Battlestar Galactica (2004-2009)

The Cylons were created by Man. They evolved. They rebelled. There are many copies. And they have a plan.

The miniseries that served as a pilot episode for the reimagined Battlestar Galactica showed the human race all but annihilated in a sudden, shocking nuclear attack by their own creations, the Cylons. The twelve home planets of Kobol were rendered uninhabitable, and the fifty thousand survivors take to the skies in a desperate attempt to find a new place to settle and ensure humanity's survival. Their ultimate destination: a long-forgotten planet called Earth, settled, allegedly, by a thirteenth colony from the original Kobol. But no one knows where Earth can be found, and meanwhile the Cylons, not content with their victory, continue their relentless pursuit across the galaxy. Some Cylons even look human, and are hidden within the fleet, ignorant of their own nature.

So, a pretty grim, ruthless premise for a series, and such a situation calls for tough people. There is a wide cast of fascinating characters, complex and nuanced, heroes and cowards, compassionate and selfish, full of love and hatred, loyalty and treason, justice and revenge - and all these qualities often found in the same person! There are very few straightforward heroes and villains, and that is what makes the characters so interesting. I could write about so many of them: Lee "Apollo" Adama, Saul Tigh, Kara "Starbuck" Thrace, Sharon "Boomer" Valeri, but I'm going to focus on the two leaders: Commander (later Admiral) Bill Adama, and President Laura Roslin. I was suspicious of Adama when I first encountered him; a military man all his life, he seemed cold, angry, and proud. My first impressions of Roslin, on the other hand was that she was an absolute sweetie; a motherly former schoolteacher with a strong moral compass. I adored her.

This paragraph contains minor spoilers, more about character than plot. But feel free to scroll down to the black text.

Meanwhile, though friends have proclaimed Whiny Gaius Baltar their favourite character, I could not stand him from first to last: a smug, snivelling coward with an overinflated ego. And yet, when he was pitted against our two heroes at the end of season three, I found myself gradually siding with him against them. Roslin and Adama's desire for justice became a hunger for revenge, and it was very ugly. I found myself furious with them. You're better than this! But I could not hate them for long. I gradually fell away from Roslin's spell during that season, felt less inclined to excuse her as a good person who made bad choices for good reasons. Yes, her ultimate goal remained the survival of humanity as a whole, and the search for Earth, but her moral compass was so unmovable it seemed glued in place: if someone disagreed with her, they were clearly wrong. And her concern for humanity as a species does not always extend to the individuals that make up that species. Meanwhile, Adama said and did some pretty awful things, and yet I found him easier to forgive, because beneath his hard military facade, you come to learn he is a man of strong but controlled emotions. And perhaps it is easier to excuse something said or done in the heat of a moment than a coldly considered cruelty. I did not hate Laura Roslin as a person - she remained lovable in her private moments - but she did not remain a likable president. A good one, nonetheless? The jury is out on that. Difficult decisions must be made, and sometimes there isn't a right choice.

The road to Earth is far from straightfoward, and the fleet is constantly confronted by conflict from within as well as exterior forces - and not just from the Cylons living among the humans. When they start to be revealed, the humans struggle to reconcile their preconceptions with the evidence that confronts them. One must acknowledge the shared humanity of others - even some Cylons - lest you lose your own. Yet this is easier said than done when still reeling from the near-destruction of an entire civilisation.

The plots keep you guessing, and nothing is straightforward. Political intrigue, twists of prophecy, betrayal and the just plain weird make for an exhilarating experience. The plot does not go where you think it ought - and I love a story to be unpredictable. People die that shouldn't, others outlive all expectations, and even the music gets in on the act to scramble your brain. This is not a story that reverts to the status quo. The series finales come with game-changing shocks, and the season finale turns everything you think you know about the Battlestar Galactica universe on its head. It must be very different watching it a second time around.

It is not a perfect show, however. There is a strange mystical subplot that I could take or leave, if it were less critical to advancing events. Prophecies lead to strange McGuffin-hunts ("The arrow of Apollo will open the tomb of Athena which will lead us to Earth" - what?!) There are too many self-proclaimed "chosen ones" and too many answers are provided by dreams and visions, and just accepted to be accurate predictions of the future (and usually are, in some way.) This seems like weak plot progression to me. Prophecies, visions and dreams should be used lightly, I think - see the twist in Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix for an example of it done well. Also, I noticed there is a lot of repetition in the dialogue, and it sounds scripted rather than like real speech, sometimes even like poetry. And not good poetry, either.

But perhaps these are minor quibbles from one who has spent too long studying creative writing. Battlestar Galactica is a revolutionary space disaster adventure, and despite the irritations, I have thoroughly enjoyed watching it. It is a show best watched with very little foreknowledge, and I've enjoyed watching the mysteries unfold before being resolved in an epic climax. I know some of my Twitter followers have been reading my tweets with smug enjoyment of my ignorance (and one of my colleagues will be asking me tomorrow for my thoughts on the ending.) Definitely one to watch twice.

Buffy the Vampire Slayer: Season 6

Contains Spoilers

After the emotional turmoil of season five, with the mystery of Dawn's existence, the illness and death of Joyce Summers, the unbeatable villain, and finally Buffy's own death, I thought that season six would be a relief. Buffy would come back, and yes, I had been spoiled on the fact that she "came back wrong," so maybe she'd be a little bit out of control, maybe a bit slay-happy like Faith. I WAS SO WRONG!

I've been observing for seasons that Willow has been getting in too deep with the magic pretty much since she started dabbling in it, and her desperation to bring back her friend gets her doing some very dark spells indeed. The ritual which brings Buffy back to life is horrifying, and is interrupted, leaving us wondering how far it's worked. (And they manage to bring her back to life but are chased away from her grave leaving her to dig herself out - UGH NO!)

No wonder Buffy is traumatised! Who wouldn't be, after her experiences? But as much as Willow wants her friend back, she wants reassurance that she's done the right thing, and Buffy does not give it, because little does Willow know that Buffy had been happy where she was. She had fought a hard battle in the last season, and had found peace, only to be dragged back to a difficult, violent world by those who loved her best. And she can't tell them why she's not okay with being alive again, because the truth would destroy them.

It's not only Buffy who is keeping secrets in season six, and here's where the famous musical episode "Once More With Feeling" comes in. Oh, I have been hearing about this episode ever since it first aired; the one that set the standard for every other series and sitcom. It was all everyone talked about at school the next day, and at Christmas I saw a couple of clips on one of those rubbishy "top ten musicals" countdown shows, which must have been made about ten years ago. The bits I remembered being shown did not do the episode justice AT ALL, bits of songs like "I've got a theory," (fun, but that's it) "What can't we face when we're together?" (which makes it sound all mushy and completely missells the tone of the episode) and "Where do we go from here?" (which is a lot less poignant without context.) There is an amazing mixture of musical styles, each suiting the characters. Buffy gets the big musical numbers, Tara sings a romantic ballad, Spike gets an angry rocky number and Giles performs a very Gilesish acoustic ballad, while Xander and his fiancee Anya have a comic duet with some troubling lyrics. I had expected a cheesy, fun, gimmicky episode, to lighten the mood and take a break from the main season's plotlines, but instead "Once More With Feeling" is the catalyst for all the cats to be let out of the bags. Tara discovers the extent of Willow's magic, Anya and Xander discover each other's reservations about their forthcoming marriage, and everyone learns what really happened to Buffy after she died. Giles decides that he's getting in the way of Buffy learning to stand on her feet again, and flies back to England. Also Spike and Buffy kiss for the first time.

