books since I first noticed the growing collection of the local library when I was about ten years old (and for years before that I read The Beano and The Dandy every week, back when they only cost 40 pence), and since the arrival of the Internet in its current form made it easy to follow the industry on a 24/7 basis.

Still though, it's only been over the last couple of years that my physical collection of comics- a slight misnomer since, unless I'm forgetting, 100% of my collection is comprised of hard and paperback collections or original graphic novels- has really grown. I borrowed a lot of complete series of classic contemporary comics when I was younger, and my heart's desire to revisit and own them won out over my brain's desire to protect my wallet.

In this ever-growing blog post I just want to talk about the comics series that I've only partially collected, but before I do that I must explain; I'm a self-confessed comics snob. That is, I only put down my money on widely well-regarded series with critically acclaimed superstar authors. I don't buy comics on a whim and I don't give chances to authors of whom I feel aren't up to presenting comics as real literature (I'm not overly worried about artists). My reasoning is pretty simple though; I've only got a certain amount of money to spend and only so much free time to read, and my comics reading time is integrated into my novel reading time. And I'm a snob. Let's crack on;

Judge Dredd- The Complete Case Files (2000AD)

Cover art by Cliff Morrison

I'm ten volumes deep in to this absolutely massive complete collection of Judge Dredd stories; the only bullying fascist lawman of the future I ever loved. For those who don't know of him, Judge Dredd first appeared back in 1977 in the second issue of the British science fiction anthology strip 2000AD and perseveres to this day as the country's number one character, popular enough to star in the half-decent 2012 Hollywood movie Dredd. Created and consistently written by John Wagner, Judge Dredd as a character and concept is an immensely curious blend of influences, born of a depressed British society swamped by a deluge of US popular culture, creating this mean, stone-jawed militant policeman who, early on in the strip especially, appalls almost as much as he appeals. The overt fascist, right wing politics of Dredd are cranked-up tongue-in-cheek portrayals of a world too big and too dangerous to be organised by diplomacy. 

Mega City One is the home of Dredd, an immense metropolis stretching down almost the entire east coast of the US and home to millions upon millions of potential criminals. The only thing that can keep things civil is the power of the judge system, where each highly trained judge patrols the city and acts as policeman, judge, jury and executioner rolled into one. Dredd is the most capable and the most feared of all the judges, and he's always at the front line when Mega City One needs protecting. The 10 volumes I've read (though there are 21 available so far) chronicle Dredd's mission to protect the city against all manner of apocalyptic threats, while dealing with crime on the street that you could barely imagine if John Wagner hadn't done it for you.

The earlier volumes mostly contain the more traditional, often straight-faced sci-fi stories written in multiple parts, such as The Cursed Earth Saga, The Judge Child, and The Apocalypse War. They're exciting, classic, and full of admittedly zany British comics humour influenced by the more traditional comics of the time. There's also a strong sense of pastiche as Dredd fulfills a traditional bad ass, never give up, never compromise hero role despite pretty much being a bastard. The later volumes change the tone of the stories somewhat, shortening the long form stories into typically one or two part strips. There's an increased focus on comedy, more satirical and blacker than ever before. It would take a far better deconstructionist than I to properly analyse the development of Dredd in relation to John Wagner's views of society (which, by the time of the contents of Volume 10, was deep into Conservative political territory), but there's no doubt Wagner's authorship improves over the years.

With so many more volumes to read, I'm not entirely sure if I'll make it to the end, simply because I've already been suffering from Dredd fatigue. I'll almost certainly be buying volume 12 though, as it marks Judge Dredd's first foray into colour; a very welcome addition by this point, as the heavy black inks only offer limited detail and add a massive dose of extra repetitiveness. The other nine volumes (so far) may have to wait. Still, despite my complaints of over exposure I can only say that, individually, each volume is of great value; they're massive, and fairly cheap by typical standards. They're also very consistent in quality, though the fact remains that there's a fairly specific niche aspect to the satirical elements that, thirty years on specifically, might not be particularly obvious to non-Brit readers without reference points. 

