Review: Outpost / Author: Adam Baker / Publisher: Hodder & Stoughton General Division

Come on, we all love a good Zombie apocalypse and, if you’re tired of all those cheapskate straight-to-DVD releases which clutter up the shelves of our lovely supermarkets every week (Zombie This, Undead That, running time 82 minutes….you know the score) you could do a lot worse than settle down with one of the many Zombie novels which seem to have started popping up lately as regularly as…well, Zombies in an apocalypse I suppose. These tend to be trashy, disposable sloppily-written gore fests, of course (‘Zombie Britannicus‘, that’s you that is). Some try to do something a bit more literary within the sub-genre (JL Bourne’s ’Day By Day Armageddon’ series, Stephen Jones’ unsubtly-titled ’Zombie Apocalypse’ and the really rather excellent and poignant ’Warm Bodies’ by Isaac Marion which takes a Zombie’s eye view of the end of days). Then there’s ’Outpost’ by Adam Baker, in which the world ends off-stage, the Zombies aren’t exactly Zombies and, in the best traditions of the genre, we follow the trials and tribulations of a group of disparate survivors struggling to stay alive in a hostile environment. And what an environment…

’Outpost’ is set in the Arctic Circle on the drilling oil rig Kaskar Rampart somewhere smack in the middle of nowhere, its crew cut off from a civilisation which is dying and whose death they can only observe with mounting horror via increasingly-infrequent TV and radio broadcasts. Then nothing. With their supplies and power dwindling, the crew must work together to find a way back to what’s left of the world. But can they work together or will human nature ultimately cause the demise of humanity itself? Battening down the hatches and ready to ride out the winter with what supplies they have left before battling to find their way back to whatever’s left of home, the fifteen-strong crew are heartened by the sudden arrival in the distance of the Hyperion, a vessel which apppears to be an abandoned luxury liner. A scout party boards the liner to find that its crew and passengers are very much (un)alive and that their passage home might not be as easy as they’d suddenly hoped.

New writer Baker has crafted a fast and furious little horror thriller which is actually a bit lighter on the gore than many of its type, and whilst Baker’s not big on long descriptive passages – changes of locations are heralded with just one word descriptions – he’s certainly been able to conjure up a chilling and all-too believable setting. Most impressively, in a Zombie virus which appears to be of extra-terrestrial origin and has the unfortunate side-effect of causing its victims to sprout metal from their skin whilst still maintaining a healthy lust for blood and flesh, he’s found a way to actually bring something new to a very old, groaning Zombie table. While it’s true his characters are little more than sketch-notes, his story rattles along, peppered with action set pieces and explosive incident. There’s a real sense of fear and desperation as escape avenues disappear into the snow, and the crew begin to distrust and turn on each other.

‘Outpost‘ is hugely cinematic in scale and whilst none of the protagonists are especially likable and Baker’s often spartan writing style takes some getting used to, it’s a real page-turner and if nothing else it throws a few new ideas into the big melting pot of contemporary Zombie fiction.

Author: Alwyn W Turner

Publisher: Aurum Press Ltd

Out Now

It’s strange to imagine that, if not for a falling out with comedian Tony Hancock in 1963, jobbing TV writer Terry Nation might never have created the Daleks and the BBC’s Saturday night family science-fiction drama ‘Doctor Who’ might have faded into the mists of time after about thirteen episodes. Nation himself, his career doing little more than marking time, would never have reaped the rewards of the creation of one of the great icons of the TV age. As a consequence, Nation would never have gone on to work for the ITC production powerhouse of the 1960s and then on to create both ‘Survivors’ and ‘Blake’s 7’ for the BBC in the 1970s. Almost certainly Alwyn W Turner would never have been compelled to write this absorbing, detailed and intricately-researched volume chronicling the work of the man who turned out to be one of the great storytellers of what is widely regarded as the Golden Age of British TV. The man who, despite all his various credits and creations over the years, is forever defined by a race of hysterical, megalomaniacal upturned pepper pots. There are worse things to be remembered for…

