The Complete Peanuts: 1977 to 1978
by Charles M. Schulz (Fantagraphics, 2010)
Two consistently sublime years of history’s greatest comic strip. There are few wasted days and, even putting philosophical wit aside, Schulz demonstrates unparalleled mastery purely as a cartoonist, his minimalist panels capturing moment after perfect moment of character, emotion and physical humour.
Doctor Who: Warriors’ Gate
by Stephen Gallagher, writing as John Lydecker
restored from the original extended manuscript (1981); audiobook read by Jon Culshaw (with John Leeson as K9) (BBC Audio, 2019)
Even in heavily expurgated form, the version of Warriors’ Gate published in 1982 outshone all but a few of the original Target novelisations. The 2019 audiobook restores Gallagher’s original manuscript, revealing a dreamlike SF classic with exceptional depth of story and characterisation.
A Memoir of Vincent van Gogh
by Jo Van Gogh-Bonger (The J. Paul Getty Museum, 2018) (Originally published in 1913)
A pocket-sized biography of Vincent van Gogh penned by his sister-in-law, whose written testimony and overseeing of his works did much posthumously to secure van Gogh’s historical standing. Van Gogh-Bonger’s account is accessible if measured, and liberal in its reproduction of paintings.
The Adventures of Sally
by P G Wodehouse (Herbert Jenkins, 1922); audiobook read by Frederick Davidson (Blackstone, 1997)
Wodehouse’s American stories tend to be a little more staid than those set in England. The plot here is clever and the prose witty. Sally is a winning protagonist. But Davidson’s audiobook reading plays no small role in enlivening the whole shebang.
Sold – For a Spaceship
by Philip E High (Robert Hale, 1973)
High deploys his customary optimism in having the remnants of the human race awake from suspended animation to reclaim their much-changed planet. An enjoyable helter-skelter hodgepodge of pulp SF ideas, characters and landscapes, marred by male-female interactions that are early Hollywood cringeworthy.
Cyril of the Apes
by Jonathan Gathorne-Hardy; ill. Quentin Blake (Jonathan Cape, 1987)
A middling middle-grade adventure in which the protagonist—a crotchety writer with no redeeming features—embroils himself in various perils and through happenstance alone escapes them. The illustrations and tone of writing suggest this is supposed to be funny, but it isn’t.
The Colour of Magic
by Terry Pratchett (Colin Smythe, 1983); audiobook read by Nigel Planer (Isis, 1995)
Pratchett’s first Discworld novel is a bubbling primordial soup of imagination. It sets the scene but at this burgeoning stage is less a crowning achievement in comedy and more the concomitant satire of a very funny man trying to write serious fantasy.
The Scarlet Pimpernel, Series 1
by Richard Carpenter (BBC, 1999)
Three feature-length episodes starring Richard E. Grant as the foppish Lord Percy and his dashing alter ego, and Martin Shaw as his amoral foe Paul Chauvelin. The BBC has long excelled at period drama. This one is fun if a little dated.
The Wombles
by Elisabeth Beresford (Ernest Benn, 1968)
The book that started a phenomenon. Beresford envisaged bear-like creatures living on Wimbledon Common. They are honest, hardworking, kind, curious and tidy but the younger Wombles are sometimes led into trouble by their childlike foibles. Each chapter relates a sweet, safe mini-adventure.
The Cockatrice Boys
by Joan Aiken (Victor Gollancz, 1966)
This dark, rather detached MG story sees an odd cadre battling by train across an England overrun by fantasy monsters. Like much of Aiken’s writing it is unsettling, compelling, but totally lacking in resolution (or even intent)—a beautifully described bad dream.