That's enough comics talk for now. Especially since I originally planned on doing this all in one post, and completely failed. More comics talk soon, probably around 2052 or so.

Pierre Boulle- Planet of the Apes

Planet of the Apes

Vintage

 Pierre Boulle

1963

"I racked my brains to discover some sense in the events I had witnessed. I needed this intellectual exercise to escape from the despair that haunted me, to prove to myself that I was a man, I mean a man from Earth, a reasoning creature who made it a habit to discover a logical explanation for the apparently miraculous whims of nature, and not a beast hunted down by highly developed apes.”

Somewhat randomly pulling Pierre Boulle's original piece of sixties science fiction from the shelves, a quick examination led me to realise that this was an intriguing prospect in terms of looking at a franchise in relation to humble origins. Planet of the Apes, as we know it today, is a firmly established Hollywood money-maker with a selection of classic soundbites and images cemented in pop-culture history, each much parodied; one of the first things I think of when I think of Planet of the Apes is the image of Troy McClure in the lead role in 'Stop the Planet of the Apes, I Want To Get Off!', from the classic Simpsons episode A Fish Called Selma. Since then there have been two attempts to reboot the franchise, but despite that Charlton Heston is still the man most associated with the title, thanks to the original five movies. I haven't seen any of them.

It's one of those things where I've been so often assaulted with parodies of them (well, the original) that I feel like I've experienced it quite enough as it is, and I've been put off by the apparent cheesiness; the hokey, cheap-looking ape costumes, the terrible, sub-Shatner acting ability of Heston, and the sheer lunacy surrounding the whole thing. I think in that respect, the themes and cultural presence of the movie franchise in my eyes made, on quick judging-the-book-by-the-cover analysis, the book seem that much more appealing. When you simply look at the details of the novel without the larger context, it gains a huge amount of literary hipster credentials.

Translated from the French (because I am but an ignorant Englishman), Pierre Boulle's most famous future sci-fi franchise phenomenon novel is essentially a philosophical (but not overly so) adventurous pure science fiction concept that uses adventure and mystery to explore a few basic social issues; essentially turning the world upside-down to look at it from a different perspective. The plot itself moves along quickly, thrillingly, towards a thoughtful, logical conclusion (with a final twist at the very end, and it doesn't involve the Statue of Liberty), evoking stylistic similarities to many earlier luminaries of the genre.

I couldn't resist this picture.

Ulysse Mérou travels across the universe in a time-manipulating space shuttle with two science companions, to the star system of Betelgeuse, where the team discover the planet Soror, a planet with a breathable atmosphere strikingly similar to Earth. Upon landing, they discover numerous human beings living savagely in the forest, with no language, society, or intelligence. Before getting much of a chance to study the undeveloped humans, the party is attacked by a, wait for it, a pack of seemingly-intelligent, talking, clothes wearing, congo-dancing damned dirty apes. Ulysse is captured, plays dumb, and is taken to civilisation and placed in a cage at a research facility. Still hiding his true intelligence, Ulysse takes the opportunity to observe the apes, but can only guess so much without communication. In an act of narrative fortune, however, Ulysee makes a connection with a chimp scientist named Zira, and is able to learn some monkey-talk and bring his presence out into the open.

It was from this point especially that the gap between this novel and the story as it exists in modern media became most apparent. Earlier on in the novel I felt that the pacing and style of Bouelle's prose and story most reminded me of Arthur Conan Doyle, in particular The Lost World and his other Professor Challenger stories. Then I remembered Boulle's countryman Jules Verne and his famous adventure stories, and Boulle's fantasy origins became more tangible. Still though, this novel was written in the mid-sixties, and betrays its period style through the contemplative philosophical musings related to the analogous events of the novel. When Ulysse finally begins to explain himself to the ape civilization (at the most appropriately dramatic time), rather than continue along the lines of danger and adventure by having his life threatened or worse, Ulysse is rather quickly accepted into society, and spends much of the rest of the novel working with the apes, contemplating the meaning of this odd reverse species arrangement.

