The Sun Eater: Howling Dark by: Christopher Ruocchio

 

When I took a look at Empire of Silence I discussed many of the influences in terms of science fiction and media in general which I don’t think would be nearly as effective when looking at Howling Dark, the sequel.  Empire of Silence was a sprawling epic looking over a large section of Hadrian Marlowe’s life while Howling Dark sees author Christopher Ruocchio honing in on looking at who Hadrian is as a person exploring the universe largely as a mercenary.  Much of the novel is spent worldbuilding the universe, the Cielcin especially get an exploration with Hadrian and a Cielcin high priest/scholar Tanaran having this fascinating arc.  The novel excels at this centering of Hadrian as a character and by writing a novel where less time passes for Hadrian so instead of covering several decades, we are only looking at a particularly short period of time.  To accomplish this Ruocchio has to accomplish a writing trick to avoid taking the pace down to a near standstill and making Howling Dark feel sluggish.  It does take Ruocchio a while to make the pace work as well as Empire of Silence did, the opening chapters do become dangerously close to become a slog, partially because of how much of the early portions feel as if they are in Hadrian’s head in terms of following exactly what he is doing.  This perhaps indicates that in early stages of writing Ruocchio was intending to follow the pacing of Empire of Silence with Howling Dark.  There are also sequences in the novel where some of the flow of the narrative is interrupted so Ruocchio can get Hadrian to a place where he needs to be for where the plot is going.  Now The Sun Eater as a series has the framing of Hadrian writing his own memoirs, largely as the final moments of each installment so far and some at the beginning, so these issues with the flow could be a deliberate choice on the part of Ruocchio as presenting Hadrian as at least partially unreliable as a narrator of his own story.

 

This idea of Hadrian being unreliable is something that becomes apparent with the back half of the novel, this being where Ruocchio really kicks his writing into high gear and surpassing even the first installment of the novel.  The idea here is Hadrian Marlowe on the precipice of a fall in terms of what he is becoming.  The idea of the Ship of Theseus is present throughout the novel, much of the metaphor being applied to the universe as a whole (mainly the Cielcin and humanity) and to Hadrian as a person.  Ruocchio connects Hadrian as a character to Theseus, one of the Ancient Greek heroes who while not one to die a tragic death, has several stories to highlight the worse aspects as a character.  Hadrian compares himself to Theseus, specifically through the ship metaphor and Theseus’ most popular myth of slaying the Minotaur and navigating the Labyrinth.  This is an apt metaphor for Hadrian’s character arc, ending with Hadrian essentially at his most powerful but at some very interesting costs.  This is a book that sees Hadrian push away those he thought (and those who were) friends because those friends made one bad choice under pressure.  Hadrian as a character is leaning heavily into the prideful mindset, something worthy of a Greek hero and a Greek tragedy.  Hadrian’s romance with Valka in the novel is also in line with this thinking, Valka being a clear match for Hadrian and one to make him move past Cat’s death in Empire of Silence.  Ruocchio is also excellent at realizing the characters other than Hadrian despite being in the first person perspective, largely because the worldbuilding is intent on showing how much of the universe is harsh.

 

The Cielcin in Empire of Silence are largely off-screen as it were, but in Howling Dark much of the novel is spent among them and Hadrian’s attempts at a treaty where it is revealed that while humanity is an imperialist empire throughout the universe, this does not mean the Cielcin are innocent.  They are equally as harsh in terms of society, much of the translation of their language being inadequate, the novel building to a more accurate translation leading to a final reveal about exactly what they want with humanity.  Ruocchio is clear in making this a morally gray conflict where there are no heroes but there certainly are villains.  This makes Hadrian being on the precipice of falling such a compelling character despite the obvious villainy in his future.  There is much talk of identity and existence in three dimensions as Ruocchio also adds other forms of life in a fascinating sequence in the middle of the novel where Hadrian like a Greek hero essentially seeks an oracle.

 

Overall, Howling Dark is certainly a worthy if very different follow-up to Empire of Silence.  Like with Empire of Silence this review can hardly cover the depth of what is a very large novel, but what Ruocchio has done is further his science fiction epic by bringing in specific ideas from fantasy, Clarke’s law being invoked at several points.  It ends as if everything is about to fall apart in the best way possible as Hadrian has risen high and has left those behind him with some of his own humanity, both literally and figuratively.  9/10.

Requiem for Methuselah by: Jerome Bixby and directed by: Murray Golden

 

“Requiem for Methuselah” is written by: Jerome Bixby and is directed by: Murray Golden.  It was filmed under production code 76, was the 19^th episode of Star Trek Season 3, the 74^th episode of Star Trek, and was broadcast on February 14, 1969.

