Important information about City of Meteors by Philip Threadneedle

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We’ve just realised that, due to an embarrassing admin error at Falcon Berger Towers, some copies of City of Meteors have been sold without the last minute corrections that were made during proof-reading.

The affected copies contain a small number of typos, and are missing a couple of last minute tweaks that the author wanted to make to the dialogue.

A surprising number of novels make it to press with errors (including books by big name authors!), but we’re obviously still annoyed with ourselves. Luckily, our books are print-on-demand titles, so it’s not like we printed hundreds of copies with the mistakes! City of Meteors is currently unavailable while we correct the errors and send new files to the printer.

If you want to check yours, have a look at page 161. Among other things, the affected copies have she goaned in annoyance rather than she groaned.

We strongly recommend you hold onto these copies, as they may be worth something one day!

Also, rest assured we will triple check book three in the series – which is called The Richest Man on Mars - before it goes to press later this year.

Doctor Who: The Rings of Akhaten explained and reviewed ★★★★

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I thought last night’s episode of Doctor Who was a fun, clever, classy episode. However, a couple of my friends didn’t quite understand the ending at first, so I thought I’d blog my take on it – and identify the minor points that I did find baffling – in case anyone finds it useful or interesting.

Spoilers below…

Some thought the dénouement of the story was a lazy case of “singing solves everything”. As far as I can tell, the significance of the singing is merely that the locals sing a round-the-clock lullaby to stop the Big Baddie waking up. Once he wakes up, it isn’t the singing that gets rid of him.

Two plot elements are introduced in passing, which – I think – cleverly set up and explain what happens at the end.

The first is that the currency of that whole star system is based on sacrificing items of personal historical significance. The Doctor and Clara use Clara’s ring (originally her mother’s) to hire the space moped, because the Doctor’s only possession of sentimental value is his sonic screwdriver – and that’s too useful to give away.

That cues up the second key point, which is how the Big Baddie works. It’s said to “devour your soul” – but the Doctor explains to Clara that your “soul” is just a load of “stories”: all the things that happened to you in your life that mattered and made you who you are. In a world where small parts of that are given away as currency, it makes sense that an angry god would demand all of it as a sacrifice. The Doctor tells the chosen sacrifice that she’s unique in the universe and is angry that the Big Baddie would prey on that uniqueness.

Anyway, when he faces the Big Baddie, the Doctor challenges it to take him, because he’s seen and done so much – from the Big Bang to the Heat Death of the Universe – that he thinks it will be too much for the monster. Maybe he was trying to fatally overload it, or maybe he was genuinely trying to sacrifice himself to sate the monster’s appetite. I don’t know (I haven’t done a repeat viewing yet). But in either case, that’s the gist of his gambit: give the Big Baddie more than it can comfortably chew on.

It doesn’t work.

Then Clara turns up and offers the Big Baddie a pressed leaf. The leaf is her symbol of all the stories that never got to play out in her life because her mum died young. The Doctor argues that this well of possible stories is an “infinite” payload, much larger even than his own life would have been. The Big Baddie does devour the leaf, but clearly, the Doctor’s theory is correct because it can’t handle it and dies afterwards.

It’s not the most scientific plot device in the world, but by Doctor Who standards, I thought it was passably internally consistent. Unfortunately, I think the show can be its own worst enemy sometimes. There’s so much hand-waving and arbitrary rule-making in other episodes that, with the best will in the world, even die-hard Who fans don’t pay close attention to everything shown and said – simply because it’s rare that the show rewards you (rather than frustrates you!) for doing so.

And if you just sit back and enjoy the ride, then, on the rare occasions when the story sets up the dénouement cleverly and consistently – as it did in The Rings of Akhaten - you’re likely to overlook the key points, and fixate instead on bombastic red herrings (like the fact that someone happens to be singing a stirring song at a critical juncture).

That said, there are a couple of points that I didn’t understand myself.