I think it was inevitable that Spike and Buffy would get together at some point, but I didn't want to see it. I loved the chemistry he had with Buffy, and enjoyed their scenes together, but a relationship, if you can call what happens between them that, was never going to work out. This season shows a very damaged dynamic between the characters, and one I found very difficult to watch. This is a relationship of desperation, one that is unbalanced, violent and loveless. I think what Spike calls "love" is more like obsession. I've liked Spike as a villain, a frustrated would-be monster, and then as a lovesick puppy. I love a morally ambiguous character, a villain with a soft side or an anti-hero, but the ambiguity is dashed away after he assaults Buffy in her bathroom. It was a horrible conclusion to a nasty relationship, and I couldn't care about Spike's story after that. He crossed the line and I can't see how there is any coming back from that. I didn't think the story was handled very well: the writers dwelled more on how the attack affected the perpetrator than the victim, and Buffy's story galloped away from the incident without a backward glance. In a world of vampires, robot girlfriends, invisibility rays and beer that turns its drinkers into cavepeople, the only time I've really said "nope, this would never ever happen" was when Buffy decided to entrust her little sister to the care of her would-be rapist. A serious misstep there, I felt.

In season six, Willow really does get in too deep with her magic. It's been hinted at for seasons, and I guessed that sooner or later she would turn to the dark side. I anticipated Evil Willow, but what I got instead was Mean Willow, whose magic became an addiction, and she turned on everyone who tried to help her to see she was in trouble. Willow is my favourite character, but for about half a season I started to dislike her immensely: she kept making the same mistakes over and over, not learning from them, and crying when she had to deal with the consequences of getting caught. It took endangering Dawn's life to get her to realise the error of her ways, and even when she turned her back on witchcraft, I suspected it was only suppressed, not gone for good.

The Scooby gang have come up against all sorts of Big Bads in the past five seasons: vampires, of course, a Frankenstein's Monster, and in the last season even a god, but in season six their "archnemesis...es" are a trio of nerdy students: Warren (creator of the Buffybot) Jonathan (he of "Superstar" fame) and... some other guy. They fancy themselves as comic-book supervillains, the Sunnydale branch of the Evil League of Evil, but basically they are just clueless jerks, stereotypes of geeks. I viewed them with contempt, and they grew more repulsive with each episode - especially Warren, who represented a purely human form of evil. Still I did not expect him to be a serious threat... until the words "he won't be much good without his friends," were spoken, after Jonathan and The Other Guy were carted off to jail. Oh dear. You mustn't say things like that. A couple of minutes before the end of an episode, that line had a ring of Famous Last Words to it, but I didn't realise quite how "last" those words were, before Warren shows up with a gun...

I have been grumbling for a couple of seasons that Willow's girlfriend Tara never showed up in the opening credits montage, but was always relegated to "guest star," the only member of the Scooby gang to fill that role. Finally, after making up with Willow, she is welcomed back into the fold, with an appearance of her own in the credits, and I celebrated. For forty minutes. 

BEFORE SHE DIED!

It came from nowhere. Warren appeared, fired a gun in the direction of Xander and Buffy who ducked out of the way. I thought for a moment that Xander would be hurt, or killed. Buffy was wounded. Then cut to Willow, upstairs, with a spray of blood splattered across her clean white shirt... and Tara falls down, dead. I stared at the screen in horror and made several incoherent wounded animal noises. I should have been prepared for this. It is Joss Whedon, after all. How does he manage to get me every time?

Oh Tara! You were not a forceful character, but you were so lovely and sweet and rounded and human, and gradually weasled your way into my affections until without my realising it, you became my favourite character. What will Buffy be without you?

Well, the last three episodes give a pretty dark indication of that, and in the aftermath of her girlfriend's death, we get to see the real Big Bad of season six: Evil Willow. THIS was kind of where I expected her magic storyline to go, though I never dreamed it would be triggered by such an awful, senseless, tragedy. Welcome, Evil Willow, an awesome villain, in a very disturbing way. Willow is ordinarily so sweet, but we've seen glimpses of her inner darkness, and now it takes over as she goes on a rampage of revenge after Warren. Awesome fades to horrifying, after she reprises the line of her vampire doppelganger of many seasons ago: "Bored now," and dispatches Warren in the most gruesome way imaginable.

It seems that no one can stop Willow now.

Hurrah, Giles is back! The first bit of light in several episodes, and it made me very happy. We get to see another side to Giles, the side that can take on Evil Willow, although it seems to be at great cost. I feared for his life at one point, and after Tara, I didn't trust anything - though I thought it was traditionally the series finale in which Joss Whedon kills off his beloved supporting characters. But for Giles to be killed as a direct result of Willow's actions would be taking Buffy into darker territory than any we've seen so far in a series filled with anguish and despair. It'll be hard enough for the character and show to come back from her (well-deserved) murder of Warren. If she killed a good friend, I think there could be no return. It was predicted that no supernatural power could rescue Willow from her magical self. Good thing there is still some good old-fashioned humanity left, then, and she is saved by Xander. Xander has never been my favourite character. I grew out of disliking him after a couple of seasons, but he's not been at his best in season six. But his friendship for Willow is pure, and it is his love and forgiveness that brings her back to her old self, as he declares, even if she destroys the world, he still loves her, and would rather die by her side than anywhere else. Yes, it was corny, but it was what was needed after this remarkably bleak season.

Episodes with the most impact: (This section is getting more and more difficult to describe accurately.)

1-2: Bargaining. Setting up the tone for the entire season, Willow and the Scoobies resurrect Buffy from the dead. But it is not pretty.
7. Once More With Feeling. The Musical Episode! But if, like me, you expect a nice, lighthearted break from the main plot, then you are very mistaken. The musical format advances the plot in powerful ways.
8. Tabula Rasa. Because I was already familiar with this title, I expected it to be emotionally devastating, but it is quite fun. Thanks to Willow's magical meddling, the group lose their memories and have to come to their own conclusions about who they are and how they relate to each other. Introducing Joan the Vampire Slayer and Giles' new family: son Randy (who you know as Spike) and fiancee Anya. THIS is the light-hearted break from the main plot... until the last five minutes which will require tissues.
9-10. Smashed/Wrecked. Willow's magic gets out of control. Buffy and Spike start fighting and end up... not fighting.
11. Gone. A relatively lighthearted episode, involving an invisibility ray.
15. As You Were. Riley returns, with a wife. The last scene between him and Buffy made me cry for personal reasons - I want to get back in touch with my ex before he moves abroad, but can't bear him knowing that my life hasn't changed in the slightest in the years since we've been apart. And yes, I do want reassurance that just because my life can be disappointing, I'm not a complete failure.
16. Hell's Bells. Xander and Anya's wedding day. Xander, afraid of becoming like his awful father, chickens out and jilts Anya at the altar. JOSS WHEDON IS WHY WE CAN'T HAVE NICE THINGS.
17. Normal Again: Is all of Buffy just a delusion of a very sick girl in a mental hospital?
19. Seeing Red: I don't know what to make of this episode, in which Spike assaults Buffy; it is very difficult to watch, and I'm not sure if that necessarily means it's good. And this is the episode that ends with Tara's death. Again: it is powerful and shocking but...
20. Villains: Willow goes over to the Dark Side and becomes very scary indeed.