Turner’s book is, in fact, much less a biography of Nation – you’ll come away from the book knowing nothing about the man beyond the facts that he was a writer, got married, had kids, and made shedloads of money from the Daleks – and much more the story  of the changing face of Britain and the development of British TV in the post-War years. Despite its lack of detail about anything much to do with Nation’s life it’s fascinating stuff, beginning with  the young Welshman leaving Cardiff in 1955 to seek fame and fortune, not necessarily as a writer. Work on ‘The Goon Show’ led to the young Nation throwing in his lot with fellow up-and-comings Ray Galton and Alan Simpson and later John Junkin and Dave Freeman. The 1960s saw the beginnings of a long and frustrating working relationship with Tony Hancock, the end of which led Nation to writing for “flipping kids” and the first Dalek serial for ‘Doctor Who’, which Nation churned out in a hurry as a more lucrative offer had come along. So bona fide TV history was made and both ‘Doctor Who’ and, in many ways, British TV would never be the same.

Overnight Terry Nation became one of the most celebrated TV writers in the country, one of the first ‘name’ writers created out of the medium and as the 1960s wore on Nation’s gift for turning out snappy, clever, workmanlike (if sometimes rather unexceptional) adventure stories led him to ITC where he wrote for ‘The Saint’, ‘The Baron’, ‘The Avengers’, ‘The Champions’ and on into the 1970s when the ITC conveyer belt was slowing down but still turning out shows like ‘The Persuaders!’ and ‘The Protectors.’ Surprisingly it was only in 1975 that Nation secured his first proper ‘series created by’ credit with his post-plague drama ‘Survivors’ which turned into an unhappy experience when the show’s strong-willed producer Terence Dudley envisaged the show moving in entirely different directions to those intended by Nation. The writer walked away but his space opera ‘Blake’s 7’ was already under consideration and ‘Terminal’, the last episode of its third series, was to be Nation’s last writing credit for British TV before he and his family shipped over to Hollywood in 1983 for what was to be his least productive and ultimately career-stifling professional move.

Turner tells Nation’s story with real affection and insight and whilst there’s not much on Nation the man there’s plenty of anecdotal evidence to attest to his genial nature and his prodigious work ethic. But it’s the sections which detail the inception and creation of the Daleks and the ITC shows which most enthral, sections where Nation’s name pops up only intermittently as the book delves deep into the origins of some of the most fondly-remembered TV shows of the 1960s, an era when 26-week series could be greenlit by the likes of the charismatic Lew Grade on the strength of a two-line pitch and the whole industry seemed to work on an informal ‘I worked on your show, you come and work on mine’ understanding.

Packed with  informed opinion and analysis of all Nation’s work, Turner’s book is pretty much essential reading not only for anyone with an interest in ‘Doctor Who’ and its most famous monstrous creations but also anyone interested in the history of British TV and the part played in its growth and development by Terry Nation, this quiet and unassuming Welsh writer with a vivid imagination and a powerful desire to tell entertaining stories. Very highly recommended.

The Man Who Invented The Daleks is out now.

 

Author: Una McCormack

Publisher: BBC Books

Out Now

Una McCormack returns with her second foray into Who fiction, her previous outing being last year’s The King’s Dragon. Now, while that story was undoubtedly well written, it wasn’t to the taste of this particular reader, who found the plot a little pedestrian and lacking in suspense. Yet, as any good reviewer worth his salt should, I went into The Way Through the Woods with a teaspoon and an open mind…

One thing that’s certainly true of this novel is that it is pedestrian. Now, that sounds like I’m criticising the novel, but I’m not. What I do mean is that there’s a lot of walking involved. The plot itself is more complex and involved than the author’s last book, and is certainly very entertaining.

Much like Dead of Winter, it’s hard to give too much detail away without ruining the plot, but essentially it’s concerned with mysterious disappearances in Swallow Woods, which the Doctor, Amy and Rory investigate – Amy and the Doctor in the present day, and Rory in 1917.