 

Forbidden Planet is often touted as a science fiction take on William Shakespeare’s The Tempest and as a film its influence is one of the major factors on why science fiction of the late 1950s and the 1960s is the way it is.  It is very likely that without Forbidden Planet being successful, Star Trek would never have been made, or if it had it would have been made in a very different way.  Jerome Bixby’s final episode of Star Trek is an explicit take on The Tempest nestled near the end of the third season.  “Requiem for Methuselah” sets itself up to be another budget saver of an episode, at least in terms of cast being limited to William Shatner, Leonard Nimoy, and DeForest Kelley from the main cast (with very brief appearances from James Doohan and Nichelle Nichols) and guests James Daly and Louise Sorel as the Prospero and Miranda figures in the episode.  And drawing on Forbidden Planet for inspiration is a robot essentially taking the Ariel/Caliban role.  Bixby’s script is fascinating because as a writer adapting elements of The Tempest, and let’s be clear it is largely just elements and scenarios from Shakespeare instead of a proper adaptation, he ends up overdoing it in terms of what is being drawn on.  Instead of a shipwreck, the Enterprise is battling an illness and stumbles upon a planet at random that would has the mineral that can be processed as antidote, though Kirk, Spock, and McCoy are not suffering the illness.  Bixby’s script fails to make the plague ship plot relevant after the first act of the episode, largely giving lip service to mention it and having Flint, the Prospero analogue, initially be unwilling to give the crew the mineral.  Director Murray Golden paces the scenes in a particularly slow fashion which contributes to the competing plotlines clash when they really should work better than they do.

 

Flint and Rayna as Prospero and Miranda doesn’t entirely work, largely because Flint instead of being a protective father is attempting to be a protective lover.  The big twist of the episode is that Rayna, who falls in love with Kirk, is an android who doesn’t know she is an android.  The climax of the episode is a genuinely emotional one of an android becoming human, Bixby clearly drawing upon the myth of Pygmalion in addition to The Tempest, with Rayna as Galatea dying upon gaining humanity which feels slightly drawn on Shaw’s Pygmalion in a way without understanding the ending of Shaw’s Pygmalion.  It doesn’t help that Rayna is given as much characterization as the typical female character on Star Trek though with intelligence that she briefly shows when introduced to the crew.  It is James Daly as Flint which is an interesting and layered performance.  The reason the title refers to Methuselah is that another of the episode’s twists is the fact that Flint is an immortal, living his life as Johannes Brahms and Leonardo da Vinci among other historical figures.  His wish to have retreated from the universe due to the expansion and colonialism of humanity is a fascinating idea, if slightly underdeveloped as the Federation is not meant to be viewed as a colonizing force.  There is a sympathy to his desire for a relationship, and the episode clearly understands the problems a relationship would pose, leading to the tragic ending and the necessity for Rayna to make her own choice.  Killing Rayna undercuts the ending, largely because this is Star Trek which loves to kill off love interests for tragedy.

 

Overall, “Requiem for Methuselah” is a mash of several different stories and it is because of that it suffers and is held back, yet as an episode it is still a largely compelling piece of drama.  Not having an alien to fight and attempting to focus on the characters is what makes it largely work and be one of the stronger episodes of the third season of the show.  This one probably would have flourished under a different director and maybe another draft.  6/10.

Anachrophobia by: Jonathan Morris

 

Let’s talk about the Time War.  While its aftermath is the motivator for the Doctor in the revived series of Doctor Who, it was far from just an idea in the mind of Russell T. Davies.  The Eighth Doctor Adventures and their use of Faction Paradox with the War in Heaven has as much influence on the revival’s depiction of the Time War as the Virgin New Adventures had on the portrayal of the Doctor and the tone (and the rise of Buffy the Vampire Slayer).  This series of reviews on the Eighth Doctor Adventures have been going on and off for several years now, Anachrophobia being the most like a story from the revived series.  It is the first of two novels for the range by Jonathan Morris, his second novel overall after Festival of Death which was a wonderful debut.  Anachrophobia is interesting because of how many layers Morris puts in this one.  On the surface, it’s a fairly standard base under siege tale with the Doctor, Fitz, and Anji being separated from the TARDIS at a military base in the middle of a temporal conflict.  The temporal conflict is the first layer to really peel back as much of the novel is dealing with how this conflict functions and the advancements in the war between the Plutocrats and Defaulters.  Morris naming his factions after terms dealing with wealth and money adds its own layer to the novel.  Rhetorically it’s a conflict of the scrappy underdog resistance going up against a large, colonizing force.  Time in this instance is in the place of material wealth, and the inciting incident sees the Doctor, Fitz, and Anji mistaken for Plutocrats.  While not made explicit, Morris is examining the universe post-destruction of Gallifrey and the Time Lords in a way that hasn’t quite been done since The Ancestor Cell destroyed the planet.