The Night Strangers - Chris Bohjalian

Airline pilot Chip Linton's life changes forever when he is forced to crash land his plane into a lake. Had it not been for a boat disturbing the water at just the wrong time, it could have been done relatively smoothly, but instead, thirty-nine people died. Chip survived. Several months on, still devastated by the accident and suffering PTSD, he moves with his wife Emily and twin daughters Hallie and Garnet to a new home: a big, old house in an out-of-the-way village in a different state.

But there is no escaping from the past. In the basement of their new home, Chip finds a door sealed with thirty-nine bolts, and the significance of this number - the same number as victims of the air disaster - is not lost on him, and its presence taunts him. But when Chip takes an axe to the door to reveal... a boarded-up coal hole, it is his own ghosts that are freed from their prison, in an ambiguous mix of ghost story and psychological horror. The Linton's house seems to serve the same purpose as The Shining's Overlook Hotel, a dark, creepy place with a sinister past, which makes already damaged people much, much worse. Like the best Gothic settings, this house is not merely a place where the action happens.

The strangeness is not limited to the house, however. Many of the Lintons' new neighbours are not quite like other people. Many of the women spend all their time in their greenhouses tending herbs, baking vegan food and mixing up herbal remedies, and they all seem to have names like Sage, Anise and Clary. The other people in the town shun them, even fear them, though they seem friendly enough, taking a keen interest in the twins and welcoming them into their new home. But they know too much, and seem to have their own purposes for wanting the new family to join their circle, and as the Linton family spend more and more time with the "herbalists," Bohjalian evokes a creeping sense of claustrophobic dread.

The Night Strangers is a vivid, gripping read, though a very dark one. Much as you may hope, there is an inevitability that the book won't have a cosy ending. In fact, it is not until the epilogue that the outcome of the climactic scene is made clear. I found myself re-reading in case I'd missed something, but no, the last chapter left the characters' fate unclear. Half The Shining, half Stepford Wives (with a strong seasoning of magical herbs), The Night Strangers left me feeling deeply unsettled.

Watchmen - Alan Moore

Picture a world where superheroes are real. Really picture it. Pretty cool, huh? Now really think about it. A world where anyone can put on a costume, fight crime with complete anonymity, take the law into their own hands. Where these costumed heroes - for they don't have any superhuman powers - play judge, jury and executioner all at once. Where groups of masked vigilantes are the terror of the underworld. What sort of people would choose that lifestyle, and should they be trusted with the responsibility?

These are just some of the questions posed by Alan Moore in his masterpiece, Watchmen. The title, of course, is a reference to the age-old question: Quis custodiet ipsos custodes? (Who watches the watchmen? - Juvenal, Satires) Interspersed between the chapters of the graphic novel are pages supposedly from historical documents, charting the rise and fall of the superhero. The world is not quite the world as we know it, and it is indicated that superheroes had a lot to do with altering the course of history - and not for the better. In the 1985 of Watchmen, America has won the war in Vietnam, Richard Nixon is still President, and the world is on the brink of nuclear war.

Superheroes are now outlawed, having arguably done more harm than good. They came into being after the comic books soared in popularity, but the reality was something quite different, and now the costumed heroes have disappeared from the public eye - both from the streets and from the comics. But one remains, if one can call him a hero by any stretch of the definition. Rorschach: bitter, repellent and hate-filled, but driven by his unswerving moral absolutism and crusade against the murkiest specimens of humanity, fighting them on their own terms. The story opens after the death of a former masked crusader, with Rorschach warning his old comrades of his suspicions: that a serial killer is targeting them one by one.

Watchmen is an incredibly dark novel, the two characters with the strongest voices having contrasting but equally bleak views of the world. Rorschach is bitter, violent and horrifying, not at all a likable character, and yet almost sympathetic. His journal entries form part of the narrative, giving a fascinating but unsettling insight into his mind. On the other hand, Dr Manhattan, the only "hero" with superpowers, has a gods-eye view of history, with past, present and future equally visible. He has also all but detached himself from the human race to whom he used to belong. It seems that Manhattan's extra knowledge of Earth has caused him to give up on the planet and those who inhabit it. The two anti-heroes provide a sobering commentary on humanity, all the more so when coupled with the impossible moral dilemma posed in the final chapter of the book. But there are other, quieter voices in the to balance these two harbingers of doom, suggesting that all is not completely hopeless.

Despite the reputation of comic books as a genre, Watchmen is not an easy read, but it is worth taking time over. You benefit from reading the pictures as well as the words, and some mysteries can be figured out before their revelation, if you pay attention to detail. Watchmen is also an excellent deconstruction of the superhero genre. I did not find any of the characters particularly likable - as well as the anti-heroic Rorschach and emotionally disconnected Dr Manhattan, I found the more conventional heroes a bit insipid - and yet the storytelling and world-building kept me hooked. An exemplary work of literature, and one which I suspect will get better with every subsequent reread. I borrowed this from the library, but would consider buying my own copy.

There has also been a movie, which I found to be very faithful to the original work; although it differs significantly in one particular instance, I felt that this was more of a detail rather than a change to the plot or the spirit of the story.

Dollhouse, Season 1.

Last year, my best friend got me hooked on Joss Whedon's cult classic "space western," Firefly. This year she has introduced me to another, lesser-known Whedon series: Dollhouse. The titular Dollhouse is a top secret organisation which provides employees for very specific jobs. Kind of like a temp agency, you might think - except that instead of matching the job to the employee, they create the employee from scratch to be just what the client needs: inventing the memories, skills and personalities to provide satisfaction. But these new-made people are programmed into existing bodies, or "dolls," whose personalities have been erased to make room for these new people - backed up onto disc and removed from their minds. A "doll" can be a detective, or a wife (or husband), a pop star's backing singer, or a teacher - or a spy so convincing that even they don't know that they are anything other than what they are pretending to be. These aren't actors; these are people designed to specification. They fulfill their duties, return to the Dollhouse, where this personality is wiped and they return to their vapid, childlike state, ("Did I fall asleep?" - those words gets seriously creepy after a while.) floating around the house taking endless showers and eating banana pancakes, ("I like pancakes.") until their new role comes up and they go to be reprogrammed.