This considered pace secured my admiration for the book, elevating it up there with the best science fiction I have yet to experience, such as the work of Arthur C. Clarke, and Daniel Keys' Flowers for Algernon. Like the best of its genre, Planet of the Apes uses a deceptively outrageous formula to ask searching questions about the human race, but does so with style and mystery the eggs the reader on to complete it. It's at strange odds with the uber-serious tone of Rise of the Planet of the Apes, the most recent film, with the irony being that the franchise is far  from considerable as a philosophical allegory for the standing of man amongst the animals of Earth. Still, perhaps the biggest compliment I can give this novel is that despite its weightier overtones it still feels fresher and more exciting as a pure story than the massively engorged, cash-injected twenty-first century temple of decadence movies. Highest recommendation of its genre.

Phillip Reeve- Mortal Engines

Mortal Engines

 

Harper Collins

Phillip Reeve

2001

“Is it...dead?" asked Tom, his voice all quivery with fright.
"A town just ran over him," said Hester. "I shouldn't think he's very well...”  

At first glance, illustrator Phillip Reeve's debut novel Mortal Engines doesn't look like the type of fiction a well-respecting adult reader would be seen in public with, but my desire to try and catch upwith my reading pile meant that I was cramming brief bits of reading where ever I could. I'd been looking forward to getting to the book for some time now, specifically to try and fill a particularly-sized gap that I felt in my reading appetite; that for a bit of young adult fiction. I'm a big proponent of the potential of the genre to create the right type of atmosphere for an author to create amazing fantasy, and there's no better example of this than Phillip Pullman's truly epic His Dark Materials trilogy, where Pullman dramatically pulled his readers through an intense inter-dimensional adventure with philosophical and religious themes playing out across an amazing, neo-classical setting. I was looking for an imagination as vast as that, and the premise of Mortal Engines captured my attention.

I was probably most attracted by the promise of steampunk; that curious artistic mixture of classical Victorian design reinterpreted in futuristic ways. Mortal Engines is set thousands of years from the present, in a post-apocalyptic future where devastating war has changed life as we know it, and destroyed most knowledge of the past. While computers and other electronics  no longer exist, the mad scientists of the future have turned the very cities they live in into almost unrecognisable machinery. Each city is placed upon huge constructed tank tracks, that connect to immense steam engines that propel them across the desert planes. With natural resources extremely scarce, each city and town is forced to prey upon smaller ones. The city of London is one of these; larger than most but not invulnerable.

Reeves refrains from giving every detail of this world immediately, leaving plenty of mysteries unsolved even at the end of this book (which is the first in a series of three). He narrows the perspective on this amazing world when he introduces his unassuming main character, a young orphan named Tom. It's through Tom's perspective and experiences that things become a lot more simplified and typical; I'm not sure if this is a slight or not, but Reeve's portrayal of Tom is hardly original; for one he's an orphan, and all orphans in all books ever always eventually overcome the odds. In other developments common to all children's literature, Tom quickly becomes tightly wrapped-up in a major conspiracy involving the adults he knows, where he and his friends go against the odds to do what's right. It's oddly comfortable, in the spirit of Harry Potter and all that.

It's because of this that I enjoyed the book; though the adventure is fast-paced and exciting, and the plot full of twists (without giving too much away, Tom finds out that the leaders of London aren't quite as benevolent as they like to appear and are planning on using some rediscovered olde tech to conquor their enemies via killing masses of innocents) Reeve's writing remains fairly simple. In some respects it's limited, far behind the narrative mastery of Phillip Pullman and lacking the emotional power of J.K. Rowling's books, but it does retain a sense of wonder and  majesty suited to the uncanny backdrop of events. At some point I'll certainly pick up the second book in the series, with some hope that Phillip Reeve's talents as a writer grew with experience.