 

The Doctor is the centerpiece of Anachrophobia.  While Morris refrains from giving the reader much from his point of view, the way Fitz and Anji see him is particularly important.  The Doctor is no longer the Doctor and is tempted throughout the novel with moments where he can gain power.  The power would allow him to reset the universe to his own making.  While Morris doesn’t mention the Time Lords by name, instead reflecting on the events of The Adventuress of Henrietta Street and the loss of his second heart.  There is an argument to be made that Fitz and Anji are going through their own journey losing faith in the Doctor as was the case with the companions of the late 1980s and 1990s, the ending of the novel having the Doctor make the right choice in the end but Morris is particular in how great the temptation was.  Outside of that piece of temptation Anachrophobia is also one of those novels steeped in surrealism, the cover being one that calls to mind City of Death and the Clock People as featured in the novel are a terrifying threat.  The Clock People are unknowable, there is a possibility of them being part of Faction Paradox, but the Faction doesn’t actually get a mention in and where Morris leaves things vague enough that the novel becomes almost Lovecraftian because of what the Clock People represent.  While the named characters are incredibly well characterized and Morris is using his naming techniques to make them stick in memory, the trick being pulled is that you don’t actually know much about them.

 

Anachrophobia is a novel almost designed to leave a brief impression in the reader, and that’s what makes it work so incredibly well.  It’s one of those novels that I can easily see myself returning to and reassessing depending on my own personal headspace and the context in which I am reading it.  It’s a novel of far too many layers to be fully dissected on a single read.  Morris writes a novel that wishes to reflect on the basics of Doctor Who (and the back to basics approach) while deciding to throw them out and push the range forward into new territory as practically the last five or six novels in the range have attempted (and often succeeded in doing so).  8/10.

The Aztecs by: John Lucarotti

 

The Aztecs was written by John Lucarotti, based on his story of the same name.  It was the 88^th story to be novelized by Target Books.

 

It seems that all three of John Lucarotti’s novelizations were intent on the chance to enhance things that 1960s television wouldn’t allow.  In the televised version of The Aztecs, Lucarotti’s scripts were written specifically to reflect the research Lucarotti had done into Aztec culture but simplified for a 1960s white, British audience.  The Aztecs in print is a novelization that, at least partially due to being published in 1984 as the VHS range was beginning and reruns were beginning to occur, there is a sense that Lucarotti isn’t just attempting to recreate the story but add some depth for the reader.  It is interesting to note that the original televised story does not mention Aztec gods outside of Tlaloc, the god responsible for rain, but the novelization sees Lucarotti delighting in taking moments to explore the Aztec religions and gods.  There is also this added sense that Lucarotti’s understanding of the conquest and destruction of Aztec civilization to be more accurate to the television story fully scapegoating the human sacrifice element as the reason for this aspect of history.  The prose itself is also quite interesting, as it feels quite different from the television scripts despite hitting all of the same beats and containing much of the same dialogue.

 

Lucarotti is writing with the knowledge that by this point people reading these novelizations are most likely people who are actively watching Doctor Who on television, and there are decisions in the prose that reflect this.  What stood out to me was that despite doing an excellent job of characterizing the TARDIS team, the main characters don’t actually get much physical description when they are introduced.  The Aztec characters are afforded more description, especially since it is clear Lucarotti is working off his scripts and not the televised story, adding descriptors to the supporting cast as a way for the reader to realize just who they are.  Each supporting character is given at least some expansion to their backstory: the relationship between Ixta and his father is greatly expanded upon while the manipulations of Tlotoxl are made more insidious.  Cameca and the Doctor’s relationship is also expanded upon with the Doctor sharing in the reflections of falling in love, something made somehow slightly more explicit.  Ian is also quite well served by the novelization, being given his own reflections on Barbara’s decisions without taking away from Barbara being the center of the book.  This is still Barbara’s story after all, and the translation of what is one of her finest outings works quite well in novel form.  Lucarotti is also just a different voice from the usual Terrance Dicks fare and clearly has talent for writing these novels.