It must be an extremely challenging role to play one of the "actives," as each week, they are a different character. The series follows one particular "doll," codenamed Echo, and every time you watch an episode, you're in a different show - detective, conspiracy, thriller, romance, etc. The first episodes merely show her in her jobs, the dollhouse staff, and Paul Ballard, an FBI agent who is trying to find out all about the whole sketchy business. And then Echo starts remembering things that have not been programmed into her, memories from before she became an empty "doll," when she was a student activist named Caroline. And that is just when it starts getting weird. Um, weirder.

Dollhouse is a show that engages my brain more than my heart, at first, raising a hundred and one questions about what it is to be human, what makes an individual, and free will. But with a main character who changes personality every week, you need a flexible actress. Eliza Dushku plays Echo/Caroline adequately, convincing in each new role, but never really making me feel any attachment to her - probably because we never get to know any of the characters very well or for very long. But I care for the other "dolls" - notably Sierra and Victor - more. They, like Echo, are rewritten in each episode, but, like Echo, things seep through that shouldn't, making them more like "real people" than the Dollhouse intends.

And when many characters are in charge of an organisation that takes away people's humanity, often by coercion or force, making them do and say and be anything, with the belief that this is really their own choice, it is difficult to like or care for them. I do, however, like Boyd Langton, Echo's bodyguard, a fairly decent, fatherly type of character who seems to be conflicted about the organisation he works for. But he still works for the Dollhouse. Perhaps I trust him mainly because Echo's trust in him is so complete - and programmed into her. Hmm. But he does seem to have more of a sense of morality than the rest of the staff, who put their consciences to one side for science.

I'm also fond of Topher, the immature and rather bratty youthful genius in charge of actually programming the dolls. I understand he was a fairly unpopular character in the early episodes - though he does start to get a bit of poignant character development around episode 10 of the series - but for me he was some refreshing relief and humour in an unexpectedly dark programme. The morality of the Dollhouse doesn't trouble him much, because he is loving the unique opportunity to do what he loves and what he does well: messing around with cutting-edge technology and showing off. He is maybe arrogant, maybe irritating, but he has a childlike energy that contrasts with the stern, businesslike Adele DeWitt (who seems to be universally loved, but aside from her Britishness and occasional hints of vulnerability - and a wonderful comic scene in episode 7, I don't get it.)

 It's difficult to say much more without giving away major spoilers for the last few episodes. Just mentioning minor details highlights their significance, and I watched the first season entirely unspoiled, and that was awesome. But the entire point of writing about this thing is to rave about it. So, um. The big one, I guess, is the introduction of a character, played by an actor I knew from elsewhere, who turned out NOT to be what I expected from his first appearance in the show.

If you've seen the programme, highlight the white text below and watch my mind exploding in spoilery and semi-coherent squealing.

>>>WASH IS ALPHA! Alan Tudyk, guest-starring as a cowardly, hippy nerd afraid of backless staircases, turns out to be THE major villain of the entire series. And he is terrifying in the role. The transformation was one of the most stunning pieces of acting in the entire show, and probably the best thing I've seen him as. I started off thinking, "Oh, look, it's a Firefly cameo, sweet. I love Wash. Dear old Wash." and ended up half an hour later thinking, "hold on, that was Wash? I can hardly believe it."

And then, ALL OF EPITAPH 1. I mean, the fact that it is called Epitaph and not Epilogue started setting off the alarm bells in my mind. Episode 12 seemed like such a perfect finale to season one, that I could not figure out what episode thirteen had to add. (I later discovered that it was added on because Fox needed a thirteen-part series, and the pilot was deemed unsuitable.) And MY GOODNESS it is different. Flash forward ten years from the story-so-far, and the world is unrecognisable. The Dollhouse technology has been developed and advanced, before being taken over by hostile forces to bring about war and worldwide destruction. ("Children playing with matches, and they burned the house down." - *shudder*) "Epitaph 1" shifts the genre of Dollhouse the most dramatically yet from speculative/science fiction/alternative present to a not-too-distant post-apocalyptic horror. This is what the series is headed for. This is the unavoidable conclusion. Beware. I wrote earlier that the series appealed to my mind less than my feelings, but evidently I've grown fonder of these characters. "Epitaph 1" switches between the ten-year flash-forward, focused upon new characters, and a series of flashbacks hinting at the fates of the characters we've spent the last twelve episodes getting to know. And it is heart-wrenching. Whedon sure knows how to rip your feelings up. He broke Topher! Oh, poor Topher. I now realise that what he did to Wash "I am a leaf on the Wind" in Serenity was the kind option. CURSE YOU, WHEDON!!!!<<<

I've hidden the spoilers for the sake of people who haven't seen the series but want to. So far, I've only seen the first season, so please don't leave any season 2 spoilers in the comments. (Or if you absolutely HAVE to rave about what I haven't seen yet, I suggest coding it at rot13.com so that I can read it later on. Go ahead. Laugh at my ignorance of what is to come.)

Gone Girl, Gillian Flynn

A bit spoilery.

After Amy Dunne disappears on her fifth wedding anniversary, her husband Nick is the first suspect. Though he maintains his innocence, desperate in his search to find out what has happened to his wife and to clear his name, the evidence appears damning. Chapters alternating between Amy's diary and Nick's contemporary narration reveal that the Dunne's marriage had been unhappy for a long time. In fact, it seems that Amy and Nick didn't even know each other any more. Their accounts of events in the past, and of each other's thoughts, moods and reactions, show a couple shockingly out of tune with each other.

These conflicting accounts keep the pages turning, switching the reader's allegiance between Nick and Amy, at least at first, while causing us to question if either party can actually be trusted. Nick, in particular, in the first half of the novel, showed the signs of being an unreliable narrator by withholding information, not only from the police, but also from the reader. His cell phone rings, and he turns it off, not telling who is calling, or mentioning it again - until the next time. He is questioned about an overheard argument - an argument he has not described. He claims to be a writer, and yet describes his father-in-law is "literally losing his head."

And then, halfway through, there is a momentous twist, and everything we think we have figured out about Amy, Nick and their marriage turns on its head. I was completely taken by surprise! The second half of the novel. The case plays out like a deadly game between ruthless, manipulative players taking turns. Both Amy and Nick reveal themselves to be highly unpleasant characters in a toxic relationship, and it's difficult to root for either one. The pages keep turning of their own accord as the story heads for a climax, and from a reader's point of view, you want something huge to happen, but you know it can't end well for both. Can there be a winner, or only losers?

Gone Girl starts off as a fairly straight-forward crime thriller, but turns out very different indeed: clever, but very twisted, dark and unsettling. You might want to read something cute and wholesome after this one.

The Homeward Bounders - Diana Wynne Jones

Diana Wynne Jones is an author that I've heard about from my best friend for most of my reading life, but only come to discover for myself in the last couple of years. Homeward Bounders is the best I've read so far, encompassing layers upon layers of jaw-dropping genius.

Enough of the gushing, Edwards! Tell us about the book.

When Jamie stumbles upon Them, the mysterious hooded figures who use his world as the setting for their games, he is exiled onto a circuit of worlds, doomed to wander until he can find his way home. On his travels, he meets Helen and Joris, fellow "Homeward Bounders" who, like him, have fallen foul of Them and sent from world to world.