Richard Matheson- I Am Legend

I Am Legend

Victor Gollancz

Richard Matheson
1954

“Full circle. A new terror born in death, a new superstition entering the unassailable fortress of forever. I am legend.”

It always kind of irks me a little when people refer to the details of a story after only seeing the cinematic adaptation, like the other day when my sister asked me if I'd heard of the film War of the Worlds and I almost through her out of the window. The thing is that it's one of those irritations which is just actually a personal affectation to make myself look and feel like more of a literary snob, and in reality we're all the same and we all do it. I first saw the Will Smith sci-fi horror vehicle I Am Legend a few years ago, and although it's not a particularly brilliant film it did stick in my memory. In the years since, as I grow old and wizened, I learned a little more about fan disapproval of the film, specifically due to it's dovetailing from the original story. Curious to see what the fuss was about, I picked up the book.

Richard Matheson's bibliography is totally alien to me aside from this book, which stands out as the definitive note of his writing career as an individual piece of sci-fi/horror in the same way that The Day of the Triffids was for John Wyndham, or Flowers for Algernon for Daniel Keyes (two of my favourite science fiction novels). Prior to reading it I really had no idea of the influence it had on modern things I enjoy, which is probably my brain subliminally filling it alongside the 2007 film version as merely throw-away entertainment. The modern things I enjoy, by the way, are zombies.

Starring Will Smith.

I Am Legend is a short book, more of a novella, and certainly isn't in the same vein as the action-packed Hollywood version. Instead Matheson uses the elements he chooses to pluck from the horror genre to give an intense character study of a man in the strangest of circumstances, using the structure of events to move him to a climactic realisation that puts the whole book, including its title, into a final philosophical context. In this aspect Matheson's pacing and development is masterful; he introduces the reader to the life of Robert Neville, possibly the last human being left alive and unaffected by the vampiric plague that's swept the world- yes, I did say zombies but they're kind of like a cross between vampires and zombies.

 It's a lonely, harrowing story. Neville's day to day survival is somewhat procedural; he's very well-prepared, intelligent, and safe, having isolated himself in an impenetrable home at night while free to wonder the world during the day. Naturally events don't remain so simple and under control, and it's at the introduction of third parties that the differences between the book and the film really stand out, literally, symbolically and very much thematically. Like every other film starring Will Smith ever, the focus there is on hope and success, but that was a large departure from the original source. I can certainly understand devout fans of the book not enjoying the changes at all, but then a direct adaptation would not have worked, at least not for mainstream audiences.

Ultimately I think it's a fact that I Am Legend is a far greater novel than it was a film. I think the quality of its inspiration on the post-apocalyptic strand of the horror novel cannot be understated, although the quality of the novel and its prose itself doesn't quite match up to that legacy. I certainly recommend it to any fan of horror as both an genre innovator and a good, brief read on its own merits.

Terry Pratchett- A Blink of the Screen: Collected Fiction

A Blink of the Screen- Collected Shorter Fiction

Doubleday

Sir Terry Pratchett
2012

Other Terry Pratchett Reviews- The Colour of Magic - The Light Fantastic - Equal Rites - Mort - Sourcery - Wyrd Sisters - Pyramids - Guards! Guards! - Eric - Moving Pictures - Reaper Man - Witches Abroad - Small Gods - Lords and Ladies - Men At Arms - Soul Music - Interesting Times - Maskerade - Feet of Clay - Hogfather - Raising Steam - A Blink of the Screen - Sky1 Adaptations- Dodger - The Long Earth (w Stephen Baxter)

"The traditional enmity between dwarfs and trolls has been explained away by one simple statement: one species is made of rock, the other is made of miners. But in truth the enmity is there because no one can remember when it wasn’t, and so it continues because everything is done in completely justifiable revenge for the revenge that was taken in response to the revenge for the vengeance that was taken earlier, and so on. Humans never do this sort of thing, much."