 

Overall, The Aztecs is an early example of a 1980s novelization for Doctor Who that while not actively changing much about the televised story adds interesting character depth and comes from an author who has the potential to be a novelist in his own right.  9/10.

Drift by: Simon A. Forward

 

Simon A. Forward’s debut novel Drift is a Doctor Who novel that has left me utterly confused as to how I feel about it.  Forward is a writer I was at least familiar with due to his Big Finish contributions with The Sandman which I have a soft spot for and Dreamtime which is one of the weaker entries in the Big Finish catalogue.  Drift as a novel is quite dense, it uses the full 288 page count afforded to the BBC Books line of novels and the size of the font is quite small meaning a larger word count.  The cover is one of the examples of Black Sheep’s better designs, the TARDIS in a snowy landscape is somehow quite evocative in its simplicity and once you begin reading Drift you begin to understand exactly why that cover works.  The harsh New England winter is the aspect of Drift that works to its fullest extent, Forward manages to portray the weather as ever consuming and ever advancing.  The snow is disorienting and Forward sets it up as the main threat of the novel.  Plus, there’s the general isolation of the setting of a snowstorm that manages to work, however a good idea for a villain does not make a particularly good novel.  This is a premise that should work, snowy settings work throughout the work of H.P. Lovecraft and especially in John Carpenter’s The Thing, both pieces of media that it is clear Forward is inspired by.  The revelations about the blizzards indicate it is some sort of a being from outside of the normal dimension, again a great idea for a novel and with the correct writer it could really have worked.  Simon A. Forward as a writer feels often as if he is trying to hard to make this feel like a piece of Doctor Who fiction that he experienced when he was a child.

 

Drift like many of the Past Doctor Adventures uses the TARDIS team of the Fourth Doctor and Leela, with Forward taking the time to pepper in several references to The Face of Evil and The Robots of Death.  This is essentially to establish where in the Fourth Doctor’s timeline the novel is supposed to take place over doing anything to advance the characters of the Fourth Doctor and Leela.  Leela as a character comes out of Drift better than the Doctor, Forward setting certain scenes from her perspective where he is able to engage in essentially a writing exercise for how to write for a character like Leela.  The noble savage hunter archetype is how Forward writes the character, reflective on the events of The Face of Evil especially since this is a novel where the threat is something bigger than her comprehension.  She also gets the usual fish out of water interactions with the supporting cast, largely a crew of Americans written to be over the top in their Americanness.  The Doctor on the other hand is one of those characters that is honestly difficult to get completely right, Tom Baker as an actor is like Patrick Troughton who is difficult to capture.  Troughton largely due to elusiveness, Baker due to the unpredictability of the character even from the era that Forward is writing from.  Forward just grasps on eccentricity and goes to the way Robert Banks Stewart wrote the character for The Seeds of Doom in terms of harshness and tries melding them, but that doesn’t quite work since The Seeds of Doom works because the eccentricity is especially dialed down into seriousness from the outset because of the threat.  Forward uses this as a mesh here and that just doesn’t mesh nicely.

 

Overall, Drift has some nice ideas and Forward is promising as a novelist, whenever he is describing the setting and actually dealing with the extradimensional threat it is interesting but underutilized.  It’s a novel that just never comes together by making some of its characters over the top in a way to make them one-dimensional.  4/10.

The Lights of Zetar by: Jeremy Tarcher and Shari Lewis and directed by: Herb Kenwith

 

“The Lights of Zetar” is written by: Jeremy Tarcher and Shari Lewis and is directed by: Herb Kenwith.  It was filmed under production code 73, was the 18^th episode of Star Trek Season 3, the 73^rd episode of Star Trek, and was broadcast on January 31, 1969.

 

It’s incredibly strange that this episode of Star Trek has essentially the burning of the Library of Alexandria on a much larger scale as both a central event and basically a footnote.  Okay Star Trek takes place in the future and it’s clear that the knowledge has also been backed up in other places and the episode ends with the resolution to rebuild but casually including the destruction of a planet sized library in “The Lights of Zetar” perhaps encapsulates why the episode has me quite split.  The destruction of a planet is a narrative event that should be given some weight and seeing it as a footnote indicates writers Jeremy Tarcher and Shari Lewis both haven’t fully examined the implications of their script.  Especially apparent is the fact that the planet doesn’t appear on-screen and is largely a background detail of the destination the Enterprise is enroute to.  The episode’s plot is literally about mysterious lights that chase the Enterprise and begin affecting young Lt. Mira Romaine, played by Jan Shutan, assigned to Memory Alpha, the library planet of the Federation destroyed at some point during the episode.  Much of the runtime is dedicated to running away from the lights and slowly discovering what they are, the fact that they are alive is only revealed in the back third and the first mention of Zetar is in the last ten minutes of the episode.