When they arrive in the pyramid, one of the choristers is singing a song to try and subdue the Big Baddie. It goes:

Do not wake from slumber, Old God, do not wake from slumber / Rest your weary, holy head and cast our lives asunder

Other than the fact that it rhymes… why would he implore the Old God to “cast their lives asunder”? Isn’t that the opposite of what they want?

Secondly, doesn’t every life represent an infinity of untold stories? Especially – say – the life of a child who gets sacrificed to an angry god? In strict rational terms, if Clara’s leaf was too much for the monster, I’m not sure how it survived for so long without coming across something equally potent (maybe everything should be equally potent).

But I’m prepared to overlook that on the grounds that Doctor Who is a magical space fantasy, rather than hard sci-fi. Maybe it was the way that Clare thought of the leaf – its intense personal significance – that gave it so much wallop, rather than what it represented in mathematical/probabilistic terms.

Oh – but thirdly and finally – if it wasn’t a case of “singing solves everything”… then what was the significance of the song at the end? My best guess is, it was just an attempt to rally the Doctor and spur him on at a moment of crisis – effectively cheerleading him into battle.

I did enjoy The Rings of Akhaten. It’s very rare in the revived series that you get a story with so little connection to Earth and humanity. If Clara (that mystery of mysteries!) is revealed to be something other than human, then The Rings of Akhaten will, in fact, turn out to have been a completely human-free episode. The classic serials were quite often set on alien worlds and among alien people, whereas in the revived show, the infinite potential of the Tardis isn’t explored quite as much. To quote Big Bang Theory, despite being able to go anywhere in time and space, “Doctor Who sure does have a thing for modern-day London”!

The Rings of Akhaten reminded me (in a good way) of The End of the World, which was possibly my favourite of the Christopher Eccleston run. In both cases, the Doctor wows a new companion by taking her somewhere very exotic, where aliens have gathered to see something spectacular. Although the Earth-bound episodes ground the show and give it human interest – not to mention peril! – I think it’s good to intersperse those, now and then, with the more spectacular kinds of space fantasy story, to remind us why it would be so exciting to ride on the Tardis for a while.

So, that’s my review of The Rings of Akhaten. A very welcome four star episode!

New covers for The Astronaut’s Apprentice!

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We’ve decided to bite the bullet. We’re taking the two Astronaut’s Apprentice books off the market for a short period, in order to re-release them with new and (we hope you’ll agree) improved covers. The turnaround is likely to be a couple of weeks.

For those who are interested, this is why. For starters, we do all our design work in house, and we think we’ve just improved a bit since 2010. When City of Meteors was being developed, we felt hamstrung by the fact that we had to match the established style of The Astronaut’s Apprentice. Part of the problem is, we wanted a different colour for each title, but suitable colours weren’t exactly jumping out at us. Because the elements (UFOs, asteroids, etc.) don’t have outlines – just a very light drop shadow – you have to find a shade that a) contrasts strongly enough with everything else, but b) is neutral enough not to clash horribly with anything, c) fits the muted theme of the series, and d) is actually a nice colour. It turns out that it’s surprisingly difficult to find colours like that, and the problem only got worse with The Richest Man on Mars. We got a provisional cover ready, but deep down we weren’t that happy with it.

The idea behind the original Astronaut’s Apprentice cover was to make it look like everything was a paper cutout (the end result didn’t quite match that vision, partly because we ended up with glossier stock than planned). We’ve decided to go for something completely different this time. So, without further ado – and bearing in mind that these might change when we see the proofs – here are the new covers for the series so far, including the forthcoming third book.

A new cover for The Astronaut's Apprentice

A new cover for City of Meteors

The cover for The Richest Man on Mars

The original covers are still available to view down the left hand side of this blog. What do you think? Are these the big improvement we hope they are…?

Milton Strange, and other plans for early 2013

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I’m going to keep this short – it’s nearly bedtime after all – but today is a very exciting day. I’m pleased to announce that the first quarter of 2013 will see the publication of Milton Strange and the Astral Projector, by first time author “Merlin” Mackinnon, as a lush Falcon Berger paperback. This is a fast-paced (but incredibly detailed) fantasy novel, set at a magical research facility on the coast of England.

