WHO REVIEW: Deathworld

Deathworld is the first Big Finish release I've been excited for for quite a while. The latest in The Lost Stories range, this is based on a story treatment submitted by Bob Baker and Dave Martin, classic Who's big ideas men, for Doctor Who's tenth season. It never got further than that, being scrapped in favour of their second idea, which became The Three Doctors. It's very similar to the broadcast story in many ways: all (then) three Doctors appear, the Time Lords are involved, UNIT HQ is beseiged, and the Doctors and their companions are sent to another world outside of their reality.

It's a far more esoteric adventure, however. Instead of facing a disembodied Time Lord in a universe of antimatter, the Doctor is forced to battle Death himself, in his realm beyond time. It's a wonderfully out there idea for Doctor Who, and I've long been fascinated by it as a road not taken. It wouldn't have been completely out of place back in season ten - only one story before the Doctor fought the Minotaur in Atlantis and stood in the vortex facing a god that ate time itself, and in the sixties there were occasional trips beyond reality, to the Land of Fiction of the Celestial Toyroom. Now, of course, the idea of the Doctor facing the Grim Reaper in the afterlife doesn't seem unlikely at all, in the series' new "gods and monsters" phase.

From the sounds of it, this is one of those Lost Stories where there was little more than an outline to go from, so BF writer John Dorney has basically created the entire script from scratch. It's great work; it fair zips along, with the occasional quieter to focus on loss and the philosophy of death. The dialogue is, for the most part, very strong; only once do the characters fall into the trap of describing what they're seeing instead of reacting to it, which makes it better than a lot of BF scripts. Dorney peppers the script with little references to other adventures (the First Doctor asking if the Brigadier is related to Bret Vyon was fun), and his use of the odd phrase or paraphrase from The Three Doctors itself seems appropriate, given that surely some of Baker and Martin's material would have ended up in either version.

There are some irritating bits. Having the different Doctors discovering the same thing then reporting to each other gets repetitive. Why the Brigadier refers to himself as such, instead of his actual name, is a mystery, although this is far from the first story to include that. Looking at the story itself, while it's fun to have the First Doctor and the Brig team up, and it's something we never got to see on TV, it's also a shame one of the First Doctor's companions doesn't take part. This is, I presme, due to who the production team thought they could get involved at the time.

Indeed, they were pretty overconfident there, since in the event Frazer Hines was unavailable to play Jamie, while Hartnell was too unwell to be involved fully, necessitating some serious rewriting. It's wonderful to be able to hear a full team-up of the first three Doctors, their different personalities brought into focus by their interactions with Jamie, Jo and the Brig, as they're busy sniping at each other. Using Death as the antagonist is a clever way to frame the meeting of different Doctors; as they discuss, they are to each other a reminder of their mortality, albeit a very different kind of mortality to humanity's. 

Interestingly, the story involved a number of elements that, by coincidence, appeared in the latest season on TV. While the version of Death here is miles away from Sutekh as God of Death, they fundementally come from the same idea. There are more specific moments that line up; there's even an army tricked into fighting itself. Other parts are hard to imagine televised Doctor Who fully committing to then or now; armies of zombies would either push the boundaries of what the programme could get away with, or be so neutered for the teatime slot as to be pointless. It's one of these time when audio is a benefit; we can let our imaginations run wild, without concern for budget or viewer sensibilities.

There is, however, a fundamental drawback to this whole endeavour. Since the first three Doctors are now long dead, Big Finish relies on its squadron of impersonators to recreate them for this story. Stephen Noonan stands in for William Hartnell; Michael Troughton for his father Patrick; and Tim Treloar is now well-established as Jon Pertwee's understudy. As well as the Doctors, Jon Culshaw portrays the Brigadier in place of the late Nick Courtney. Happily, Frazer Hines and Katy Manning are still with us, but it does make for a strangely distant experience. It does fit with the theme of death and loss, though, and for the most part, the impressions are strong. At times, they're uncannily accurate, while other times they're wildly off, but they're mainly solid so it doesn't detract from the story.

Hats off to Joe Shire as Death himself, as well as his three fellow apocalyptic horsemen. He gives a powerful, sinister, yet oddly avuncular performance as the personification of Death. Joe's got a number of Big Finish credits to his name now (notably he's a regular in Torchwood Soho), but his first turn as main villain is a triumph. Good work, Uncle Joe! Dianne Pilkington gives a good performance against him as the overconfident Lady President of Gallifrey.