 

Writer Shari Lewis is more well known for her work as a children’s entertainer, creating the puppet Lamb Chop, Tarcher being her husband, and you can tell neither of them are actually writers for narrative television.  “The Lights of Zetar” is an episode whose pace is incredibly slow, even for the standards of 1960s television.  This is helpful for the initial setup of the episode where Tarcher and Lewis build up the character of Romaine and her budding romance with Scotty.  Not only does this allow Shutan the chance to establish herself as the character, it also immediately gets the audience on her side since we already know and like Scotty.  For his part, James Doohan is also aiding by being the standout performance of the episode, having a lot of meat in the script by playing lovestruck and intensifying his Scottish accent to match.  Doohan is also quite strong when the material lacks in the episode’s second act: once Romaine is in sickbay there is this extended conflict with McCoy about Romaine being uncooperative for no particular reason, but Doohan and DeForest Kelley are playing it quite well as the writing are keeping Romaine as a character squarely in the framework of a female character in the 1960s.  The construction of the episode largely falls apart here, Tarcher and Lewis neglecting to establish a proper structure for an A-plot and a B-plot, so the episode is just one extended plot that is attempting to sustain momentum but almost immediately becomes sluggish.

 

The plot is also one that ends in an anti-climax, after discovering the lights are the survivors of the planet Zetar in the form of energy and need a host the thrust becomes just to destroy them because they want Romaine’s body and she rightly doesn’t wish to give them up.  Romaine is thrown into a pressure chamber, the pressure is increased, and the lights are destroyed.  It’s another example of things in the episode just kind of happening without any real connective tissue or motivation to the characters.  It’s also clear that the director of this episode, Herb Kenwith, is trying to make something interesting in the material.  Much of the episode is shot from angles rarely used on Star Trek, the captain’s chair and navigation panels being shot head on is certainly a choice, and there is an almost cinematic zoom into Romaine’s eye at multiple points in the episode that goes further to add to the atmosphere than anything the script is doing.  The first act of the episode is also the most successful because it’s where our characters get some particularly nice character moments.  George Takei and Walter Koenig get a nice little back and forth as Sulu and Chekov, Majel Barrett as Nurse Chapel gets a good one-liner, and Nichelle Nichols is always wonderful as Uhura, but this doesn’t save the episode.

 

Overall, “The Lights of Zetar” has a good idea to explore but due to being from entertainers and not scriptwriters the episode becomes largely unfocused.  Much of the episode’s problems are due to the writers not knowing how to structure an hour long episode of television and not providing much interest in terms of what the episode could be doing.  It’s just another in an increasingly large line of middling episodes of Star Trek.  4/10.

The ABC Murders by: Agatha Christie

 

“The Final Problem” is the short story written to end Sherlock Holmes before bringing him back when Arthur Conan Doyle’s fans demanded it, introducing the world to Professor James Moriarty.  Arthur Conan Doyle and Agatha Christies are authors with very different styles, but Christie owes her early success with the Hercule Poirot novels by following the Holmes/Watson format Conan Doyle established throughout the Sherlock Holmes stories.  As such, while reading The ABC Murders I could not help but find interesting was how this novel felt as if it was following in the footsteps of “The Final Problem” being one last story in the previous model of storytelling to move the character of Poirot largely away from the specific Holmesian dynamic between Poirot and Hastings.  While Hastings would appear in two further novels (Dumb Witness and Curtain), The ABC Murders feels like Christie writing one last hurrah for the format.  It is narrated once again by Hastings with several diversions to other characters “reconstructed” based on recollections given to Hastings, and Hastings has a role to play in the resolution of discovering the murderer.  There is also a character built up throughout the novel to essentially be a Moriarty figure of someone who could potentially beat Poirot, communicating through a series of notes announcing the murders.  This is where the comparisons to “The Final Problem” essentially end, outside of the novel opening with a sequence of Poirot and Hastings reminiscing while discussing gray hairs and hair dye giving me the initial impression that perhaps Christie intended this book to be set quite late in the detective’s career.