The following image shows what the cover will probably look like. As with our previous book covers and illustrations, it was made using the brilliant – and free – Inkscape software.

Cover of Milton Strange and the Astral Projector

Cover may be changed before publication

The premise is that our world is one of many that make up the Multiverse. Of the others, some are friendly and some are hostile, but all can be seen and even visited using a magical invention called the Astral Projector.

That isn’t our only plan for 2013. A brand new space adventure for Bradley and Grandpa – book three of this growing series by Philip Threadneedle – is expected in late February. It’s called The Richest Man on Mars, and we think it’s the best one yet.

Lastly, we’re going to be releasing Kindle editions of our existing catalogue, starting with The Trumblebuggins by Harry Ladd.

That’s all for tonight. Hope you’re enjoying 2013!

The Hobbit movie: butter spread over too much bread ★★★

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There’s a memorable bit in The Lord of the Rings when Bilbo is trying to convey to Gandalf how tired he is. He says he feels “like butter that’s been spread over too much bread”.

Last night, I caught the first instalment of Peter Jackson’s The Hobbit trilogy – and I’m sure I can’t be the only person who was reminded of that quote. The source material really has been stretched too far by the decision to make three very long films out of it.  The end result is so unlike the novel (in spirit as well as content) that I feel like I’ve now seen a film called The Hobbit, rather than of The Hobbit.

As a spectacle, it doesn’t compare too favourably to The Lord of the Rings. Jackson has made the very bold move of shooting his film at double the normal frame rate – which means that, if you go to a cinema with the latest and greatest projectors, you can see it presented in 48 frames per second instead of the usual 24. Unfortunately, in the UK at least, TV shows like soaps and sitcoms seem to have been routinely shot at the higher frame rate for years – so although it’s technically better, for many viewers, it has the rather cheapening effect of making The Hobbit look like something from the small screen! While The Lord of the Rings movies did a great job of showing you what Middle Earth might really look like, The Hobbit seemed gaudy and artificial to me – at least, on IMAX and at the higher frame rate (it may be that the higher quality makes the computer generated bits more obvious).

Now for the story itself. Much of the padding is new material. Throughout the film, the heroes are pursued by a band of orcs led by Thorin Oakenshield’s arch-nemesis, Azog. In the book, Gandalf mentions Azog purely in passing as the goblin who killed Thorin’s grandfather. On screen, he’s imagined as chief antagonist Azog the Defiler: a prodigiously large, one-handed albino orc who rides a giant warg. We learn (in a flashback) that Thorin fought him immediately after the death of his grandfather, defending himself with a lump of oak that earned him his colourful surname.

Under Jackson’s supervision, Azog isn’t the only cameo that gets expanded – although, as the “big baddie” of An Unexpected Journey, he’s probably the most striking. In another example, Radagast the Brown is brought to life by Sylvestor McCoy, who starred in Doctor Who back in the late Eighties. Here, Radagast has an extended part in the story, even though he played no such part in the book.

The Necromancer, too, has a much bigger role. He was mentioned very briefly in the novel, and is (as far as I know) assumed to be an alias for an as-yet-unnamed Sauron. Sauron is the chief antagonist of The Lord of the Rings, but I have no idea whether Tolkien intended that link at the time of writing, or else retconned it while The Lord of the Rings was taking shape in his mind.

These new additions are far from the worst things about The Hobbit. In fact, I’d go so far as to say that the two fight scenes with Azog are the best things about it. I was more annoyed by how they changed some of the book’s most iconic lines, but possibly only because I know the originals off by heart (instead of “it was a hobbit-hole, and that means comfort”, we learn that Bag End “was a hobbit-hole, and that means good food, a warm hearth and all the comforts of home” – why change such a famous introduction in such a pointless way?!).

But again, that’s not my big problem with the movie. My problem is more that the film-makers simply failed to grasp what makes The Hobbit special (at least, in my humble opinion). Rather than celebrating its own unique charms, they tried to make it into another Lord of the Rings - mostly by exploring a lot more history, and foreshadowing a lot more future, than the jolly little novel ever dreamed of.