Homeward Bounders crosses the boundaries between genres as Jamie and the others cross between worlds, encompassing myth, fantasy, science fiction and adventure as only children's fiction can. I have got lost in Diana Wynne Jones' books in the past, but this one came alive as I read, a complex, multiverse-spanning plot that nonetheless makes perfect sense. It appealed to my love of adventure, varied settings, limitless imagination and pathos. In the last section, I realised before Jamie did what was going on - but not in a "too-obvious" way. Wynne Jones' narrative style is simple but not simplistic, and her story is sophisticated indeed. In fact, I think that Homeward Bounders transcends mere children's fantasy fiction to take on a mythical status of its own.

Mini-reviews: Miranda, The Land of Decoration, The Fault In Our Stars

I always find it exciting to start a new year in Storyland, venturing out into the uncharted lands of new books, TV and film, without any idea about which stories will become home to one's heart and mind. I've read three books so far in 2013: two for the first time and one reread, and so far all three have satisfied.

1. Is It Just Me? - Miranda Hart

One of the biggest selling hardbacks of the Christmas season was comedian Miranda's book - not so much an autobiography, but a "Miran-ual" of ponderings on life generally. Written as a dialogue between adult Miranda and her eighteen-year-old self, Is it Just Me? is packed full of reflections on being big and clumsy, of the joys of stationery and spontaneity, and whether carrying one's personal effects in a battered old rucksack rather than a tiny handbag really means that one is not "taking oneself seriously as a woman." (Spoiler: no.)

Is it Just Me? is an absolute joy to read, especially as someone who cannot leave a room without crashing into the doorpost. I mentally read the book in Miranda's own plummy tones - helped by her addressing the reader as "My Dear Reader Chum" (MDRC for short.) I howled with laughter at some of her escapades - although I did wonder how many had been embellished just the teensiest bit. Her recollections of an embarrassing picnic brought to my mind the memory of a disastrous incident with a barbecue burger bagel I battled in Cardiff with plastic cutlery. I won't go into details. Just imagine anything that could go wrong with these things and you probably wouldn't be far off. It was mortifying. But back to Miranda: I left this book feeling admiration for this woman who could be so confident in her goofiness and unwillingness to be a decorous grown up that she can not only laugh at herself and not care, but star in a sitcom about her life. Is It Just Me? is a funny and feel-good read that was just what I needed to get me through my annual Christmas Lurgy (although it is not good when you have a cough.) I originally bought it as a gift for my best friend, who lent it straight back to me. Now it's my mother's turn to read it.

2. The Land of Decoration - Grace McCleen

Ten-year-old Judith is an unusual child. Brought up by her strict widowed father and bullied at school, she finds refuge in the creation of a miniature world in her room which she calls "The Land of Decoration." Desperate not to have to go back to school, Judith makes snow for the Land of Decoration, and sure enough, it snows in the night, closing the school. Judith becomes convinced that she has miraculous powers, and tries to use these to make life better. But then things start to go wrong. Very wrong indeed.

Grace McCleen leaves it up to the reader to interpret what is going on here. Is Judith really having mystical experiences - and if so, are they benign or malevolent? Alternatively, is she simply over-imaginative, or even mentally troubled? Judith's narration is only reliable to a certain extent, revealing more to an adult reader than the child would understand, and it is unclear how literal we are to take her "visions." I am as yet undecided where I stand, but inclined towards her having a vivid imagination, shaped by her skewed religious upbringing.

At the heart of The Land of Decoration is the relationship between Judith and her strict father. Judith matter-of-factly says that she knows her father doesn't love her, because of her mother's death from complications giving birth to her, and because he always seems so angry. The discerning reader will understand that the truth is far more complicated than this. McCleen's portrayal of the grieving father trying to find his way as a single dad in a difficult world is all the more poignant for being described by someone too young to really understand.

The Land of Decoration is an extraordinary book, strange, challenging and often dark. It took a few pages to hook me, but once it got my attention, I could not put it down. A masterpiece from a new author.

3. The Fault in Our Stars - John Green

It hasn't been long since I read The Fault in Our Stars the first time around and my every intention was to pick up one of the many other books in the staff room library, but somehow this little blue paperback fell into my hands instead. The Fault In Our Stars is an incredible book, marketed at teenagers but one which should be read by people of all ages. I didn't have much to say about it the first time around and can't really add to it today, either. Just go out and read it. Buy, borrow, steal a copy. (Don't steal, kids, it's bad.) I always love John Green's characters: they are so funny and sarcastic and smart and angry, and reading about Hazel and Augustus actually hurt. The Fault in Our Stars hit home even harder the second time around, knowing what was coming. I recommend it whole-heartedly; it is a fiction full of truth and heart - but beware. You will need tissues.

Perfume: The Story of a Murderer - Patrick Süskind

Just these last few weeks, it has seemed as though the whole world wanted me to read Patrick Süskind's Perfume: The Story of a Murderer. After joining in with a customer about the merits of real books over e-readers, his parting words to me were to recommend this book. My friend had been talking about the movie adaptation, and then Ellie mentioned it as a really challenging book in reply to my comment on one of her posts. Lastly, it emerged that my latest acting "discovery" Ben Whishaw had starred in the movie adaptation. And I couldn't see the film without having read the book. Only Shakespeare is exempt from that.

Perfume starts slowly. Really slowly. We are treated to pages and pages of descriptions of smells, every scent in Paris that you might be able to think of. Scent is, of course, a hugely evocative sense, and this forms the basis of the novel, however, I'm not quite sold on how convincingly it can be described with pen and ink. But though slow, these descriptive pages are compelling. It is easy to describe the appearance of things, but there are all the other senses, and Süskind has chosen to focus on one not widely used in literature.

Jean-Baptiste Grenouille, Perfume's protagonist villain, is a very unusual sort of character, even from birth. Those who ought to look after the infant Grenouille are repelled by him in ways they cannot describe, other than that he smells of nothing. Yet his own nose is remarkable, able to identify the subtlest scents, and this one sense occupies his entire mind. He is utterly alien, lacking in human qualities, a psychopathic nose. There is nothing relatable about Grenouille, and yet he is pitiable. Süskind seems to use scent as a metaphor for the soul, and Perfume leads one to ponder on the nature-versus-nurture debate, presenting the uncomfortable idea of a person innately evil. Grenouille moves from place to place, and bad things happen to those he leaves behind. No explicit connection is made, but Grenouille leaves a trail of misfortune behind him, leading back even to his mother, which adds to the sense of menace.

Perfume does not end where you might think it should, and I found the expected denouement to be anticlimactic. When compared with the pages of description earlier in the book, the "finale" is prosaically described, lacking all tension. There is a sense of inevitability of events, with Süskind making no attempts to keep the reader guessing. I came to realise (thanks to my friend's comments) that this is actually incredibly clever, because, after all, this is how Grenouille sees the world. The smells are everything - human actions, life and death, mean nothing to him.