 

The ABC Murders actually feels more in line with a thriller instead of a typical murder mystery.  The killer is a serial killer with a fixation on killing people with alliterative names going through the alphabet from ‘A’, going so far as to choosing victims from places also beginning with the corresponding letter of the alphabet, while leaving an ABC railway guide at the scene of the crime.  There are classic serial killer notes sent to Poirot, the first of which being the inciting incident and initially dismissed by Hastings and Inspector Japp as practical jokes until a murder happens.  Christie’s prose is masterful at lulling the reader into the false sense of security despite murder being in the title, thinking that maybe it is just a false letter and the murders are going to be something completely different.  The way the chapters are broken down in this novel assist in building the tension, they’re quite short which makes the reader feel as if things are always moving while the characters aren’t actually making any real progress.  What makes The ABC Murders work is the bafflement of the characters, Poirot included, and the working with Scotland Yard.  Several police officers fulfill the role in the trope common in detective fiction of the bumbler, but never for comedic effect by Christie, generally adding to the tension.  Since this is a murder mystery, I won’t spoil the ending, but it is kind of a shame that this one has only been adapted a handful of times because it’s one of those twists Christie understands how to execute.  It’s on the level of And Then There Were None, The Murder of Roger Ackroyd, and Murder on the Orient Express in terms of how it works so well as a twist.

 

Overall, while The ABC Murders moves away from traditional detective fiction into thriller, this allows Agatha Christie to really dig deep and make this a mystery that stands out above many of her others.  It’s a classic which works because the genre is flexible and Christie is showing maturity as a writer, making her own strides with the genre all within the period where she will be writing some of the novels she is most well known for.  The best statement of its quality is that I initially wasn’t intending to review it but found that by the 1/3 point I had to get my thoughts on exactly what was being done here in comparison to other pieces of detective fiction and the growth of Hercule Poirot.  10/10.

Star Wars: The Last Command by: Timothy Zahn

 

It’s quite interesting that the Thrawn trilogy from Timothy Zahn in its initial novel Heir to the Empire was intent on moving the story forward.  The novel had to say this is the continuation of Star Wars and not just a rehash of the original trilogy, however with Dark Force Rising and The Last Command Zahn does an interesting trick of taking on the structure of the original trilogy.  The Last Command ends this Thrawn trilogy with the obvious parallels to Return of the Jedi as the great evil is defeated and the New Republic is victorious.  However, Zahn performs a magic trick with this writing: it is already clear that the character of Grand Admiral Thrawn has the potential to be a great villain and is more than the Emperor actually was in the original trilogy so this is a book whose resolution is quite different from Return of the Jedi.  While Zahn does make an antagonist switch sides, something that had been hinted at throughout the trilogy instead of Vader’s last-minute turn back to the light, the actual destruction of Thrawn is something that is incredibly sudden and from quite a different sort.  Thrawn spends much of the book in this state of almost gleeful gloating at being able to outsmart the New Republic at every turn.  The actual mistake that Thrawn had made is one that was made two books ago, something that Zahn has been telegraphing to the audience from the very beginning though never in a way that compromises the point of the story.  Thrawn’s place in the narrative is particularly interesting as while the last novel was careful to keep him off-page, The Last Command is more interested in showing him about the same amount as Heir to the Empire as the Empire itself succeeds, though he does not become the central villain of the piece.

 

The mad clone of Joruus C’baoth is the central antagonist of the novel, being primarily motivated by a wish to see Leia’s twins as his own apprentice and to see Mara Jade kill Luke Skywalker.  Behind the scenes Zahn originally intended the character to be a clone of Obi-Wan Kenobi and The Last Command is where you see much of that come to the surface, especially as there are sequences where Luke and Mara Jade are paralleled as characters, Luke in several ways becoming the master to Mara’s apprentice.  It’s a relationship that is perhaps the best part of the novel as it is a very different master/apprentice relationship to those seen in the original trilogy.  There is this sense that Luke actually respects Mara’s autonomy and life experiences in a way that in the original trilogy Yoda did not towards Luke.  This does add to Mara’s internal conflict of not particularly wishing to kill Luke, but having clear orders and a clear level of mistrust amongst the New Republic once her past as the Emperor’s Hand is revealed.  The continual narration of “You must kill Luke Skywalker” which infiltrates Mara’s mind whenever Zahn writes from her perspective is one of those repetitions of the novel that is almost too repetitive, even when it comes around during the climax of the novel.  C’baoth’s madness is portrayed well but sadly as a villain the more interesting aspect of the character are Mara and Luke’s reactions and defeat of him instead of anything he has become himself, something that may not have been the case had he been the clone of Obi-Wan as originally planned.  The added tension with the building of a new clone army and the potential reignition of the Clone Wars, something that would obviously be a mystery to readers at this point, is still fascinating.