As far as history goes, the original Hobbit didn’t look much further than the Lonely Mountain. There were a few passing references to things like Azog and the Necromancer – more for colour than anything else – but it was quite self-contained in that respect. As for tone, if Tolkien knew what the future held for Middle Earth, he wrote as if he were blissfully unaware of it.

To try and explain where the film went wrong, I’m going to use an analogy. Imagine that there’s a beloved children’s book called The American.  It’s the charming tale of a treasure hunt across Europe, written and set during the Roaring Twenties. It has heroes and villains, and regular peril – but ultimately, it’s just a light-hearted romp across the Continent.

Then imagine a sequel that’s also set in Europe, but which unfolds during World War II. The tone of this sequel would necessarily be more serious. Picturesque locations would be revisited, only this time – to our horror – they’ve been bombed beyond recognition. A young bully from The American reappears, but now he’s older, more dangerous, and wearing a Fascist uniform. Everything would be changing, and changing for the worse.

Back in the real world, in the modern day, imagine that this sequel has already been made into a smash hit film. So when they come to adapt The American, they try to do it in the same epic, weighty style as the other movie. Maybe chapter four of the novel – originally a food fight in Milan – becomes longer and more serious, and is expanded to show Mussolini’s invasion of Corfu. Maybe the story makes another detour to show Hitler’s early antics, including the Beer Hall Putsch of 1923.

You get the point. The problem is that WWII casts a long shadow over this film we’re making, even though it cast no such shadow over the novel. There’s nothing wrong with making a film about the lead-up to WWII, but that’s not The American. The American is about fun and adventure in a Europe of the Roaring Twenties, and our hypothetical film-makers have missed the point of it.

That basically seems to have happened with The Hobbit. I think it’s a real shame.

For me, the charm of The Hobbit is the fact that it’s a chance to take a light-hearted tour of Middle Earth before all the trouble kicks off. Apart from the scene with Gollum and the ring – which Tolkien reworked for the second edition, to make it lead on to the sequel better - you should be able to re-read it without any sense of foreboding. And that’s why it’s such a valuable part of Tolkien’s canon. Before we have to deal with the sobriety of the sequel, The Hobbit shows us how much fun Middle Earth can be. It’s not very long, and we spend most of it running from one adventure to the next – like a breathless hobbit thrown in at the deep end.

Unless we experience Bilbo’s tale as a more innocent romp, I think it’s hard to appreciate The Lord of the Rings properly. If a forest is going to be chopped down, you might think that’s sad – but it’s a hundred times sadder if you played there as a child during a glorious summer holiday that never seemed to end. In Middle Earth terms, The Hobbit is that childhood holiday. That’s its “job” – the useful thing it does for the series as a whole. Because we remember having such a jolly time with it, we share Gandalf’s sentiment when we grow a little older, and encounter the world-threatening gravity of The Lord of the Rings:

I have been deeply concerned about you, and about all these charming, absurd, helpless hobbits. It would be a grievous blow to the world, if the Dark Power overcame the Shire; if all your kind, jolly, stupid Bolgers, Hornblowers, Boffins, Bracegirdles, and the rest, not to mention the ridiculous Bagginses, became enslaved…

Unfortunately, the film-makers don’t seem to have grasped that. To be fair to them, not even Tolkien seems to have grasped it. In 1960, he started writing a new version of The Hobbit, intending to match the style and tone of The Lord of the Rings. He abandoned it after three chapters when people told him it “just wasn’t The Hobbit” any more – but the mere fact that he started it says volumes.

I would have much preferred for the film of The Hobbit to stay true to the lighter tone of the book. But on the other hand, I have to accept that it would have been difficult – maybe even impossible? – for the film-makers to follow that vision. After all, movie fans might have found the change in tone too jarring. I guess it’s just a shame they didn’t get to adapt these books in the right order.

