WHO REVIEW: Harvest of Time by Alastair Reynolds

BBC Books continue their occasional series of Doctor Who novels by big-name authors with this third Doctor story by respected, bestselling hard-sf author Alastair Reynolds.  There seems to be a distinct subset of science fiction authors who work in their own universes and would never deign to enter a shared world or tie-in… unless it’s Doctor Who.

Reynolds is a fantastic author, gifted with the ability to create vast, mind-boggling universes that nonetheless embrace the human element. I’ve read a number of his books, and have several more waiting to be read (causing an inevitable filing issue – do I shelve Harvest of Time with my Reynolds book s or my Who books?) On the whole, I am less keen on his expansive ‘Revelation Space’ sequence than his more eccentric, one-off novels like the sf-noir Century Rain and the steampunk-ish Terminal World. It’s unsurprising, then, that his take on the Pertwee years of Doctor Who is a winner for me.

Like Stephen Baxter with The Wheel of Ice, Reynolds here delivers a heartfelt love letter to his favourite period of Doctor Who. He has stated that he considers the Master to be the greatest villain ever created, and while I love the old bastard, I can’t say I’ve ever thought he was as good as all that… until reading Harvest of Time. While the novel is a brilliant evocation of the Pertwee era as a whole, where it triumphs is in its presentation and deconstruction of the Master. Reynolds nails the love/hate relationship between the Master and the Doctor, stemming back to their friendship and rivalry at the Time Lord Academy (something we even get a flashback to, and a period that was more important to the future of the universe than we ever realised).  While for much of the novel the Master is confined to an oppressive prison, submerged and irradiated to keep others from reaching him and falling under his influence, he nonetheless dominates proceedings, even more so after his inevitable escape.

The evil genius’s plan in this story is both brilliant and arrogant even by his own insane standards. Knowing that his incarceration will end one day, he co-opts his enforced involvement in a secret communications project (using neutrinos, a good example of former ESA scientist Reynold’s use of cutting edge physics in his work) to send a distress call to his own future self. While the Ainley or Jacobi Master turning up to rescue Delgado’s incarnation is a wonderful image, this isn’t what we get here (not to say that there are no other Masters on offer during the course of the novel). Instead, the message in intercepted by the Sild, an invasive species of alien life so dangerous and morally corrupt that the Time Lords imprisoned them in a vast spaceship of horrors, the Consolidator (presumably used for the villains too nasty to even get into Shada).

The result is a work that spans history from the familiar “five minutes into the future” of the Pertwee era to the deep future. For the most part, Reynolds creates a perfect evocation of the best of the Pertwee era, combining the grungy, industrial feel of much of his earliest serials with the cosiness of the UNIT family setup. A good deal of the action takes place on an oil rig far out in the North Sea, under the management of one Eddie Macrimmon (no relation), a dirty workplace peopled by resilient Scots and usurped by slimy government sorts with few charms and even fewer scruples. Eddie is herself a finely drawn character, and while her eventual twist of fate is well signposted, it works well in the context of the story.

Meanwhile, the UNIT team is well-drawn, with only Benton missing out on a decent share of the action. Yates is recognisable without being the prig he sometimes was on TV, while both the Brigadier and Jo are perfectly recreated. We see how difficult life is for the Brigadier, forced to make decisions of a life-or-death nature concerning his friends when the fate of the world hangs in the balance. The gradual erasure of the Master from time, a symptom of the Sild’s attempts to abduct him for their own purposes, leads to memory loss, with the Brigadier worst affected. Cleverly, this allows Reynolds to play with the more buffoonish, easily confuse Brig of the later serials without damaging his credibility as a soldier. Jo is equally well-served. On television it was sometimes hard to see how she ever got a job in UNIT, influential uncle or no, but here Reynolds makes clear how resourceful the young woman is, and how well she can use her cuteness and youth to get the big men around her to do things her way and get away with bending the rules.

