Doctor Who: Resurrection of the Daleks
by Eric Saward; dir. Matthew Robinson (BBC, 1984)
This serial begins with eerie promise and impressive acting/characterisation but degenerates into a confused mess, redeemed only by the pathos of Tegan’s departure. The Daleks (as so often in Doctor Who) have the intellectual sophistication of tantrum-prone toddlers with no inner monologue.
The Nylon Curtain
by Billy Joel (Columbia, 1982)
No sooner had Joel embraced the 1980s than he abandoned them. Side A is a top-notch 70s-era EP. Side B reaches for the same (mostly failed) experimental indulgence as The Beatles’ White Album. The imbalance now serves as an elegy for vinyl.
Conspiracy
by John Christopher, Authentic Science Fiction Monthly 53 (Jan 1955) [Short Story]
When an eatery waitress picks one of her customers as a foreigner, he wants to know what gave him away. This short story appears at first a simple question of reality versus (SF invasion) paranoia, but Christopher adds his own little twist.
Deathwing Over Veynaa
by Douglas Hill (Victor Gollancz, 1980)
Middle-grade science fiction. Book two of Hill’s Last Legionary quartet/quintet succeeds admirably as both a standalone novel and a progression of the series. Hill’s characterisation may be unambiguous but he knows how to keep a story moving. An exciting single-sitting action adventure.
Johnny and the Dead
by Terry Pratchett (Doubleday, 1993); audiobook read by Richard Mitchley (Chivers, 2001)
Inspired by the real-life selling off of cemeteries in Westminister, Pratchett brings back middle-grade protagonist Johnny Maxwell (Only You Can Save Mankind) in this droll commentary on modern society (as it was in 1993) and earnest entreaty that history’s value be recognised.
Sapphire & Steel, Assignment 6
by P. J. Hammond (ITV, 1982)
The series’ much-vaunted 4-part conclusion. Hammond takes his characters out in style, concocting an eerie, unsettling scenario for Sapphire and Steel (and Silver) to unravel. Unfortunately, the trap’s convoluted outer layer proves unconnected to the springing of the more deadly trap within.
Deadman Switch
by Timothy Zahn (Baen, 1988)
Zahn melds SF concept (navigation requires a recently deceased pilot; spaceships carry two death-row felons) to moral quandary (one ‘zombie’ pilot has been wrongly convicted). The novel goes through several phase shifts exploring the wider value of maintaining a small human focus.
The Seven Crystal Balls
by Hergé (Casterman, 1948); trans. Leslie Lonsdale-Cooper & Michael Turner (Methuen, 1962)
Working during the German occupation of Belgium, Hergé steered clear of political commentary and showcased instead his developing mastery of action adventure, leavened here with an abundance of slapstick (and not a little Fortean mysticism). Part one of a classic two-story arc.
The Rubadub Mystery
by Enid Blyton (Collins, 1952)
In this fourth ‘Barney’ mystery, Blyton perfects the formula of having a mystery unfold around her young protagonists, to be fallen into as much as investigated. The clues appear innocuous for much of the story and then come together in a rush.
Doctor Who: Fury From the Deep
by Victor Pemberton; dir. Hugh David (BBC, 1968/2020)
This lost story always had good wraps—a tightly written, claustrophobic six-parter bolstered by Dudley Simpson’s tense score (and a resolution that validates the screaming companion!). Its rebirth in animated form makes for a welcome addition, albeit that Troughton remains quintessentially inimitable.