Anyway, those are my feelings on the recent Hobbit movie. Am I being too harsh? Let me know in the comments!

Book review: BEAVER TOWERS by Nigel Hinton ★★★★★

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This is going to be a blast-from-the-past style review.

Originally, Beaver Towers was a trilogy of books published during the Eighties. We got Beaver Towers, The Witch’s Revenge, and Run to Beaver Towers – which, in a baffling act of rebranding, was later reprinted as the much duller-sounding Beaver Towers: The Dangerous Journey.

These books were very dear to me – among my all-time favourites, in fact – and over a decade later, Nigel Hinton added a fourth book to the series, which was called Beaver Towers: The Dark Dream (an even worse and more boring name, in my opinion, than The Dangerous Journey). I haven’t read that one, but I’m craving a re-read of the original three, and can feel an Amazon “quadruple whammy” coming on!

The subject of this review is the original novel, simply titled Beaver Towers. For me, it’s one of the very best fantasy novels for the under nines. It has all the elements you could hope for. Firstly, it has a brilliant “set-up”, transporting the hero (and the reader) from the real world to one of fantasy. Philip is flown across the sea by a dragon kite, which has been summoned by a quirky old beaver sorcerer called Mr Edgar. It may sound silly, but in the author’s capable hands – and bearing in mind the tender years of the target audience – it works almost as well as a certain more famous wardrobe!

The book also has talking animals (including the very hilarious Baby B) and a brilliant villain called Oyin. The story builds to a tense confrontation, which thrilled me as a child and is bound to thrill children today. It’s just over a hundred pages long, so even reluctant readers may get drawn in and manage to finish it.

It’s brilliant to see that these books are still in print. Recommended!

Book review: GANGSTA GRANNY by David Walliams ★★★★

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(Originally, I was going to have a separate blog to post book reviews, but the idea never really took off. So, from time to time, I’m going to pick a book that I read recently and give it a full five star review here. The books won’t necessarily be new releases because I’m just going to follow my reading habits. Hopefully the reviews will still be of interest. Enjoy!)

Kudos to David Walliams for this fresh, funny book!

Style-wise, it channels a lot of Roald Dahl – but instead of wallowing in nostalgia, the author brings the format bang up to date, name-checking (or spoofing) modern British staples like Strictly Come Dancing, Heat magazine, “nail technicians”, and real life crime books. The result is a delightful blend of old and new: comforting and fresh at the same time.

To give a brief overview of the story, Ben hates having to visit his smelly, cabbage-obsessed Granny. All that changes when he discovers that she used to be an international jewel thief. Fascinated by her stories, he collaborates with her on a plot to pull off the most daring heist of all time.

Although it’s very good, it’s not quite perfect. The pace seems slightly slow at the beginning; there’s a major-seeming subplot about dancing (with lots of comic potential) that ultimately gets rushed out of the way; and while the flatulence humour is a fine example of the form, it won’t appeal to everyone.

However, I wouldn’t hesitate to recommend this. Without wanting to ruin the surprise, it also has an unexpected (but well-executed) bittersweet depth to it.

All in all, Gangsta Granny is a nice little gem (with spot-on illustrations from veteran Tony Ross) and I expect it to delight children and parents alike.

Children’s books about witches (part three)

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In the excitement of getting (and blogging about!) our books in Waterstones, I completely forgot that I’d started a roundup of kids’ books about witches. So, nine months late, here’s part three.

First of all, I want to talk about a series that will (I think) be familiar to many Brits of my age – but not necessarily in print form! Simon and the Witch by Margaret Stuart Barry is about an unlikely pair of friends: a sensible schoolboy and a misbehaving witch. Despite her advanced years, the witch is clearly the more immature of the two. For instance, when she’s hospitalised with German measles, she commandeers the trolleys and gets the patients to compete in races.

She’s also an incurable show-off. When she makes the English Channel vanish, she only agrees to make it reappear on the proviso that she will be featured in the evening news. She also gatecrashes a Hallowe’en party with a posse of relatives, so they can introduce the fake witches to real magic.