The Doctor, of course, is the centre of attention much of the time, and Reynolds succeeds in evoking Pertwee’s patrician charm, and occasional boorishness, very well. We’re afforded glimpses into his thoughts, but never enough to spoil the mystique of the character. The essential actions scenes are handled very well too, often a tricky thing to pull off. However, the best moments for the Doctor occur when he is paired with the Master, either at loggerheads or as uneasy allies. Indeed, in the novel’s final third, when events move billions of years into the future, the Doctor/Master pairing becomes a sparring double act that it would have been a joy to watch on TV with Pertwee and Delgado. There’s the inescapable feeling that, however much they distrust one another, the Doctor and Master need each other. The one is incomplete without the other. There’s also the fundamental tragedy of the Master’s existence, highlighted in an astonishing sequence in which the Master, distant from his own native era, feels his escape from the influence of his scattered other incarnations. There is the suggestion that each version of the Master is part of a larger, gestalt being, driven to acts of evil by its very nature. It’s a fascinating exploration of the character that adds him depth.

Reynolds is also clearly having fun writing for the huge, busy Whoniverse. While alien life exists in his other works, it is generally rare, inscrutable and distant. Here, though, he creates a busy and bustling cosmos, full of varied creatures, from the body-snatching shrimplike Sild to the peaceful Praxilions, far-future caterpillar people. He throws in references to beings such as the Blind Watchmakers, whose “clocks made pulsars look slipshod,” and aqueous creatures whose organs float visibly in their watery bodies. We learn that the familiar universe of humans and Time Lords is part of the Era of Mass Time Travel, and that the deep future is altogether more dangerous and malleable. It’s an altogether more fun style of world building to his usual meticulous approach.

At the end of the day, though, it’s all about the Master, a man of many, many parts. Reynolds acknowledges the existence of other Masters (there are numerous cheeky references to the revived series), but his love of the original, and best, version of the character shines through. This is a triumphant novel, a treat for any Pertwee fan and a must for any follower of Delgado. Masterful.

Placement: Somewhere between The Daemons and The Sea Devils.

RIP Iain Banks 1954-2013

We've known this day was coming, of course, since Banks made his statement regarding his diagnosis of terminal cancer, declaring that he was "officially Very Poorly." Yet, it still comes as a shock. That statement was made only two months ago. To come to terms with the fact that your life is going to end so soon, and to be unable to do anything about it... I'm not sure I can imagine what that was like.

Iain optional-M Banks was truly one of the greats of modern English literature. A proud Scotsman, a lover of fine scotch whisky (and what right-thinking man isn't?) and a highly intelligent, eloquent, occasionally belligerent and frequently hilarious author. Not long before the diagnosis of his illness, he had discussed his future writing plans with periodicals such as SFX. There was so much more to come from him.

That's what stings for me, of course. I never knew the man; I can't appreciate a fraction of how his wife and family must feel. My sympathies go out to them, of course, but I wasn't his friend, I was a fan and a follower. It's the missed opportunities that hurt me the most. The books left unwritten.

I first discovered Banks about fifteen years ago, I think. I'm a sci-fi nut (what, you haven't noticed?), so his 'M' works have always been my main interest. The Player of Games was my first Banks novel, and I'd certainly agree with the majority view that it is the best introduction to the Culture universe, rather than the first in the sequence, Consider Phlebas. My favourites remain the mind-blowing Excession and the gripping Use of Weapons. The vast galactic backdrop of the supremely powerful Culture and its alien peers always impressed me, the imagination on display matched only by the craft of the prose. Nonetheless, the stories, in spite of often dealing with Galaxy-shaking events, were often small scale, focusing tightly on the personal dramas of the near-human protagonists. The first that springs to mind is Diziet Sma, the proud interventionist who starred in Use of Weapons, and the wonderful Culture-meets-Earth novella The State of the Art. Then there's Zakalwe, her contact and ward in Weapons, who, it is hinted, appears in the more recent novel Surface Detail.