 

The political aspects of the novel is something that Zahn also excels at, largely because it allows a continuation of seeing Leia as a leader while Han Solo is almost put in the backseat for the novel.  The set piece of her apartments being broken into by Empire spies allows Zahn to show a more riveting side to his writing as it comes after several revelations and builds to this extended sequence.  It ties in quite nicely in terms of themes to the ending of the smuggler plotlines of the novel, something that sees an alliance between the Rebellion and more of the galaxy’s smuggling rings which feels as a statement from Zahn about the necessity of the Republic to move on and be better, to give the smugglers a chance at something better.  Zahn’s commentary with the New Republic is largely on the cyclical nature of oppression, though through quite a particularly limited view of authoritarian oppression of people painted with a large brush.  This is no takedown of systemic oppression in its intricacies and instead is interested in the systemic overview as is often the case with these types of stories.  It has the double effect of having more depth than the systems of the Empire of the original trilogy but being trapped in the storytelling conventions of 1990s pulp tie in science fiction which isn’t so much a problem as a quirk in the nature of the thing.

 

Overall, The Last Command manages to show that Timothy Zahn clearly understands the structure of presenting a trilogy of stories while managing to make a sequel trilogy to one of the most influential science fiction films of all time, while still remaining in the remit of that original trilogy.  Obviously this is not going to be a story where the main characters are going to die but Zahn is fascinating at finding ways to move these characters forward and ending with a particularly interesting subversion of expectations that if executed in a filmed sequel trilogy would perhaps have fanboys in shambles that would last for years.  The Last Command is a great book.  8/10.

That Which Survives by: John Meredyth Lucas from a story by: Michael Richards and directed by: Herb Wallerstein

 

“That Which Survives” is written by: John Meredyth Lucas, from a story by Michael Richards, a pseudonym for D.C. Fontana, and is directed by: Herb Wallerstein.  It was filmed under production code 69, was the 17^th episode of Star Trek Season 3, the 72^nd episode of Star Trek, and was broadcast on January 24, 1969.

 

It’s telling that even with D.C. Fontana leaving Star Trek during production of the third season with two stories being left behind.  “That Which Survives” would eventually be written by John Meredyth Lucas, but it’s one where the ideas are clearly Fontana’s.  It’s an episode that pairs down the cast and is clearly written with the budgetary constraints, likely from Lucas’ contributions to the script, but there is still Fontana’s general sense of exploring a post-apocalyptic situation.  An empty planet is nothing new for Star Trek that has a mysterious woman stalking Kirk, Sulu, and the episode’s redshirt is classic fare for the show and that is added to by the B-plot of the episode having the Enterprise catapulted across space so Spock and Scotty have to pilot it back.  It’s a B-plot clearly so the A-plot feels stranded and that Kirk and company can be properly cut off and the episode can have the tension of the elements, even if the planet is portrayed essentially by recycled elements.  Throughout the episode Lee Meriwether appears as Losira, a woman capable of disintegrating cells and in actuality is a computer program meant to protect the planet’s station as a disease has killed the rest of the population.  This is the episode’s big twist and it’s executed pretty well, all things considered as the sets don’t entirely suggest an inhabited planet and are probably reusing elements but the ideas are there.  John Meredyth Lucas as a writer, however, makes the script itself come across as pretty standard stuff all things considered, but Meriwether plays her role despite Lucas not giving her much characterization outside of being mysterious and an object for director Herb Wallerstein to aim his camera at.  That is pretty standard stuff for the third season of Star Trek.

 

What’s particularly nice about “That Which Survives” outside of the general atmosphere and Fontana’s clear ideas about looking at quite literally the remnants of civilization, is that this is an episode where George Takei actually gets to shine as Sulu.  The last time Sulu really was allowed in the spotlight was “The Naked Time” and that was back in the first season.  Yes, some of this is explained by Takei being double booked during the second season, but just allowing Takei to give a performance in this episode is wonderful.  The rest of the supporting cast is also honestly a highlight with a return of Booker Bradshaw as Dr. M’Benga for a brief appearance and Naomi Pollack as Lt. Rahda adds some attempted diversity to the bridge (though Pollack is white playing Indian).  Lucas’ script for the B-plot also allows much of it to really come around to Spock, Uhura, and Scotty with much of the dialogue so this becomes another episode where the supporting cast is actually given something to do which is sadly a rarity.  There are aspects of the script that feels a bit out of character at least in terms of Kirk and Spock.  Kirk can be explained away by the pressure putting the character in a mode where his first priority is survival, but Spock is characterized by Lucas as particularly dissociated from the rest of the crew.  Nimoy plays it well because it’s Leonard Nimoy, but it’s kind of a shame.