The series stretched to at least eight books that I know of, including my own favourite, The Witch V.I.P.  In that late entry, the Witch took over Simon’s school, sending all the teachers home and ordering lunch at ten thirty.

Like many of my childhood favourites, Simon and the Witch is very episodic. Because of that, the stories transferred very well to the small screen. In 1985, a chapter was adapted for a BBC anthology series called Up Our Street - and two years later, Simon and the Witch got a series of their own, totalling twenty-five episodes.

I don’t have very clear memories of the TV show – but I do remember having a couple of the paperbacks, and they were very well-thumbed editions indeed! I hope fans of the show checked out the books, because I know that they gave me a lot of pleasure.

The second book I want to talk about is from a later era. The Witch Trade, by Michael Molloy, was published in 2001. It was one of the books I bought when I was rekindling my love of children’s literature. I made my choice based purely on the magical-sounding names in the blurb on the back: Captain Starlight – Benbow the albatross – and Sir Chadwick Street, flamboyant Master of the Light Witches!

The story opens in the seaside town of Speller. The only children there are Abby, who lives with her aunt and uncle, and her friend Spike, who was found abandoned on the beach as a baby. Their adventure starts when they learn that Speller is populated by Sea Witches, and that all the other children were kidnapped by evil Night Witches. Worse, the Night Witches have begun to devise a powerful weapon, which – the heroes fear – could prove decisive in their long-standing rivalry.

Unfortunately, the Illustrious Order of Light Witches aren’t the most dynamic bunch of heroes, as we learn at one of their quarterly meetings.

Excellent. First item on the agenda: financial report.”

The treasurer stood up and said, “Our finances are much the same, Master.” He reached into the pocket of his overcoat and placed a few bank notes and two handfuls of loose change on the table. “At this precise moment we have about seven pounds and twenty-eight pence in our possession.”

The Master leaned forward. “And how do you think the Night Witches are doing?”

“We estimate they had a good three months, Master.”

“How good?”

“I understand they made more than two billion pounds.

The resulting story is a tale of secret caverns, fantastical submarines and Antarctic adventure, with excellent illustrations by David Wyatt throughout. The book was published by The Chicken House, which was founded by the man who signed JK Rowling. Molloy’s work is cut from a lighter kind of cloth than Harry Potter was, and it isn’t as believable – partly, I think, because it’s such an imaginative tour de force that you can feel the author having fun with you – but it’s a funny and colourful example of the genre. If you or your children enjoy it, you’ll be pleased to hear that it spawned two sequels: The Time Witches and The Wild West Witches.

Well, that’s it for my series on witches. I hope you get chance to check some of these titles out!

Red Dwarf X: Trojan review

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The boys from the Dwarf

The boys from the Dwarf

2012 has been a year of pleasant surprises.

I didn’t think London 2012 would be a roaring success, but it was – both for the event planners and the athletes themselves.

I didn’t think I’d see our books in Waterstones, but that happened as well.

And lastly, I didn’t expect Red Dwarf – a British space comedy of the 80s and 90s – to relaunch to near-universal acclaim. But it did!

You won’t be surprised to learn that I’m a bit of a sci-fi fan. After all, two of our titles are set in space – so I hope you’ll forgive a long, very off-topic blog entry as I review the first episode of the brand new series of Red Dwarf.

For overseas viewers, the show aired in the late 80s and throughout the 90s. It’s named after an enormous spaceship, which becomes lost when all but one of the crew are wiped out in an accident. The lone survivor is Dave Lister, who was frozen in time during the incident and revived three million years later. For most of the show’s run, his main companions are Rimmer, a hologram of his dead supervisor; Cat, a humanoid who evolved from felines; and Kryten, a robot who was salvaged by the crew. The show’s humour emerged largely from the tension between Lister and his dead boss, but also from clever (if sometimes implausible) sci-fi stories about time travel, artificial intelligence, genetically engineered lifeforms, and total immersion video games.