The characterisation of the regulars is once more extremely well-handled, and even though Rory undergoes a change of sorts, he’s still distinctly the same character we know and love. That that change is similar to something that’s occurred elsewhere to him recently (and I won’t say what for fear of spoilers) is unfortunate, and is something that should have been dealt with before the two similar instances were unleashed upon the public. It doesn’t do the book too much damage, but it’s a shame to see something so similar occur again so soon.

The Doctor is essentially a prisoner of HM’s Constabulary for the most part of the story, though even then does still manage to be his usual manic self. Amy too is well written, and all of the characters do seem to get large portions of dialogue. It’s an interesting shift (or should that be Shift?), as it allows the story to be told more by interaction than by narrative. That’s not to say that it’s all expository speech, but rather brings the characters more fully to life in a way that can’t always be done successfully through pages of prose.         The plot itself is another tricksy one, always managing to stay one step ahead of the reader, and with just enough turns and changes of direction to maintain the reader’s interest.

There is a tension and a sense of menace throughout the novel, with it not being clear exactly who or what can be trusted. The central mystery of the disappearances does get solved, and in a rather satisfying way, though it’s not necessarily something that the reader will be able to guess at. That’s not to say that it comes from nowhere, rather that it’s cleverer than recent Who novels have been and doesn’t talk down to the reader.

Another element of the novel that has been obviously more evident in the series under Steven Moffat’s era so far is the use of time as an integral part of the story. McCormack uses different times and time travel itself to play a large part in the tale, not least as the book reaches its climax. There’s a slightly melancholic feel to the ending, but also a sense of hope. There is another small similarity to another recent tale too but I think that, in this instance, this novel would have been the first in line, the resemblance being just the result of unfortunate timing.

The Way Through the Woods is a slighter tale than Dead of Winter (as can be evidenced by the rather large typeface), but it’s just as confidently written and readable as the latter book, and this reader breezed through it in no time. While it does share a couple of elements with recent stories (both televised and prose), they are minor features in the way that Dead of Winter’s were too. They don’t make the novel any less enjoyable and are minor points in what is another well conceived Doctor Who tale.

While not as lengthy and involved as the previous story, there is a great deal to enjoy here, and it’s a book that is well worth a read.

You might think twice before venturing into the woods again though…

 

Author: James Goss

 

Publisher: BBC Books

 

Out Now

 

The TARDIS is crashing! It’s landed on Earth! There are strange faceless figures who seem familiar! No, not The Rebel Flesh, but rather James Goss’ first foray into Doctor Who novels. Goss has previously written Who for BBC audio, alongside novels for Torchwood and Being Human, so he has certainly got good form, but just how does this latest offering from BBC Books fare?

The similarity pointed out at the start is an unfortunate coincidence, considering the latest TV adventure, and it seems remiss to criticise it too much (though surely someone must have been made aware of the similarity earlier on?) since the story does differ hugely from Matthew Graham’s latest work.

 

The trouble with reviewing Dead of Winter is that it’s hard to do so without giving too much away. There are twists, and plenty of them – some you might be able to see coming, but others you definitely won’t. This reader was certainly impressed on a couple of occasions, and it’s to Goss’s credit that he manages to maintain the surprises.

 

It’s a small cast of characters in what is – essentially – a ‘base under siege’ tale, the like of which Doctor Who does so well. Yet it’s set in 18^th century Italy in a sanatorium that shouldn’t really exist. Getting to the bottom of that mystery is only half the problem though since the TARDIS crew have lost their memories. “Amnesia, that tired old plot point!”, you may say, but in the context of the story it works very well. The reason as to why is such that it doesn’t come across as contrived, lazy storytelling, rather as an integral part of the tale. To say much more would ruin your enjoyment of the novel.

 

Goss has really had fun with his narrative techniques too, presenting the novel as fragments from different viewpoints. We get chapters from Rory and Amy’s separate recollections of events, letters from the patients of the clinic and diary entries from the Doctor presiding over the place. It’s a neat twist to the usual method, and varying the narrators definitely adds to the enjoyment of the story, the reader never being quite sure exactly what will happen next.

 

The regulars are all very well characterised, with Rory in particular worthy of praise. It’s heartening that his portrayal here echoes his rather more substantial role in series 6, with Amy too written to the latest series’ specifications.