The climax to the story does fall under the somewhat frustrating category that undoes the adventure, but it doesn't feel like a cop-out, unlike some. In this case, it's in keeping with the dream-like, otherworldly nature of the story. I'm not keen on the range's continued insistence to force its releases into existing continuity, clumsily segueing here into The Three Doctors. It's far better to let these "what if?" stories remain in their own, unique little universes. Still, it doesn't undo what is a fun adventure, and one that worth waiting for through the recent delays.

Placement: As Dorney has gone to pains to fit this into established continuity, we might as well have a try. As previously noted, for the Third Doctor, Jo and the Brigadier, this leads directly into The Three Doctors. 

For the Second Doctor and Jamie, it's a little trickier. They're one their way to pick up Victoria, and Jamie mentions experiments by the Sontarans, clearly setting this after The Two Doctors. However, neither of them recognises the Brigadier, so from their perspective it's also before The Web of Fear. This means that The Two Doctors takes place during season five, rather than after season six and the Doctor's trial, where most fans place it. This is probably the work of script editor Simon Guerrier, who took this stance in his audioplay The Black Hole, which dialogue suggests follows this straight after. Funnily enough, The Black Hole was a working title for The Three Doctors. If this is right after The Two Doctors, Jamie has met three extra incarnations of the Doctor in a matter of days.

The First Doctor mentions going to find Steven, so for him, this is presumably between The Daleks' Masterplan and The Massacre. 

Forty years of the Discworld

Years ending in a three really are among the busiest for notable anniversaries of my favourite series, with November being the busiest month. 23rd November 2023 is Doctor Who's 60th anniversary, and the very next day it's the Discworld's 40th! Unfortunately, busy life got in the way so I am posting this on the 26th rather than the 24th, but what's a day or two among cosmic turtles?

The Colour of Magic was published on 24th November 1983, the first novel in the late, great Terry Pratchett's Discworld series, which would eventually run to forty-one books, not including the various tie-ins, short stories, Science of Discworld books, expansive map books and assorted ephemera.

Sadly, Pratchett made an appointment with Death in 2015, after just about finishing the final book, The Shepherd's Crown. He made it known that he didn't truly consider it finished, but he was no longer able to continue editing, and the book was published posthumously a few months after his death. It hardly seems like it can be over eight years since we lost him, but it is somehow true.

The Discworld books have brought me so much joy over the years. They weren't the first of Pratchett's books I read, but there's a reason he so rarely strayed beyond that funny little world once he'd created it. Simply, it's a perfect setting to explore the absurdity and beauty of human life. The Colour of Magic was a pretty straightforward sword-and-sorcery parody, but as the series went on, Pratchett used the Discworld, and particularly its first city, Ankh-Morpork, to take the real world to account. His books were, very soon, works of literary genius, yet they never for one moment stopped being a silly fantasy parody. There was always a touch of cynicism to the books, but by end, they'd become angrier, as Pratchett stopped pulling his punches - but they never stopped being hilarious.

There follows my tenuous top ten Discworld books, which could very well look different if you asked me again next week. It's not a reading order, but it is, perhaps, a good way to start. Or, if you're already a fan and have been reading them for years, a good thing to argue with.

10) Mort (1987)

The fourth novel, and the first one to really reach the Discworld's full potential. Death, one of my favourite characters in fiction, a looming, cowled skeleton who comes to claim your soul at the moment after your last moment, is also a rather lovely gent. Often he'd rather be doing anything other than his job. After some fun cameos in the first three books (he'd actually appear in all but two of the novels), Mort is the first to focus on Death and his rather lonely existence. 

His bewildered young apprentice, Mort, is a sweet and sympathetic character, even as he beaks reality itself trying to do what he thinks is the right thing. The book also gives us a proper introduction to Death's adoptive daughter, Ysabel, a rather sinister figure in her first brief appearance in Magic but a more loveable one here. Then there's Albert, Death's servant, master of frying and secretly... well, secretly.

9) A Hat Full of Sky (2004)

In the latter years of the series, the stream of novels that focused on the witches branched into a sub-series of Young Adult books starring up-and-coming witch Tiffany Aching. This is her second appearance, aged eleven, and is a sequel to her first book The Wee Free Men and the short story "The Sea and Little Fishes" from the fantasy collection Legends. 

In spite of being ostensibly for younger readers, the Tiffany books are among the most intelligent and questioning of Prachett's books (indeed, his kids' books have never talked down to their audience and there's little between them and his adult-aimed works). Tiffany has to deal with learning how to be a witch from much, much older witches who all know best and disagree vehemently with each other, as well as being the Big Wee Hag of the Nac Mac Feegle, Pratchett's race of little people who are both a parody of woad-covered Celtic tribesmen and the Smurfs. 