It's safe to say that the vast majority of popular authors eventually release at least one collection of short stories, letters and other previously unreleased miscellanea, as kind of an easy cash-in on their success and as a treat for their biggest fans, who inevitably can't resist making sure they have their favourite author's entire bibliography. I reviewed George Orwell's Shooting an Elephant and Other Essays (which is one only many collections of the legendary author's many essays and articles) not long ago as an example, as is Hunter S. Thompson's The Great Shark Hunt. Another that springs to mind as a favorite is the posthumous Douglas Adams collection The Salmon of Doubt.

As a devout fan of the great man Pratchett, A Blink of the Screen was an essential purchase. Upon first thought, it seems strange that it's taken so long for such a project to be released, especially since Pratchett has hardly been shy about contributing to a great many Discworld companions of various types. When you consider he's been hugely popular for twenty years now it seems odder. It turns out that the explanation for this is a simple one, and one that really defines the nature and appeal, or lack of (I'll get to that) this book. A Blink of the Screen collects thirty-three individual pieces of shorter work dating from 1963 to the present day. Eleven of these are Discworld pieces, and constitute most of the appeal of the book.

This is a definitive collection, no doubt. The first story, The Hades Business from 1963 was written when Pratchett was 13-years-old, and there are a quite a few originating from his younger years. These are amusing enough, clearly showing a young writer with lots of potential, but inevitably aren't anywhere near the quality we're used to from him. The later writings, including several of the Discworld bits, are very short bits of miscellanea that seem included merely to pad out the Discworld content and sell more copies. They're funny little sketches from the recognisable pen of the mature Pratchett, but I have the feeling many will be disappointed with their briefness.

The meat and potatoes, as they say, lies in Pratchett's years of developing fame, roughly encapsulated here from 1986 to 1993, where his stories clearly display the work of a man just beginning to plumb the depths of his imagination. The High Megas (1986) is the short story which eventually evolved into last year's The Long Earth novel (which I annoyingly don't have, yet alone have read) and it's a breath-taking piece of imaginative sci-fi reminiscent of the short stories of Arthur C. Clarke and Ray Bradbury, only with a lot more wit. Meanwhile, there are three brilliant Discworld short stories that are almost worth the price of admission themselves, if only they hadn't been available on the Internet for free since they came out.

Pratchett gives short introductions to each piece, and it's through this that he reveals the truth; he doesn't enjoy writing short stories whatsoever, and envies those people who do them for fun. It's an honest admission for someone selling a short story collection, but it really defines the truth. There are at least 100 pages of legitimately great, on-form Pratchett stories in here, but the rest of it is merely collected for the sake of it. Rather than having reams and reams of material to source from, Pratchett was left with the scraps. It makes complete sense because there's absolutely loads of published material from Sir Terry, he doesn't leave many scraps. So, as it is, this book is really only for obsessives, or for people who don't mind paying for convenience. I'm happy to have it because it looks very nice and makes me feel like a cool librarian (oxymoron?), but I doubt I'll be referring to it as a must have to any burgening fans of my favourite author.

Ray Bradbury- The Silver Locusts- The Martian Chronicles

The Silver Locusts- The Martian Chronicles

Corgi

Ray Bradbury
1950

'“Do you ever wonder if--well, if there are people living on the third planet?'
'The third planet is incapable of supporting life,' stated the husband patiently. 'Our scientists have said there's far too much oxygen in their atmosphere.”' 

Returning to Ray Bradbury and his seemingly-endless droll science fiction antics, after reading and very much enjoying Bradbury's take on 1984 in Fahrenheit 451 I returned to a short story collection not unlike the first Bradbury book I read, The Illustrated Man. The stories in The Silver Locusts (a book more commonly known as The Martian Chronicles in its native United States, but that's not where I be) were written between 1946 and 1950- or later, depending on the edition of the book you own, mine is the UK original- for various science fiction publications. In this bastardized novel form Bradbury attempted to include thematically similar stories and added around a handful of new ones in an attempt to bring the concept together cohesively. For me, it just didn't work.