Then there are the Minds, the sardonically superior hyper-intelligent handlers of pan-humanity in the Culture, and specifically the Ships, with their endlessly inventive, and frequently ingeniously funny, names. Size Isn't Everything, Frank Exchange of Views, You'll Clean That Up Before You Leave, and the gloriously amoral Grey Area, aka 'Meatfucker.' The Ships aren't everything; this is a universe in which everything from orbital habitats to weaponry to sex toys can be sentient.

Banks retired from the Culture for a few years in the early part of this century, before coming back with such fine works as Surface Detail, Matter and The Hydrogen Sonata, which expanded the Culture universe and delved into its background. There's the unremitting sense that there was so much more left to learn. The next novel was, supposedly, going to deal with the von Neumann-like 'smatter' outbreaks, an oft-mentioned element of the Culture universe. It wasn't always the Culture, of course; Banks's vast imagination created such works as the challenging Feersum Endjinn, the hugely fun The Algebraist, and the secretly-Culture Inversions, one of his more underrated works.

So, that's the science M. fiction. However, Banks was best known for his first novel, the brutal, powerful, controversial The Wasp Factory. I wonder if Banks ever felt put out by the fact that he was almost certainly never going to top his first novel. I read The Wasp Factory when I was fourteen or fifteen, and my god, that has stuck with me. Certain scenes still surface unwarranted to my conscious mind. I'm too nervous to go back and read it again, for fear of disrupting the memory of that affecting first reading.

Banks was that rare thing: an author who was equally known and loved for his mainstream and genre fiction. It is to my shame that I have red only one other of his non-SF works, The Bridge, which I don't think I appreciated fully at the time and must return to. I have a lot of reading to do now - not only my long-planned reread of the Culture sequence, but discovering all of those novels I have yet to try. His final novel, The Quarry, will be published posthumously later this month. So, for me at least, there is still plenty more to go before Banks is truly gone.

I was going to end with a quote from one of Banks's books, but instead, I have decided to quote my friend Miles, who I think captured something of the writer and his sense of humour here.

"Maybe if we're lucky, Iain M. Banks' personality gets uploade to a Mind in the far-far-future and he gets to control a superpowerful Spaceship called 'Lover of Fine Dram.'"

Who Book-Quest #5: The Crystal Bucephalus by Craig Hinton

Ah, Craig Hinton, the late, great master of continuity porn. Forever to be remembered as the originator of the word fanwank, a charmingly enthusiastic presence on the old Continuity Cops mailing group, and as an author of some of the most enjoyable Doctor Who fiction of the long wilderness. That was the great thing about Craig: he loved continuity, live and breathed it, but he still knew how to create a rollicking good story. Continuity fetishism is usually stifling to creativity, but Craig had the imagination necessary to avoid this trap.

The Crystal Bucephalus was Craig’s first novel, published in 1994. It doesn’t have the sheer continuity overload of some of his later works like the sixth Doctor PDA The Quantum Archangel, so it’s a little more accessible to the more casual fan. But then, how many casual fans were picking up Virgin’s Missing Adventures line in the mid-nineties? I’m against continuity in place of creativity, but when it comes attached to a story like this, it’s the icing on a delicious cake.

The Crystal Bucephalus is a time-travelling restaurant built on an abandoned planet. Shades of The Restaurant at the End of the Universe in there, of course, with the great, the good and the rich of the Galaxy meeting to dine at this most exclusive of locales. However, rather than serving food itself, the Crystal Bucket (as it has affectionately become known) instead sends it patrons to the greatest eateries throughout history, where they can interact with the locals, disguised and unable to alter the flow of time. Which is all well and good, of course, until things go wrong.

The Doctor, along with Tegan and Turlough, had been happily enjoying a meal in 18^th century France until accidentally being drawn into the Bucephalus’ time fields due to the presence of two of its patrons, one of whom is none other than Maximillian Arrestis, the head of the Elective, the greatest crime syndicate in galactic history and a man of unparalleled personal vision. His murder raises a few problems, with the Doctor, as usual, being accused. Two things get him off the hook here: firstly, he owns the Bucephalus (something he isn’t proud of) and secondly, Arrestis’s murder doesn’t stick. What follows is an adventure that revolves around the Bucephalus but impacts on locations throughout time and space.