But just when I thought the ending was all wrapped up, the plot takes a horrifying turn by showing not just the evil in Grenouille's character, but the depravity he inspires in his fellow man by the seeming of purity. Perfume is a slow-burning novel, which took its time to grab my attention, but one that lingers, turning out very dark and unsettling indeed.

Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children, Ransom Riggs

With its simple cover illustrated with an old black-and-white photograph, Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children can be immediately identified as a strange, spooky book. Apart from the lack of fancy artwork or graphics, there seems to be something a bit uncanny about the girl. Perhaps it's just the obvious oldness of the picture, being blurry, unfocused, not sharp like modern photography. Maybe it's the title. Perhaps it's the fact that the little girl's feet are not quite touching the ground...

Miss Peregrine is a unique book in that author Ransom Riggs has illustrated his eerie fantasy story with real vintage photographs found and rescued by collectors; photographs that, like the girl on the cover, seem not quite right. The photographs themselves are fascinating, and I would have happily bought this book for them alone. But around the photo collection, Riggs has woven a dark, twisted narrative based around an orphanage that is not as it seems.

After the death of his beloved grandfather, American teenager Jacob goes to an island off Wales. He hopes to see the children's home where his grandfather spent the war years after his escape from the Nazis in mainland Europe. What Jacob discovers, at first, is a ruin. No one has lived in Miss Peregrine's Home for decades. As he explores deeper, he discovers stranger truths about Miss Peregrine and the children in her care than he could ever have dreamed of.

This book drew me in straight away, with a strong character in Jacob's grandfather, and the mystery of his death, and his past life. The ruined orphanage is a classic gothic ruined house, thick with atmosphere and unfinished business, on the borderline between uncanny-unexplained and fantasy. I felt that the book was at its best at this point, before the secret of Miss Peregrine's was made clear. Even when the truth began to unfold, I was impressed with the originality and unexpected explanation of a ghostly situation.

However, once the scene had been set and the story started to get under way, I confess I found myself losing interest. I felt that Miss Peregrine became less remarkable when the danger, the villains and monsters, were identified. The genre seemed to switch from atmospheric ghost story (of a sort) to a much more generic teen fantasy adventure, and it lost its grip on me. It is set up for the possibility of a sequel, but I feel it would be more effective if it were kept concise and unique.

Villette, Charlotte Bronte

I first encountered Charlotte Bronte as a pre-teen, when for some reason or other I watched the Lowood scenes in rehearsal at the local theatre. Being at the time fascinated with boarding school stories, the play encouraged me to try out the novel, but it was only on my fourth attempt when I was about fourteen that I actually read past Jane's childhood and onto the end. This novel has been described as an essential part of any girl's journey to womanhood, but little is known about Charlotte Bronte's other works. As part of the Bronte Sisters challenge, I decided to read Villette, a novel I knew little about other than it was supposed to be Charlotte's best work.

The novel follows the fortunes of Lucy Snowe, a young woman with no money and no family. What Lucy does have by the bucketload is resilience, strength of character, and courage, possibly to the point of recklessness. A Victorian young lady leaves England for the fictional city of Villette, unaccompanied, with no knowledge of French and no job, friends or relations when she gets there (as far as she knows.) Is she insane? Nevertheless, she quickly finds herself a position at a private school, first teaching the younger girls, then becoming English teacher for the whole school.

Lucy is a fascinating, but not always likable protagonist. It took me a good part of the book to be able to establish what her character is; she is quiet but forceful, often compared to a shadow. She is secretive even from the reader, more than once knowing more than she lets on until she decides to make a revelation. Lucy takes no nonsense and very sure of her own rightness. Her attitudes can come across as arrogant and judgemental, and she is particularly anti-Catholic which adds to her isolation as the only Protestant in the school.

Despite it being quite a challenging read, I got through Villette quickly. It is full of complex characters: the vain, coquettish Ginevra Fanshawe - who, despite all her faults, one can't quite bring oneself to dislike - sweet, precocious Polly and the devious, underhanded headmistress Madame Beck. There are two potential love interests in Lucy's life. Dr John, AKA Graham Bretton, son of Lucy's godmother, is the more conventional romantic hero: handsome, charming, friendly and generally decent. His relationship with his mother is heartwarming and amusing, full of good-natured banter. The other is M. Paul Emmanuel, a far more complex character: quick-tempered, passionate, opinionated and frequently rude, but he is full of compassion for the poor, the lowly, the underdog. He and Lucy clash frequently, but she is his equal and won't let him walk over her. He is a good character, yet I found his rudeness quite shocking, especially when I tried to imagine his modern-day equivalent. If he sees Lucy talking to another man, or dressing prettily - read, in a pale pink dress, rather than grey - he calls her all sorts of names, flirt, coquette, vain - Lucy Snowe, one of the most puritanical characters in literature! Imagine how well that would go down in real life, today. It would be considered abusive rather than eccentric foreign outspokenness, surely?

The book is quite hard-going, not least because there are large portions of untranslated French dialogue. I studied the language until I was 18, so I could follow most of it, but it might be better to read a Penguin or Oxford World Classics edition, as these tend to have footnotes or endnotes. It is a somewhat melancholy book, a tale of loneliness, disappointment and hope, and Victorian repression. Charlotte Bronte vividly describes the workings of a mind under attack from depression, of the physical pain from emotional turmoil, and the scenes in which Lucy ventures out at night after being drugged with opiates take on a surreal, fairylike tone, in which which her senses are intensified until everything seems brighter and more real than day-to-day life. Quite apart from subplot about a local ghost story that seems to fit better into an Ann Radcliffe romance, the narration is filled with the borderline-gothic atmosphere that is characteristic of Jane Eyre and Wuthering Heights. Take this scene in which Lucy reflects upon a former unrequited love:

"Was this feeling dead? I do not know, but it was buried. Sometimes I thought the tomb unquiet, and dreamed strangely of disturbed earth, and of hair, still golden and living, obtruded through coffin-chinks."

Read for the Bronte Sisters challenge

Villette's ending is ambiguous and comes upon the reader suddenly and hard. Once more, Lucy Snowe conceals the full story from the reader, leaving it open to interpretation whether it she has her happy-ever-after or not. I've a pretty good idea which is the true ending, but either way, it seems quite a let-down to have followed this character from childhood, through 650 pages of hardship, happiness, despair and hard-earned reward, only to have this ending withheld, and wrapped up in a handful of sentences. Yet, it seems a remarkably modern conclusion, and not actually out of place in this clever, thoughtful piece of literature. If Jane Eyre has been helping girls to come of age, Villette is its sadder, wiser and more mature sister.

Movie Monday: Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows part 1

Contains spoilers

With the final installment of the Harry Potter film series released this Friday, it is only right that this week's Movie Monday brings us up-to-date with the story so far. I'm not going to recap the story here, as I've written fairly lengthy book reviews already. The film itself makes no allowances for newcomers - it's probably a safe assumption that most viewers know what's going to happen anyway, and that those who don't, have at least watched the films to date. After a brief speech from the Minister for Magic, we are plunged without any further ado into the seventeen-year-old heroes' lives as they prepare to leave their homes and venture out into a terrifying world unprotected. This is the only film to reduce me to a blubbering wreck in the first two minutes, before the title card.

