David A. McIntee The Eleventh Tiger (2004)
While I may regularly gnash teeth over written fiction which wants to be telly, I realise there's probably a line to be drawn, and as usual I'm specifically talking about Who tie-in material because I've read a ton of it and still dig one out from time to time if I'm in the right mood. To generalise, the good stuff - such as written by Simon Bucher-Jones, Lawrence Miles or Lance Parkin - tends to work as science or at least speculative fiction regardless of certain characters or concepts having been on the box when we were little. The bad stuff gives the impression of having been written by persons who really, really, really love Doctor Who but who haven't actually read anything which isn't Doctor Who. Their work is usually characterised by pages dominated by dialogue, a reliance on clichés and sentiment, and a tendency to describe events as they would appear if dramatised for telly, right down to the invocation of specific camera angles.
David A. McIntee is possibly a bit of an anomaly in so much as that his books quite clearly strive to invoke the atmosphere of what we would have seen on the box, right down to the pacing and descriptions of what may as well have been low budget visual effects; and he's clearly happy to be an author of fiction which aspires to be telly; and yet he gets it right with thoughtful if admittedly breezy prose which does what it does without giving me cause to yell oh fuck off prior to hurling the book across the room - which is actually quite unusual. He even manages knowing postmodern chuckles without coming across like he's trying too hard.
While I may regularly gnash teeth over written fiction which wants to be telly, I realise there's probably a line to be drawn, and as usual I'm specifically talking about Who tie-in material because I've read a ton of it and still dig one out from time to time if I'm in the right mood. To generalise, the good stuff - such as written by Simon Bucher-Jones, Lawrence Miles or Lance Parkin - tends to work as science or at least speculative fiction regardless of certain characters or concepts having been on the box when we were little. The bad stuff gives the impression of having been written by persons who really, really, really love Doctor Who but who haven't actually read anything which isn't Doctor Who. Their work is usually characterised by pages dominated by dialogue, a reliance on clichés and sentiment, and a tendency to describe events as they would appear if dramatised for telly, right down to the invocation of specific camera angles.
David A. McIntee is possibly a bit of an anomaly in so much as that his books quite clearly strive to invoke the atmosphere of what we would have seen on the box, right down to the pacing and descriptions of what may as well have been low budget visual effects; and he's clearly happy to be an author of fiction which aspires to be telly; and yet he gets it right with thoughtful if admittedly breezy prose which does what it does without giving me cause to yell oh fuck off prior to hurling the book across the room - which is actually quite unusual. He even manages knowing postmodern chuckles without coming across like he's trying too hard.
'It's been a busy day, Doctor, as I'm sure you understand. One minute those kids are just running around chaotically, but the next minute they're focused and everybody's kung-fu fighting.'
'Those kids are fast as lightning,' Barbara added.
The Doctor raised his eyebrows. 'Are they indeed? And was it, perchance, dear boy, a little bit frightening? Hmm?'
The Eleventh Tiger takes place in nineteenth century China and is so determinedly true to its mileau that it recreates the somewhat plodding pace of certain Hartnell era stories, particularly the mostly historical ones. I found it a little difficult to follow presumably through not being quite so invested in Who as I was in my thirties, but on the other hand I wasn't quite bored, and it's intermittently gripping.
I bought The Eleventh Tiger when it came out, and it was one of the last to be published before it all went tits up, so far as I recall, meaning it's taken me seventeen fucking years to get around to reading the thing - which strikes me as weird - but I guess I'm glad I did, at least for the sake of closure.
I bought The Eleventh Tiger when it came out, and it was one of the last to be published before it all went tits up, so far as I recall, meaning it's taken me seventeen fucking years to get around to reading the thing - which strikes me as weird - but I guess I'm glad I did, at least for the sake of closure.
No comments:
Post a Comment