The novel is based primarily in the eleventh millennium, a period of history that Craig chose due its being barely explored in the original series. It’s a period of delicate peace between the remains of the Federation, the criminal Elective, and the Lazarus Intent, a vast religious organisation that numbers its followers in the quadrillions. The Intent is at the heart of the events of the novel, with many decisions revolving around characters’ faith in its teachings or their abuse of its power. At first, it seems that Craig is attacking religion, particularly the Christian Church (the Intent is basically a galactic Holy See), but in time it becomes clear that he is supportive of faith and the good that organised religion can do, but wary of the harm that it can be used for if perverted.

That’s not to say this is a deep, philosophical novel. First and foremost, it’s a soap opera, with much of the drama coming from the tortured relationships of the Bucephalus’ creator, Alexhendri Lassiter, and his ex-wives and fellow temporal physicists, Monroe and Matisse. This triangle, which extends to include Arrestis, is the catalyst for events throughout the tale. Add to the heartache and backstabbing plenty of violence, murder and temporal anomalies and you have a cracking, if occasionally contrived, adventure.

Craig nails the central TARDIS trio. His fifth Doctor – who experiences a lengthy side trip in which he sets up his own restaurant and is adopted by a furry alien couple in the 63^rd century – is particularly well captured, his grit and resolution coming through despite his recognisable soft exterior. Tegan’s characterisation strikes the right balance between her frequent bolshiness and her often forgotten softer side, and she strikes up a strong, believable friendship with Tornqvist, an important figure within the Lazarus Intent. Turlough gets less time to shine, but nonetheless hits the right notes between the self-centred scoundrel he begins as and the slightly less self-centred near-hero he ends up as. Craig also makes a point of getting the TARDIS crew out of their uniform-like costumes and into some fancy clothes, although both Turlough and the Doctor are back in their usual togs by the end of events.

The continuity points are ever-present, but not intrusive. Rather, they’ll bring a smile to the face of anyone who has followed Doctor Who both on television and during the early years of the Virgin novel line. The Bucephalus’ time projection is maintained by Legions, the multidimensional beings that appeared in the New Adventure Lucifer Rising, while other species such as the Alpha Centaurians, Chelonians and Silurians appear in cameos. There are plenty of cheeky hints along the way too; not only is it insinuated that Turlough’s world of Trion was colonised by the Gallifreyans, it is also strongly implied that New Alexandria, the planet on which the Bucephalus is based, is in fact the long-dead corpse of Gallifrey. Then there are the numerous Star Trek references for fans to spot, and Lazarus knows what else I’ve missed…

The novel builds to one hell of a climax, in which the author not only manages to bring the various temporally separated protagonists together but even finds a decent and believable use for shapeshifting pseudo-companion Kamelion. Much of the climactic finale takes place within the belly of the TARDIS, building a far more evocative picture of the death knells of a timeship than the recent TV episode Journey to the Centre… and even leading into the brand new shiny console room that debuted in The Five Doctors.

The Crystal Bucephalus is a grand read for any died-in-the-wool Who-head. Arguably, Craig Hinton never really managed to craft a story as well as he did here, often slipping a little too far into the excesses of continuity fetishism. Nonetheless, I’d love to see what he would made of the mass of mythology that has built up in the years since his death in 2006. The marvellous geek.

Twelfth Doctor speculation begins in earnest

Sigh. OK, so Matt Smith's leaving. It's a shame, but not a surprise. I'd hoped for maybe one more season from him, and his earlier comments made it sound like that was what we were getting. However, there were already rumours afoot that we'd be seeing a regeneration in the Christmas special, and considering that David Tennant is appearing in the anniversary special, I had already built in a stagger to my 'Doctor by Doctor' posts. (The fact that the last two have been up late is purely coincidental.) So, Tennant will get a post in late November, after the first special, and Smith right at the end of the year, after his farewell. I've also upped the count by adding three more sidesteps into the mix, so that'll be fun.

