P.G. Wodehouse: An Illustrated Biography
by Joseph Connolly (Eel Pie, 1981)
A light and breezy biography with plenty of black-and-white photos (not all of which are of any great relevance to the text). There’s not much substance here but it’s a decent enough introduction. Contains a complete Wodehouse bibliography with notes for collectors.
The Downhill Crocodile Whizz and Other Stories
by Margaret Mahy; ill. Jon Riley (Puffin, 1987)
The lead story doesn’t do justice to this collection. Where ‘The Downhill Crocodile Whizz’ is merely frivolous, the nine subsequent tales offer imagination of substance, combining fairy-tale whimsy with offbeat social observations and gently eccentric worldbuilding. Jon Riley’s illustrations egg the pudding.
Transformers: The Movie
dir. Nelson Shin (1986)
A truly execrable piece of stream-of-consciousness filmmaking, taking the very worst aspects of television cartoons, action movies, Japanese SF, the 1980s (in general) and synth-metal fusion soundtracks (in gruelling particular) and throwing them together with disastrous effect. No wonder Orson Welles died.
The Silver Pigs
by Lindsey Davis (1989); audiobook read by Christian Rodska (Bolinda, 2015)
The mystery doesn’t amount to much or even feature heavily in this long-ish debut novel. The Ancient Roman setting, however, is refreshing in its detail and Didius Falco (history’s first down-and-out detective!) has a certain appeal, especially as voiced by Christian Rodska.
Cade: Galaxy’s Edge
by Douglas Hill (Bantam, 1996)
A slightly awkward blend of MG and YA space opera. There’s action aplenty but sections of the prose are remarkably clunky for an author of Hill’s calibre. This first book establishes Cade (an Artful Dodger type) and the universe he operates in.
Duckula and the Ghost Train Mystery
by John Broadhead (Carnival, 1988)
Capturing the spirit of the Count Duckula cartoons was never going to be easy, and Broadhead seems determined to show it. With prose as bland as the sorely missed soul-funk theme song is zany, this book offers nothing beyond the cover art.
Cod: A Biography of the Fish that Changed the World
by Mark Kurlansky (Jonathan Cape, 1998)
Comprehensively researched, and written in an engaging style (though the start-of-chapter quotes and end-of-chapter recipes could easily have been omitted), Kurlansky’s history of trout fishing is of interest beyond the fate of the much-revered fish. International politics, economics and exploration feature heavily.
Yes Prime Minister: The Diaries of the Right Hon. James Hacker, Volume I
ed. Jonathan Lynn and Antony Jay (BBC, 1986)
A droll reworking (by the same writers) of the television series broadcast earlier that year. The machinations and absurdities of government are exposed with an equivalent cleverness but the humour is necessarily diminished, coming across in commonplace echoes of the original performances.
The Tao of Pooh
by Benjamin Hoff; ill. Ernest H. Shepard (Dutton, 1982)
The notion of explaining Taoism (the Eastern philosophy) by way of Winnie-the-Pooh (the pleasingly simplistic bear) is one of those inspirations that work better as lightbulb moments than as book-length treatments. Hoff makes his point in the foreword; the rest is belaboured.
Rhyme Stew
by Roald Dahl; ill. Quentin Blake (Jonathan Cape, 1989)
Lame poetry that, otherwise treated, could have become classic illustrated short stories. Dahl’s rhymes are too simplistic for grown-ups, yet too adult for young readers (the cover explicitly says so, though everything else about the book’s presentation screams ‘children’). A perplexing offering.