 

The Doctor gets to show off as much as ever, and is perfectly Matt Smith in both action and speech pattern. In response to one character’s intended use of a gun, the Doctor remarks, “Well please don’t shoot it at the weather!” For this reader it was a standout line, and also indicative of just how well the Doctor has been captured.

 

The supporting cast are all well realised, which is undoubtedly helped by most of them having parts of the story written from their viewpoint. No one is as they seem for one reason or another, and Goss is continually wrong-footing the reader as to who to trust and what people’s motives actually are.

 

The novel is unique in its own way without breaking too much new ground. It’s very entertaining, well written and contains plenty of twists and turns. While the enemy of the piece is similar to those from Who’s past (which in itself is a fairly inevitable fact of an almost 50 year-old show), it’s dealt with in such a way as to still be tremendously entertaining.

 

The yardstick of these 11^th Doctor novels so far seems to Oli Smith’s quite splendid Nuclear Time, and while Dead of Winter doesn’t quite top it, it certainly gives it a good run for its money. Highly recommended.

 

 

 

 

 

Author: George R. R. Martin

Publisher: Voyager

Out now

Summer is coming and what better way to spend it than by reading in the sun. Well, there’s the new TV adaptation of George R. R. Martin’s A Game of Thrones from his A Song of Ice and Fire for a start. But does the first book in the seven-part swords-and-politics series deserve a primetime adaptation on North America’s HBO channel?

Quite simply, yes. Released 14 years ago, A Game of Thrones, sets out the complex chessboard of a multi-way power struggle in the land of Westeros. The story begins in the north where the civilised world ends at the Wall, a gigantic structure built to keep out the mythical Others. But news of the creatures’ death seems overrated when a search party is slain in the ancient wild forest past the Wall, fuelling the flight of a lone survivor to the northern capital of Winterfell. But the terror-filled watchman’s warning falls on deaf ears, and his head falls on to the floor after being reluctantly executed for abandoning his post by the troubled Lord Eddard Stark. His problem: the king is shortly arriving from the south with an offer that can’t be refused, quickly turning into a murderous conspiracy of incest, throne grabbing and revenge. And over the sea to the savage lands in the east, the last of the exiled royal family who once commanded dragons plot their return.

The hype surrounding the TV adaptation has been richly deserved and seen both book and Kindle edition of A Game of Thrones swoop to the number one and two slots in Amazon UK’s top 100 science fiction chart, with the second book, A Clash of Kings, hot on its heels.

The plot is told from the third-person perspective and changes to a new character with each chapter: Lord Stark, his various children, the exiled Targaryen princess to the east, and more. With threats happening on every point on the compass, this ensemble approach is the only way to go. But the greatest benefit of this POV-hopping narrative not only covers the big picture, it makes every player a delight to read. This book’s strength is not its plot. The formula of a mysterious external threat dogging the steps of a civil war, though not new, is brilliantly told here. No, the true strength is its characters. The wickedness of the conspiring Lannister family is the vilest thing put to paper since Frank Herbert’s House Harkonnen in Dune. But even then, as sinister as lead characters appear to be, like plotting Queen Cersei and malicious knight Sandor “The Hound” Clegane, the author gives us rare glimpses into the rotten souls of these villains, where a scrap of innocent intent has put these characters onto their black paths.

The reader will have their favourite characters and look forward to these passages more than others. But rest assured, once the plot has furthered on, like the slow-burning drama in the east with exiled Daenerys Targaryen, you will find your favourites constantly being reshuffled like a pack of cards.

This 864-page brick of a book can seem daunting at first, and possibly put down towards the middle when it feels like too much is happening at all fronts. And the sight of a 70-page appendix listing eve

ry major house in Westeros can shake your faith somewhat. But you will find yourself returning to the novel for “one more chapter” and you will be well rewarded. Without giving anything away, the plot gives a very harsh twist of the knife three quarters in, forever altering the course of where you expected it to go. Expect controversy when this is aired in the TV series.