The original edition of this collection contains twenty-eight stories, arranged in chronological order to tell the greater story of a suffering and desperate human race attempting to colonise Mars. The stories are split in to three parts; the first selection tell of man's desperate attempts to reach the red planet and escape a nearly totally devastated Earth in the face of nuclear destruction. Those that do make it arrive to encounter the martian race in various ways, but almost all with tragic outcomes. Bradbury writes several of these stories with a heavy emphasis on the Martian's perspective, and as a result quickly establishes the key narrative element of using his alien characters to offer a twisted glimpse into humanity. Though I've only read three of his books, it seems that he has certain concepts that remain paramount throughout his writing; for me, those were boiled down to the essence of a lack of faith in humanity to be able to deal peacefully with others.

As in H.G. Wells' War of the Worlds, the downfall of the Martian race is through a lack of immunity to common human diseases, and soon the human colonists seem to have the planet to themselves. Transposing important human issues and history into new visions with new perspectives is an integral part of the best science fiction, I think, and it perhaps wasn't a distant concept to turn the prairies of the newly colonized American west into vast empty Martian deserts. Anything seems possible, in an understated mesh of southern gothic and alien horror genres.

The third act of the collection requires an important plot point to explain, so I'll refrain from that because nobody likes big spoilers, but truth be told it's a continuation of the colonisation theme taken to its natural conclusion, in Oroborous fashion. By this point, though, my interest had bottomed out and it was only stubbornness that forced me to complete the book. Thinking about what left me so cold about The Silver Locusts compared to how much I enjoyed Fahrenheit 451 (a lot) and The Illustrated Man (a bit), it seems to me that the answer lies in the telling of the stories; thinking back over the overarching plot and themes it's a very clever book, and a very well organised collection of cohesive parts, but I couldn't enjoy them. Partly I think because the variety of setting was understandably slim, but mostly because Bradbury failed to make me care about almost any of the characters in the short time they were each granted on the page. Montag, of Fahrenheit 451 is allowed much more space to breathe and grow in what is still a short novel, and existed as a point of identification. The characters of this book mean nothing to me. Perhaps as a Brit rather than an American I just can't bring myself to care enough about thoughts of a new world and the dangers of a fresh civilization.

Ray Bradbury- Fahrenheit 451

My tactic for catching up with my constantly growing to-be-read book pile is to read through the shortest books on the pile. Ingenious

Fahrenheit 451

Ray Bradbury
1954 

"There was a silly damn bird called a Phoenix back before Christ: every few hundred years he built a pyre and burned himself up. He must have been first cousin to Man. But every time he burnt himself up he sprang out of the ashes, he got himself born all over again. And it looks like we're doing the same thing, over and over, but we've got one damn thing the Phoenix never had. We know the damn silly thing we just did. We know all the damn silly things we've done for a thousand years, and as long as we know that and always have it around where we can see it, some day we'll stop making the goddam funeral pyres and jumping into the middle of them."

After reading and enjoying the Ray Bradbury short-story collection The Illustrated Man not too long ago, I found an old, very cool looking retro 1963 Corgi edition of Bradbury's most widely known work, Fahrenheit 451. Running in at a meager 126-pages, Fahrenheit 451 could be accurately described as a novella; it was developed into its final form from two earlier incarnations, the first of which was a short story. For those who haven't heard of this extremely famous sci-fi classic, it's essentially a very carefully and specifically designed parable regarding a fascist, dystopian future that's very similar in tone to Nineteen Eighty-Four (published only six years earlier), yet holds its own as a powerful, meaningful and touching window that contains moments of action, horror and philosophical musing; all the hallmarks of a sci-fi classic.

Set at an undefined point in a United States of the future,  Guy Montag has a very important job in the community; he is a fireman, and like any good fireman his job is to set fire to books, which are all now completely illegal. In this world, people don't read, enjoy nature, or listen to and converse with each other, they simply watch hideous amounts of television and obey the state. Guy's life and sense of self begin to unravel like Orwell's Winston Smith, as his eyes begin to open to the oppressive fascism around him. Montag can't resist exploring the nature of the books he's supposed to be burning, learning more about the situations that led to the nature of this world, and, somewhat inevitably, finally becomes an enemy of the state.