All the Tiffany books are wonderful, but this one stands out for me. In all her storeis the young witch stands as one of the Disc's defenders against powerful entities from beyond, in this case facing the quite terrifying Hiver.

                                                        8) Feet of Clay (1996)

Not the first Discworld book I read (that was Guards! Guards!) but the first I bought, brand new, when it was published. Both are stories of the Ankh-Morpork City Watch, the rag-tag but increasingly effective police force headed by Sam Vimes. Ankh-Morpork is the melting pot to melt all melting pots, with all manner of people from every background imaginable, many of them not even remotely human. 

Feet of Clay deals with the lives of the downtrodden, the necessity of resistence, and the perils of dehumanisation. Of course, it's easy to dehumanise someone when they're not even human, and yet we on the Earth manage to do it to our fellow Homo sapiens with depressing frequency. Drawing on Jewish folklore, Feet of Clay is the first book to focus on the Disc's literally silent underclass, the golems, and discusses what might happen if they finally decided they deserved a voice. All of this wrapped up in two murder mysteries, and it introduces one of series' most beloved characters, Cheery Littlebottom, who will start a revolution in dwarfish gender politics.

7) Witches Abroad (1991)

The third novel of the witches, centring on the first among equals, the great Granny Weatherwax. Equal Rites, the third Discworld novel, had introduced Granny, and Wyrd Sisters had given her a coven. The lascivious Nanny Ogg and the wet-behind-the-ears Magrat Garlick joined Granny, the three standing as the mother, the maiden and... the other one. 

Witches Abroad took them on a tour of Genua, a nation reminiscent of New Orleans, with a bit of Southern Europe and a bit of the Caribbean thrown in. When Magrat unexpectedly inherits the role of fairy godmother and must seek out her new ward Emberella, Granny is forced to confont the mystical machinations of her estranged sister Lilith. It's a wonderful send-up of fairytale tropes, while poking fun at parochial attitudes as the Lancre Three find themselves face-to-face with all manner of foreign nonsense and some of the most dreadful jokes in the series. "Get me an alligator sandwich - and don't take too long about it!"

6) Hogfather (1996)

Pratchett does Christmas by taking it back to its dirty pagan roots. The Discworld version of Christmas if Hogswatch, a midwinter festival personified by the Hogfather, a powerful and vital entity who thrives on the belief of the Disc's children. When the Auditors of Reality decide enough is enough and humanity really need to be sorted out, they go for their very soul and employ an assassin to take out the Hogfather. Fortunately, Death is on hand to step in and take the reigns, quite literally. 

Human belief and our need to tell stories is central to the Discworld's philosophy, and it's never more present than here. The Hogfather is a grubbier but obvious reflection of Father Christmas or Santa Claus, and likewise has evolved through the centuries as culture has reshaped him. It goes deeper than that, as Death's granddaughter Susan (it's complicated), a governess who beats up bogeymen to help her wards sleep, faces a threat to the very nature of childhood imagination. A perfect Christmas tipple, and a thought-provoker when you're beginning to wonder which of the various minor deities you're going to encourage your child to believe in. You won't think of the Tooth Fairy in the same way again.

5) Going Postal (2004)

A wonderful, Victorian-style novel (it has chapters and everything) which introduces the fabulously named Moist von Lipwig, another late addition to the Discworld's all-time great characters. An unrepentant conman, Moist given one last chance to evade the hangman's noose when the Patrician of Ankh-Morpork appoints him head of the city's ailing Post Office. This may not sound like a recipe for a gripping novel, but it truly is, as Moist faces the brutal opposition of Reacher Gilt, owner of the Clacks network (the Disc's sempahore-based long-distance messaging service). Gilt will stop at nothing to maintain his monopoly over communications, and so unravels a web of conspiracy and murder.