Martin says he wanted A Game of Thrones to be a more adult take on the swords and sorcery genre. So expect sex, drunkenness, violence, betrayal, plotting, intrigue and very little magic, heroes and clear-cut decisions where no-one gets hurt. Think the characters of Raymond E. Feist’s Magician in the hands of Bret Easton Ellis.

Critics have praised the pilot episode, Winter is Coming, and a second series of Game of Thrones was commissioned within hours of broadcast. But is it better than the book? This is one of those rare occasions where both TV and book are equal. The reason for this is the producers took the unusual step not to change the story. A few scenes here and there are absent, but it just shows how cinematic the book is that it does not need too much tampering. But be warned: once you read A Game of Thrones, you will end up reading the three others in the sequence, with book five to be released in July.

Author: Paolo Bacigalupi

 

Publisher: Night Shade Books

 

Out Now

Paolo Bacigalupi’s debut novel has won five major SF awards, including the Hugo and Nebula. It is billed as ‘a heart-stopping dystopian thriller… a razor-sharp vision of our near future’, while the author has been described as a ‘worthy successor to William Gibson’.

So far, so cyberpunk, right?

 

I have to admit, cynical as I am, I’ve heard all this before. Gibson’s been one of my favourite authors since I picked up Neuromancer in the late 80’s, and I’ve yet to come across the next cyberpunk novel to blow my mind, one that I’d be talking about for

years to come. And anyway, isn’t cyberpunk now relegated, a product of last century? I couldn’t help wondering if The Windup Girl would be retreading old ground, or simply one of those books with a good idea poorly executed. Honestly, my hopes weren’t high; I’ve been disappointed all too often, promised much that has failed to deliver, and here comes another one.

 

As I read the first pages. I feared I was right. The Windup Girl is written in the present tense, which I found irritating at first. The reader is slam-dunked into a world of kink-spring technology (what?), one where characters speak to each other with the occasional oriental reference (huh?) dropped in for good measure. Not only that, but the technology they’re talking about is genetically modified fruit and algae baths, for crying out loud; where’s the godlike AI, the cool killer in mirror-shades? I closed the book, decided to watch TV instead.

 

I went back a couple of days later and read some more; same old, but I decided to persevere. After 70 or so pages, something clicked into place. Suddenly, the language was second nature to me; present tense was a good thing, giving a sense of immediacy – after all, these events are happening to the characters here and now. Flashbacks are the past, and are written as such. What was once irritating, was now refreshing, vibrant and alive. Here was a writer that wasn’t patronising me by explaining everything; instead, I was being made to think and learn as I followed the tale piece by piece. I wanted to – had to – know more.

 

I won’t go into the details of the plot for fear of spoiling any potential reader’s enjoyment of this book, but I will say it’s incredibly intricate and overall very satisfying. Events that occur earlier in the novel sometimes appear to be incongruous, but are all fully paid-off by the end of the novel. There are twists and turns and double-dealings aplenty, as well as one or two genuine surprises. It’s incredibly violent and brutal in places, yet there are moments of true poignancy and humour.

 

Each character is well-realised, moving beyond the familiar archetype of cop or company man to become fully-rounded human beings, acting in shades of grey rather than black and white. Given several points of view, it’s often difficult to decide who the villain is; again, this is good writing, making us to work, allowing us to think. The windup girl herself, Emiko, could have so easily become cliché, yet in Bacigalupi’s hands she becomes utterly believable; while not necessary the focus of the story (as it deftly weaves between several characters) it is her actions her relationships with others that help to determine the final act.

 

All good, but what really impressed me about The Windup Girl is the world Paolo Bacigalupi has created. His near-future Thailand feels more like prediction than science fiction – as all the best sci-fi does. It’s a world where corporations have dominance, but they have destroyed and damaged with genetic modification and viruses, rather than bettered through the creation of new technology. Fossil fuels have run out, natural wildlife had been made extinct by the dominance of species originally created to control pests. Sea levels have risen, and countries once only hours away by air travel can now only be reached by sea; that’s if the oceans haven’t already claimed them.