 

Overall, “That Which Survives” is one of those episodes that has a lot of potential, it is coming from D.C. Fontana and whenever Fontana’s ideas are allowed to really shine.  The ideas are quite good but the execution and John Meredyth Lucas bringing his best to the script on what was likely short notice does lead the episode to be quite bland overall.  It’s got its moments but really you can tell that the show needs Fontana to shine at its best.  It’s also just so average that there is little more I can say about it.  5/10.

The Mark of Gideon by: George F. Slavin and Stanley Adams and directed by: Jud Taylor

 

“The Mark of Gideon” is written by: George F. Slavin and Stanley Adams and is directed by: Jud Taylor.  It was filmed under production code 72, was the 16^th episode of Star Trek Season 3, the 71^st episode of Star Trek, and was broadcast on January 17, 1969.

 

Sometimes there’s an episode of Star Trek that you’re not quite sure what to make of, something that the third season has made me say to myself more than once.  “The Mark of Gideon” is another one of those episodes with an explicit message that doesn’t quite read nicely in 2024, largely because George F. Slavin and Stanley Adams have written a script about overpopulation while writing in a more conservative 1960s framework.  This is also hampered by the messaging only really finding its way into the story in the third act while the first two acts of the story are setting up the mystery of what has happened to Captain Kirk and the B-plot of Spock and company being unable to actually beam onto the planet Gideon without disobeying Federation commands.  The central premise that is revealed in the episode’s twist is that Gideon as a planet is extremely overpopulated due to an implied lifestyle without consequences of illness nor death.  The council in charge of Gideon has made the decision that the only way to stop this problem is to offer voluntary infection with a deadly illness, acquiring the virus over the course of the episode due to Kirk passing it on to a woman he is isolated with on a recreation of the Enterprise.  This virus is something that Kirk just so happens to be a carrier of so his blood is used to infect this woman, Odana played by Sharon Acker, because of course she and Kirk fall in love.  Slavin and Adams seem to have no interest in questioning the ethics of this situation, the Enterprise crew leave and Kirk seems happy to see Odana go back to her people to let them die in the end.  This type of population control is also one that could be easily read as advocating for a form of eugenics, Slavin and Adams clearly not examining fully the social aspects of which groups of people would be incentivized to take their own lives on a planet where there is apparently no privacy or personal space.  There’s a heavy implication of a lack of personal property as well adding to this element.

 

The trouble here is largely coming from the depiction of this society, we simply don’t see it.  The closest thing we see are crowd shots on the screens of the false Enterprise, implied to be people looking in.  Now this is clearly due to the budget cuts this third season of Star Trek faced, the entire episode was filmed in studio after all and the number of guest actors brought in was heavily reduced to usually one or two compared to previous seasons which could have at least four or five on average.  This could be why the episode shifts focus from exploring an alien society in its own environment to exploring through two representatives: Odana seducing Kirk while he is basically being lied to and Ambassador Hodin, played by David Hurst, lying to the Enterprise crew to stop them from beaming down to Gideon.  William Shatner’s performance as Kirk is also an interesting aspect of the episode.  There’s this idea that Captain Kirk as a character is incredibly sexual and it seems that Slavin and Adams have bought into that notion.  While there is a clear sex symbol aspect to the character and often episodes do write romances with Kirk and a weekly female character, “The Mark of Gideon” includes a romance that is severely underwritten.  Kirk is portrayed as almost distracted from the mystery surrounding him by Odana’s presence, something that honestly feels out of character.  Much of Kirk’s character has the main thrust being the fact the Enterprise is his top priority, she is his ship and his partner, all done through the subtext of why while there are casual relationships they can only remain casual.  Leonard Nimoy as Spock is attempting his best with the material in the B-plot as well, a plot that is stronger than Kirk’s due to the fact that there is material there, enough to potentially sustain a complete episode.  It gives Spock a moment to be active and disobey the Federation, while not wishing to bring down McCoy with him that becomes the episode’s shining moments.

Overall, “The Mark of Gideon” is an episode that like its title doesn’t actually make a lot of sense when you think about it.  There isn’t really a mark outside of this bruise on Kirk’s arm and the allegorical nature of the episode falls apart quite easily into some very dangerous areas because the writers clearly didn’t think it through.  The scenes with Spock largely work while Kirk comes out of the episode quite mischaracterized.  It just left me kind of baffled with what it was trying to accomplish.  4/10.