Moist's continual twisting out of trouble as he gradually comes to care about something bigger than himself is a joy to read, as the man proves he can talk his way out of or into almost anything. Going Postal also continues the golems' story, as Moist is assisted by the unstoppable Mr Pump, and falls for the head of the Golem Trust, the formidable Adora Belle Dearheart (aka "Spike"), the one person who can see through everything he tries. Moist's story continues in Making Money and Raising Steam, but sadly it never reached what I am sure was its ultimate endpoint with Moist becoming Patrician himself

4) Small Gods (1992)

Set some considerable time before the other books (although exactly when is a point of some debate), Small Gods follows Brutha, a simple novice of the Omnian Church. A brutal theocracy, Omnia adheres strictly to the worship of the great god Om. You might think that a monotheistic religion wouldn't do too well on a world that is objectively home to thousands of gods, but there we are - as long as he has enough believers, Om will remain the great and powerful one god of them all. Unfortunately, when he chooses to manifest for the final time, he discovers that Brutha is the only one left who actually believes in him. As a result of this, he manifests as a small, grumpy, one-eyed tortoise.

A savage satire on organised religion, Small Gods takes on the close-mindedness and hypocrisy of "true believers," the brutality of Christian history and the difference between religion and faith without mercy. Yet, in true Discworld style, it remains whimsical, witty and very funny. This should be required reading at any faith school.

3) Snuff (2011)

One of the last books in the series, and one of the best, Snuff is another one that focuses on Sam Vimes of the Watch. By this stage he has moved up several stations in life, and is now Duke of Ankh, much to his chargrin. Holidaying in the countryside with his wife, Lady Sybil Ramkin, and their poo-obsessed son Sam, Vimes stumbles upon one of the few truly brutal crimes to appear in the series, as a young girl is found to have been murdered. That girl is, however, a goblin, the last of the uncivilised fantasy races of the Discworld, underground dwellers generally considered vermin by "civilised" society.

While Snuff is a little less accessible than most of the books, being that it builds on a number of elements from earlier stories, Pratchett's deftness means that it's easy to catch up on the complexities of latter-day Discworld lore and politics. As with Feet of Clay, Snuff deals with the dehumanisation of other cultures, with the ever-present reality that even in the most progressive societies there are alsways some who are treated as the lowest of the low. By this point, the Watch itself includes dwarfs, trolls, vampires, a werewolf, a gnome and a golem, and even - gasp! - foreigners. Goblins, however, are just animals, right? But when had anyone ever tried talking to them to find out?

While there's some unflinching stuff in here, there's also some of the series' most wholesome material. The meeting between Young Sam and the goblin girl Tears of the Mushroom is particularly sweet.

2) Reaper Man (1991)

The second Death-centric book, and the last to focus on him alone without involving Susan. This is a tale of two halves, in some editions even presenting them in different typefaces. One thread deals with Death's unceremonious sacking, leading him to take up a new life as a farmhand for the wonderfully straightforward Miss Flitworth. The other deals with the consequences of the temporary lack of a psychopomp, as spare life force builds up, causing peculiar supernatural events, such as the unexpected un-death of elderly wizard Windle Poons. (Pratchett truly had a way with names; unlike Death, who take an age to come up with the moniker Bill Door.)

It's a slim book, in spite of the two storylines, but it's quite perfectly contained and rather moving. Death's story is the better of the two, as he learns a little more of what it means to be human, with his very respectful friendship with Miss Flitworth being a highlight. The other section, the Ankh-Morpork part, introduces various supernatural characters, some of whom, such as zombie rights activist Reg Show and small-medium-at-large Mrs Cake, reappear in later books. It also brings in the current Faculty of Unseen University, who have to deal with the side effects of the excess life force, and an alien invasion of Ankh-Morpork, in the form of snow globes. Believe it or not, it does eventually make sense.

Reaper Man is an easy read that, in spite of its silliness, will stick with you a long time after you finish it.

1) Night Watch (2002)

Absolute perfection. While the City Watch books include some of the very best of the series, Night Watch stands above them all, as Sam Vimes is thrown back thirty years into Ankh-Morpork history, in the days building up to the Glorious Revolution. Immediately arrested by his own younger, greener self, Vimes is forced to step into the shoes of his own mentor after he is murdered by Carcer, the truly vile character who is also swept back in time.

Much of the fun of this novel comes from seeing the younger versions of familiar characters, such as Havelock Vetinari, destined to become Patrician but currently an unpopular boy at the Assassins' Guild School; the boy - or boy-like individual - known as Nobby Nobbs, one day to become the least law-abiding watchman ever; and a still livign Reg Shoe, already a staunch campaigner for, well, anything going. Nonetheless, it's still a riveting story for a newcomer to the series, a gripping thriller that reminds us that power - be it that of the politician or policeman - comes with both responsibility and tempation. It also reminds us that history is going on around us all the time, and that we might just have to stand our ground when faced with the darker realities of that.

It's a harder, less comedic book, but all the stronger for it, and when the laughs come, they're truly earnt.