 

This all sounds very thoughtful, but it’s more than a warning from environmental supporters – but this world is frighteningly believable, even to an old cynic like me. Packed full of good ideas it may be, but the reader is never preached to, allowing The Windup Girl to remain a well-executed and exciting novel.

 

So far, so cyberpunk? I’m not sure. It certainly has the right attitude, and Paolo Bacigalupi’s writing style is blunt and immediate, so the ‘punk’ certainly exists, but it’s more about the relationship between humanity and the environment than man interacting with machine. Enviropunk, perhaps.

 

However it is categorised, there’s no doubt that The Windup Girl is a superb debut, an impressive combination of character, story and ideas. If this is the way forward for near-future sci-fi, then it’s going to be very exciting indeed.

 

Authors: Gary McMahon / Gary Fry

Publisher: Spectral Press

Out Now, Limited Edition Chapbooks, £3.50 each or by subscription

The new Spectral Press Chapbook series is very welcome. In the poetry scene these little books, samplers almost, have been for years a hugely effective way to break new publishers, introduce new poets and allow established writers space to be experimental. It’s good to see this new increase in their number for the horror fiction genre.

Spectral produces really superb signed, limited editions, and since the press started up earlier this year, has brought out two. The specialty, as you might guess from the name of the imprint, are the supernatural and ghostly places of the genre, and they have picked two winners already in What They Hear In The Dark by Gary McMahon and Abolisher of Roses by Gary Fry. The series is bound to become highly collectible, but you can subscribe to the quarterly issues over at the Spectral website to make sure you don’t miss any.

Gary McMahon is a rising star in the horror genre, and well known for Pretty Dead Things, featuring his reluctant psychic, Thomas Usher, and this reputation will grow with the follow up Dead Bad Things in September. His short story ‘Diving Deep’ was one of the highlights of last year’s superb Solaris collection The End of the Line. He’s a writer unafraid to venture into the very darkest of places, and the fact I recently saw someone from his publishers describe his new book as “pretty dark stuff” on Twitter, should give you an idea where he’s coming from.

What They Hear In The Dark is an eerie, unsettling tale about a grieving couple renovating an old house as they try to deal with their grief at the death of their young son. The atmosphere from the very beginning is one of terrible sadness and grim foreboding. Their loss “writhed like snakes”. The grass outside their new house is like “pale thin fingers grasping for something unseen”. Bird nests are like “clumps of human hair”.

The house has one spookily compelling feature: a room with no windows, no furnishings, no sound. Nothing. It becomes a place for channeling the young couple’s grief and terror, and ultimately it seems, attacking their sanity. It’s a clever story, and things may not be as they seem at all, and the gap between reality and fantasy narrows as the plot progresses. There is something reminiscent of James Herbert in this tale of darkness spreading, and it is highly recommended.

Abolisher of Roses is another macabre trip into the shadows. Self-made man Peter accompanies his artist wife to her first exhibition, showing in the creeping woodlands of an old stately home. Initially pompous and self obsessed, Peter’s reservations about the world of modern art and his wife’s new role in it are soon challenged in quite unexpected ways. In fact, the deep, dark wood that houses the art show is not the only deep dark place Peter is going to get lost in. There is a psychological weight to the horror here, that sense that while the story is a genre piece, on one hand, it is also a grim metaphor for the treacherous path of choice, desire, mistake.

There’s something of the Tales of the Unexpected about this story, albeit with more of a horror feel, and Fry is a writer keenly aware of the pacing and structure of the form.  It’s no surprise to learn that he has a considerable track record in placing stories with a number of collections. His first published story, in fact, was chosen by Ramsey Campbell for Gathering The Bones, and it’s very likely we’re going to hear a lot more from him.

And that’s the beauty of chapbook publishing, especially by subscription. It’s a great way to introduce readers to very talented writers who might just pass us by. In the case of these two stories, it’s also an excellent means to focus the attention very particularly on how one single short story is handled – in a way that often doesn’t happen when lots of stories are collected together.

Congratulations to Simon Marshall-Jones, publisher at Spectral. Long may footsteps creep in the empty room upstairs for this bold new venture.