Bradbury presents a very liberal agenda here, but it's such a clear and sensible one that anyone who objects to it would have to be an idiot. Guy Montag is a likable, believable character who becomes a hero of a type, and (unlike Nineteen Eighty-Four) leaves the book on a positive, optimistic note (well, not for everyone, but I won't spoil), and Bradbury brings passion and craft to his philosophies. The key to the books success for this read was Bradbury's ability to create, in a small amount of space, an intriguing world environment containing occasionally-horrifying science fiction that isn't overburdened with excessive detail. The short nature of the book creates more intrigue and mystery, and as Guy Montag becomes a normal (by out standards) person with aspirations of freedom, this mysterious society as a whole becomes a faceless enemy.

Fahrenheit 451 is one of the most memorable sci-fi books I've ever read, and I recommend it not only to fans of the genre but to anyone interested in this sort of dystopian parable influenced by Orwell and Aldous Huxley. It's short and sweet (well, proverbially), contains interesting characters, and enough horror and drama to push the meaning and philosophy forward at a quick pace.

Ray Bradbury- The Illustrated Man

The Illustrated Man

Doubleday

Ray Bradbury
1951

"If El Greco had painted miniatures in his prime, no bigger than your hand, infinitely detailed with all his sulphurous color, elongation, and anatomy, perhaps he might have used this man's body for his art. The colors burned in three dimensions. They were windows looking in upon fiery reality. Here, gathered on one wall, were all the finest scenes in the universe, the man was a walking treasure gallery. This wasn't the work of a cheap carnival tattoo man with three colors and whiskey on his breath. This was the accomplishment of a living genius, vibrant, clear, and beautiful." 

My first exposure to the work of the highly prolific and well-respected sci-fi author Ray Bradbury went rather smoothly with this, an anthology of previously published thematically-linked short stories given a new framework to link them together. I'm not a fan of sci-fi for the sake of sci-fi, but I do appreciate how the unlimited scope and opportunity for imagination can be used by talented authors to enhance their philosophies beyond that of normal drama, and also how perhaps less naturally talented writers can still make an impact and write an interesting story through a striking imagination. After reading this book, I'd initially place Bradbury in the middle of this; perhaps lower on the totem than the likes of Arthur C. Clarke or William Gibson, but talented enough to strike a chord with the reader through coming up with stories with a greater meaning than they initially present.

The framework involves the story of the eponymous illustrated man and a narrator who meets him; a tattooed vagrant whose magical body art twists and turns to show a multitude of animated stories. It's not particularly important, but does help a little to link these stories as warning prophecies of the future. The book comprises of eighteen short stories of varying quality and imagination. A few of them, such as 'The Veldt' (a 'smart' house with a holographic nursery that gets stuck on an unsettling scene), 'Marionettes, Inc.' (a man tries to use a life-like animatronic doll of himself to escape his wife's obsessive nature) and Usher II (in an Orwellian book-burning future, a man escapes to Mars to build a real version of Poe's House of Usher, using it to kill those who come after him) are conceptually brilliant, and Bradbury's decent prose is enough to bring them to life and imprint them on the reader's memory. Others, though, are bland and a little repetitive, focusing on similar themes and ideas that left no memorable imprint for me.

While I believe that this collection would be better if trimmed of the excess fat, overall the themes are similar and strong enough to justify the concept, and Bradbury's straightforward and consist ant style of prose contributes to an impressive feeling of often downbeat, sinister parable-telling, with a hint of foreshadowing towards a self-brought end to humanity. But, while it's a little silly to complain about a short-story collection featuring too much content, the concept is watered down through the weaker offerings and prevents The Illustrated Man, in my mind, from being a true genre classic; though I'll definitely get back to Bradbury at some point.