As I said, this film is not very newbie-friendly, reuniting Harry and the audience with a flurry of old faces, some not seen for three or more films (Fleur, Dobby) and other characters are introduced briefly, with little to-do, and you are left to work out for yourself quite where they all fit into the equation (Bill Weasley, Mundungus Fletcher and others.) Still, I was very pleased to be introduced to the eldest Weasley boy, a tertiary character for whom I have quite a fondness, but who could conceivably have been rewritten. When I first heard that Deathly Hallows was to be split into two films, I wondered whether it was strictly necessary, but now I am very grateful for the fact. This is probably the most faithful adaptation since Chamber of Secrets, but is a far superior film, in part because the actors have come a long way, in part because there was enough imagination in the translation process from one medium to another. When reading the book, there were a couple of subplots I hadn't remembered being included in the film, but there was enough to suggest that these have not been forgotten, just probably shuffled into part 2. Just a few more days and I will know.

The previous film, Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince opened with a shot of the Millennium Bridge being destroyed, showing how even the muggle world was affected by the wizards' wars. Deathly Hallows Part 1 shows the continued effect, which I found the more chilling because it was more casual: a headline announcing the murder of a muggle family, the battle between the Order of the Phoenix and the Death Eaters - and Voldemort - taking place over a busy motorway and bringing down power lines,  the burnt-out caravans in the scenery without any mention of what happened.

After about half a film full of fantasy action: a discovery, the infiltration of the Ministry of Magic - but alas, no one answered my plea to assassinate Umbridge after her first giggle -  and a One Ring-like Horcrux spreading  discord between the central trio, more terror comes after a moving scene at Harry's parents' grave, when Harry and Hermione - Ron having temporarily scarpered in a huff - meet what they think is magical historian Bathilda Bagshot. Background music and the preknowledge of what is to come, but not how, build up a creepy suspense, and the gruesome horror is more implied than shown, with the buzzing in the background and a few blood spatters. There is a strange moment when, after the scenes in a gloomy old house, the wall is smashed open to reveal a bright, airy nursery for a moment or two, before returning to darkness. This uncanny, unexpected shot just heighten the chaos and panic of the scene.

 In Chamber of Secrets, when Harry discovers that he can speak the language of the snakes - without realising it! - the filmmakers were left with a dilemma: do they show the scenes as Harry sees them - implying he speaks English and then revealing that wasn't the case at all - or as they really are - alerting the audience to his uncommon skills before Harry himself finds out. They went with the latter option, and I remember thinking "that ruined it!" Somehow, this time - at least on this viewing - I thought they did a better job. It seemed that "Bathilda" was saying something I couldn't quite make out, but somehow it seemed like it wasn't clear why, whether my ears or brain weren't working properly for a moment. But maybe that was just me and just this time.

The Harry Potter actors and filmmakers have come a long way since the twinkly, magical children's film that was Philosopher's Stone, and particular credit goes to the central trio, who must have spent half their lives so far playing these roles. Emma Watson as Hermione deserves a particular mention in this film; it was thanks to her performance that I was reaching for the tissues in the first two minutes.

Oh, and of course Dobby, not seen since Chamber of Secrets, and generally disliked then, Dobby put a smile on my face when he reappeared in all his joy to see Harry Potter, his pride at being A Free Elf and general cheerful, matter-of-fact demeanor in a film so full of darkness and fear. Of course, this makes his final scenes all the more heartrending. I never would have thought nine years ago that I would shed a tear for that irritating house-elf!

I've now bought my ticket for the midnight showing - ten past midnight, if that makes any difference! - of part 2 on Thursday night/ Friday morning, and am itching to see the final part. Reading all of the books in a row recently has left me more caught up in the Pottermania than I otherwise would be, and I am particularly looking forward to seeing Neville and Mrs Weasley's greatest moments, Alan Rickman as Snape - a character sadly missing from most of the previous film - and his backstory, and of course the final showdown(s) between Harry and Voldemort. But I am in no doubt about the fact that tissues will be needed.

Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, J. K. Rowling

After the stifling atmosphere of the last book, it comes as a relief to be reintroduced into the familiar, friendlier Hogwarts. Yes, the wizarding world has become a dark, dangerous place. Voldemort and his folllowers are at large and in the open, and every edition of the Daily Prophet newspaper reports more death and devastation. Even the Muggles know something strange is going on. But at least the threat is in the open. Harry and Dumbledore don't have to deal with the Ministry's opposition to their every move and wild accusations - on the contrary, the Ministry want to be best buddies. It would make them look good, because rumour has it that Harry Potter is the Chosen One destined to destroy Voldemort.

Before this book was published, it had been publicised, like the last two volumes, as being darker than ever. But, for the majority of the book, this is a return to a tone that was more reminiscent of the first half of the series. Harry, Ron and Hermione are now sixteen and a great deal of the plot focuses in on their muddled attempts at romance. There also seems to be a lot more humour, even among the dark events going on outside Hogwarts - and within, if Harry's suspicions about two of his oldest adversaries are correct.
Thankfully, Harry has grown out of the rage that was the defining point of his character in Order of the Phoenix! Professor Dumbledore plays a greater role, as he and Harry work together out of school hours, seeking the information and means to defeat Lord Voldemort once and for all. Through flashbacks, Harry learns a lot about Voldemort's backstory, from his parentage, to his childhood and adulthood, before his rise to power as the most feared wizard of all time. I found Half-Blood Prince an easier book to get through, not as emotionally taxing - and frustrating! - as its predecessor with the lack of Umbridge. There is a good balance between lessons, mystery, humour and exposition, with some significant development of some of the best-loved characters.

And then, right at the end, comes an abrupt change in tone, in the most disturbing scene of the entire series, the Cave Scene. The book comes to an end with a series of climactic events that mean that nothing can ever be the same again.

If somehow you have got through the book publication in 2005, and the film release in 2009, and still don't know what happens, be warned that plot and character spoilers follow:



While Harry has shown himself as growing in maturity throughout the book, with the increased responsibility allotted to him by Dumbledore, and in his own actions, the cave scene marks Harry's coming of age. Early in Half-Blood Prince, Dumbledore tells Harry:

"I do not think you need worry about being attacked tonight."

"Why not, sir?" 

"You are with me."

When it was first revealed,
this cover bothered me. I knew
very well that Harry was not a good
 enough Potions student to continue
studying the subject in 6th year.
But then, I'd predicted Snape would
be made Defence Against the Dark
Arts teacher in book 7 - and that he'd
be really good! It hadn't occurred to
me that this might happen  earlier,
because of the rumoured curse -
Snape was too good a character to
lose before the end of the series. But
I hadn't foreseen the changes that
happen in this book.  Clearly I'm
not a candidate for Professor
 Trelawney's class.