I knew that the show was returning to our screens, of course. That wasn’t a surprise. But Red Dwarf fans have been generally quite critical of the show’s later outings. Even back in 1997 and 1999, the seventh and eighth series of the show were very divisive. One of the show’s co-creators had left, and the remaining showrunner experimented with cast and format changes, resulting in what some fans felt to be shark-jumping. In 2009, the cast reunited for a three part Easter special, which was radically unlike the original show in look and feel. Although each of these outings had their defenders, they also had their detractors. There’s a broad (but not universal) consensus that the show’s heyday ended in 1993. Far from demanding more Dwarf, many fans and well-wishers thought the show actually outstayed its welcome somewhat.

I was never one of those fans (although I enjoyed some outings more than others), so I was really excited by the prospect of a brand new series.

Last week, after much anticipation, Red Dwarf X launched with a brand new 30 minute episode called Trojan. It was great. I’d heard that the first episode would be one of the weakest of the new run, which bodes really well for it. Better yet, it was instantly embraced by casual and hardcore fans as a real return to form, rather than splitting them down the middle (which is what I’d expected it to do).

The grist of the episode is this. The crew of the Dwarf discover the Trojan – a derelict spaceship, once used by the glamorous Super Infinity Fleet. Although it’s no longer spaceworthy, Rimmer discovers something quite exotic, which Kryten explains as follows:

Kryten: Sir, that is a quantum rod, sir. It acts like a magnet, allowing the ship to star jump.

Rimmer: Does it? How?

Kryten: Well quite simply, sir, it draws things formerly connected back together – and as everything is made out of energy, and all energy was present at the Big Bang, then everything is connected – so the rod reconnects things light years apart – allowing the ship to compress spacetime!

Of course, some things in the universe are more closely connected than others. Rimmer’s hamfisted attempts to put the rod back cause his more successful brother, Howard, to be summoned across space and time. This is actually quite handy for Howard because he’s spiralling into a meteor storm. Before rescuing him, Rimmer – consumed by an inferiority complex – decides to pretend that he’s a captain in the Super Infinity Fleet, and that the Trojan is his own ship.

The humour that ensues is classic Dwarf, and the set piece where Rimmer introduces his “crew” – including Kryten Krytinksy, Gerald Hampton and David Listerton-Smythe – would have been right at home in Series V or VI. As well as summoning Howard, the quantum rod seems to have worked some magic with the script, compressing the last twenty years and channeling the humour of the early 90s for our amusement.

Much of the credit must go to the actors. The whole cast – especially Danny John-Jules and Robert Llewellyn, who play the Cat and Kryten respectively – settle right back into their roles, drawing energy from the live studio audience and nailing some long-beloved characters. After the experiments of the late Nineties, and ignoring the visible ageing of the cast, this could have easily aired the year after Series VI ended. For style, quality and humour, it would have been a seamless transition.

In terms of the mythology and timeline of the show, the story is moderately complex, and it isn’t clear exactly where (or rather when) Howard has come from.

A subplot involving one of the show’s chief antagonists, a simulant, strongly suggests that he’s been transported from the distant past. But like his brother, he’s actually a hologram simulation of his own dead self – making him effectively immortal – and shows awareness of things that are presumed not to have existed in his own lifetime. He regards Kryten as quaint, even though the mechanoid was built long after he himself lived and died. In effect, the rod could have snatched him from any time in the last three million years.

The episode isn’t 100% perfect – let’s make no bones about that. There’s a subplot involving an automated shopping channel, which wakes up and starts broadcasting when Red Dwarf comes within range. Although that’s a wonderfully eerie idea – an idea worthy of Hitch Hiker’s Guide, in fact – the way it’s handled doesn’t quite match the tone of Red Dwarf.

In fact, a new viewer could easily miss the core premise of the show: that Lister is the last human alive, having slept for three million years, and that Red Dwarf is lost in a mostly empty universe. As well as the encounter with Howard, Lister loses money betting on a pig race, speaks to various people trying to order a Stirmaster™, and reads out a letter from the Jupiter Mining Corps.