At the time, it seems like a typical Dumbledore thing to say, a quirky but reassuring lack of false modesty - after all, Dumbledore is the greatest Wizard alive at this point. So it's a testament to how far Harry has come, when Dumbledore says, after a terrifying ordeal that reverses his and Harry's roles,

"I am not worried, Harry [...] I am with you."

But it is not Harry's characterisation that is so fascinating as Severus Snape's. We've known since the end of Goblet of Fire that he has been a Death Eater, and that he is assuming his former role, acting undercover for Dumbledore. And he is doing a very good job. To fool either Dumbledore or Lord Voldemort would be unthinkable - but Snape is fooling one of them. But which one? All the evidence in this book paints him in a very suspicious light indeed, making an Unbreakable Vow to commit some unnamed act for Voldemort, arguing with Dumbledore and trying to back out of a deal with him, and offering assistance to the very dodgy-acting Draco Malfoy. But Dumbledore trusted Snape, and I couldn't bear to think Dumbledore could be wrong. What sort of message was that to give the kids? Besides, Snape has always been the most complex person in the story, an ally but completely unpleasant! To make him a villain after all would surely diminish him as a character. But sneaky Ms Rowling gave plenty of evidence to support either argument - Snape as villain or Snape as hero - but no definite proof either way.

Until the end, when Snape proves his true colours beyond all doubt.

I read the last chapters in disbelief, desperate for some revelation to prove that somehow, something wasn't as it appeared. I read on, and I read on, and at last I came to the understanding that I must have been mistaken, that there could be no coming back from what he had done. But still it bothered me. Surely there must be more to this man than meets the eye?

Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, J. K. Rowling

It was the summer of 2003. My dad was the first person on the Isle of Wight to pre-order the fifth Harry Potter book, happening to be in the shop where I now work, when the publication date was – after a three-year wait – finally announced. I was in the lower sixth form (junior year of high school, to my American readers) and my friends and I spent plenty of lunchtimes and free periods rereading the initial four books and trying to figure out what clues J. K. Rowling had planted in them, discussing what we thought might happen next. We had picked up on Dumbledore’s look of “something like triumph” when he had heard that Voldemort was now protected by Lily Potter’s sacrifice. What did this mean? What was the Order of the Phoenix, and did it have anything to do with the messages Dumbledore had sent out to Professor Lupin, “the old crowd,” including a Mrs Figg – the same Mrs Figg who had babysat for Harry before he knew of his Wizard heritage? I myself wondered about Dumbledore’s throwaway line about Professor Trelawney having brought her total of real predictions up to two – what was the first, and was it plot-significant?

Order of the Phoenix was published
with a choice of covers, catering for
the growing adult readership who'd
rather not be seen reading a kids' book.

And the big question was who dies? J. K. Rowling had let slip that she had killed off a main character, and that the scene had made her cry, and it seemed that question was more interesting than the other 700-odd pages of plot development. Recently I found the old school homework planner in which I had written my shortlist of possible victims. Hagrid. Neville. Lupin – because I knew he was returning. Sirius. Ron. Was I right about any of them? If you’ve read the book, you’ll know.

I think this was the first book with a midnight release, with Ottaker’s bookshop temporarily rebranded “Pottaker’s.” (Groan!) I didn’t go to any of the bookshop events, but I did note that HMV was opening an hour early, and I went down there to buy my shiny new book, not even peeking at the back or cover-flap blurbs. In fact, the postman looked at my book before I did. He spoke to me as I was walking home, “Nice day. You’re up early. You haven’t been buying the new Harry Potter book, have you?” he asked, sounding bored. “Yeah…” I said in the same tone. “Oooh! Let’s have a look!”

It was, as the postman had said, a beautiful day, and I read in the garden. All that day, I read – it was a Saturday – but as the day came to a close I realised I’d rather savour it, draw it out a bit longer. Who knew how long we’d have to wait for another new Potter book? But then I had to go back to school on the Monday, with about a quarter of the book left to go. “Have you read the new Harry Potter book?” asked a certain little squirt in the lunch queue. I should name and shame him, but I won’t. “I’m reading it,” I said, “So don’t…” “[NAME OMITTED*] dies,” he said, before I could get my hands over my ears. Thank you very much! I wanted to believe he was just messing around, but I was watching out for the event now, and not surprised when it happened after all. This boy was in my sister’s class and friendship group at school, and apparently he made himself very unpopular both in 2003, and then in 2005, when Half-Blood Prince was published, by giving away crucial plot spoilers to people trying to savour the story. Not decent, old chap. Not cricket.

***

But onto the book itself. Perhaps it’s because I’d familiarised myself with the first four books over the previous three years, but Order of the Phoenix felt like the odd book out. It didn’t seem to fit in, somehow. And, to be honest, it’s my least favourite book in the  series. In each of the books so far there has been a sense of danger. Lord Voldemort has always been out there somewhere, plotting world domination and Harry’s murder, and now he has returned, the threat is stronger than ever. Harry, Dumbledore et al know it is only a matter of time before outright war.

But worse than the deadly fear is the opposition from the Ministry of Magic. Not only do the Minister and his supporters refuse to believe that Voldemort has returned, but they actively hinder the spreading of the unwelcome news, discrediting it as madness and lies. At Hogwarts, the Ministry is represented by the awful Dolores Umbridge, the latest Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, who is largely responsible for ensuring that actually learning any kind of self-defence is brutally punished. As Umbridge slowly gains more power at the school, the book’s atmosphere becomes unbearably oppressive. One can’t even love to hate Umbridge, who makes Severus Snape appear a real sweetie by comparison.

As well as my least favourite character in the series, two of my favourite characters, clumsy young witch Tonks, and dippy fourth-year Luna Lovegood, are introduced in this book, and we are reunited with former Defence Against the Dark Arts teachers Remus Lupin and Alastor “Mad-Eye” Moody – the real Moody, this time. We also learn more about Sirius Black, Severus Snape and Harry’s own parents, and some shocking revelations about Harry's father come to light.

We get to see a bit of the wizarding world outside of Hogwarts: much of the action takes place in the Ministry of Magic buildings, and Rowling goes into more detail about Wizard Politics – an ugly game. There are some great plotlines – the titular Order’s covert war against Voldemort despite the Ministry’s opposition, Harry’s mysterious dreams in which he seems to be reading the mind of Lord Voldemort, the students uniting against Umbridge and the Ministry to form Dumbledore’s Army – a sort of trainee Order of the Phoenix - and we learn more about Harry's parents. Yet this book also contains are several subplots which I find less enjoyable to read about. As well as the poisonous Umbridge woman, Hagrid’s story leaves me cold, and Harry throws a year-long strop, shouting at anyone and everyone. Then again, he is fifteen. Finally, I think the scenes at the Ministry of Magic have too high a concentration of weirdness which is left  largely unexplained. I take away from the chapters in the Department of Mysteries a vague, blurry impression of sometimes overwhelming, sometimes grotesque magic all happening too fast to take in. Although the Order of the Phoenix is still a great read, it is a vast and chaotic novel which could probably have benefitted from tighter editing.

*Name omitted for COMMON DECENCY, a concept that some people might not understand. Not that I'm still sore, mind you. Not me. Nope.