All of these things are actually explained in passing, of course. The bet is with one of the ship’s intelligent vending machines; the people Lister speaks to are robots, who have stirred after presumably millions of years due to the proximity of Red Dwarf; and the letter is generated by the onboard computer, rather than coming from JMC headquarters (the JMC staff, like the rest of humanity, are presumed to be long dead).

But it’s a case of “blink and you’ll miss it” exposition. The episode doesn’t quite have the lonely feel of classic Dwarf. The brevity of the exterior shots, too, attenuates the feeling of being alone in space.

To be fair to Trojan, this continues a trend that began twenty years ago. Originally, the crew never left the ship, and stories emerged entirely from their characters and personal histories (facilitated by one or two space oddities). As time went by, the writers introduced more and more external forces to keep things fresh, including exploratory craft, simulants, derelict spaceships, exotic technology, and “gelfs” (genetically engineered lifeforms). Although Trojan feels busy, it’s a much better fit for classic Dwarf than 1999′s Series VIII, which (in a controversial move) resurrected the whole of the dead crew – making Red Dwarf suddenly a very busy place indeed.

Anyway, I’m getting away from my main point, which is that Trojan works. It’s a really solid opening for what should be an equally solid series, and as a Red Dwarf fan of some twenty years, I’m delighted with it. Well done to everyone involved!

Folk fiction?

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I had an interesting conversation with a friend today. He was complaining about the use of the word “folk” to describe modern bands like Mumford & Sons or Dry the River.

To him, “folk” meant more than a style or vibe. It meant a body of traditional music that belongs to all of us. He felt that describing modern copyrighted songs as “folk” – even if they evoked the sound of years gone by – cheapened the very concept of it.

I asked him what kind of modern music he would consider folk, and after considering – then dismissing – the idea of only using traditional songs, he came up with something that (on the surface) sounded quite clever: a folk license for music.

Under this scheme, folk enthusiasts would write a new song, and release only the vocal melody and basic chord progression straight into the public domain. At the same time, they would keep the copyright on their own recording and specific arrangement of the song. For instance, if they had a fiddle playing a distinctive melody between verses, you wouldn’t be able to copy it if you were recording your own version.

We’re not lawyers (or composers), so neither of us can really say whether this is a good or even feasible idea. But it did seem like an interesting one. We liked the thought of new songs going viral and joining the communal stock. Surely, such a scene would be an authentic successor to traditional folk? Just as anyone can record a version of Lavender Blue, so too could anyone do a brand new folk song written yesterday.

But what has this got to do with books, you might wonder?

Well, it gave me an idea. Could there be such a thing as folk fiction?

Consider how Dracula and Sherlock Holmes belong to all of us – just as surely as the old folk songs do. Anyone can write a book about either. Those characters, and others such as Frankenstein’s Monster and Tarzan, are no longer intellectual property. They have lapsed from copyright and are now part of our shared mythology.

Perhaps in a hundred years, characters like Harry Potter or Bilbo Baggins will be part of that same pantheon. For a while at least, they will be private property – only to be used under license. The passage of time, as much as authorly genius, is required to make a Sherlock Holmes.

Considering how much work goes into a novel, it would be too much to ask writers to release their work directly into the public domain. But perhaps there’s a middle ground. Under a folk fiction license, a writer might keep copyright on her novel, but invite others to write stories using the same characters, or set in the same universe (I suppose a good example of folk fiction would be the circle of writers who built on the “Cthulhu Mythos” created by cosmic horror author HP Lovecraft – insofar as they didn’t have to wait for the copyright to expire before they got stuck in).

At the moment, this is just an idea sloshing around in my head, and it will be a while before it comes to fruition. But I’d love for Falcon Berger (in partnership with willing authors) to pioneer new, more flexible forms of licensing. Imagine picking up a fantasy novel, and finding a copyright page that said, “The contents and characters of this book are copyright, but the author invites you to use the same fantasy races and locations in your own writing, either for fun or profit.”

One for me to think about…

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