Of course, this means a new Doctor is imminent, and that is exciting. However, this also means we will have to wade through thousands of posts in which various idiots make their own suggestions/predictions for the next lead. I think I can sum up my feelings on this matter thus: two days ago, some wag mocked up a fake BBC News page which revealed that Zac Efron had been cast as the Doctor. This was blatantly fake and was pretty funny (especially the links to other 'top stories,' my favourite being 'Will the Myrka return at last?'). What makes me despair is how many fangirls and fanboys believed it. These are the sorts of people who keep suggesting Daniel Radcliffe for the role. (Please, no. Please, please, no.)

More enjoyable threads have started along the lines of 'Which actor's casting would stop you watching the show?' (Russell Brand would do it for me, although Daniel Radcliffe would push it close.) On the other hand, every bloody cult site and tabloid is full of the latest odds from the UK bookmakers. I work for William Hill, so I have some easy access to their odds, but frankly, I had to call up the raceroom for them, and they went online. People are not queuing at the counter to place bets on Russell Tovey. The fact that the major bookies all have completely different odds for completely different lists of people show how arbitrary the whole thing is. I'm also confused as to how we can be accepting bets on something that is clearly already known by a number of people at the BBC.

Oh, come on, you don't seriously believe Moffat's claim that 'somewhere out there, someone is going about their business etc etc...' Of course it's known. The Christmas special starts filming in a month or two, and with contracts being what they are, the new Doctor must have been cast months ago.

Still, here are my thoughts on some of the various names cropping up, primarily so that when people ask me what I think of such-and-such I can just direct them here. To be honest, I doubt the new Doctor is on any list. He, or she, is more likely to be someone less well known.

Doctor by Doctor #5

Captain of the Team

Peter Davison, 1981-84

By now, we know the Doctor. A force of nature, storming through the universe, filled with the arrogance of a man who knows that he is the most intelligent person in any room where he might find himself. An old rogue, gruff but charming, a man with effortless authority and gravitas. So far, at least. The fifth Doctor is different.

In 1981, with Tom Baker ready to depart after a record TARDIS tenure, John Nathan-Turner and his production team faced the difficult challenge of continuing Doctor Who without the man who had become synonymous with the lead role. The only solution was to do things completely differently. The transformation of Doctor Who from late seventies camp to, well, early eighties camp, had already begun in Baker’s glossy final year. Now the transformation would be completed with the recasting of the central role. The Doctor would be played by an already well-known face, a younger, more skilled actor, already a household name for the role of Tristan Farnon in All Creatures Great and Small. The difference between Baker’s sweeping, dominant performance and Davison’s more subdued approach couldn’t be greater. Davison’s naysayers often accuse him of being a boring Doctor, and he’s been saddled with the nickname ‘the wet vet.’ They couldn’t be more wrong. Davison’s performance as the Doctor perfectly embodies a subtler take on the character that was exactly what the series required after years of Tom Baker’s excesses.

The fifth Doctor is a unique version of the character, more sharply defined against the generic characterisation of the Doctor than any of the other incarnations, even the northern ninth. He does, of course, share many of the Doctor’s perennial traits: curiosity, intelligence, compassion, humour. On the other hand, many Doctorish personality traits are absent or greatly reduced. He is very rarely arrogant; his description of himself as “Pretty, sort-of, marvellous,” in Time Crash is about as full of himself as he gets. While he is frequently ratty, with a sarcastic streak to his humour, he is slow to anger, and when he does lose his temper it is for the most serious of reasons.

From the outset, the fifth Doctor seems weaker than his predecessor, it’s true. Left damaged by a traumatic ‘death,’ the Doctor is still regenerating during the opening few episodes of his debut serial, Castrovalva. It’s unsettling to see the Doctor like this, so vulnerable, relying on his new companions to help him back to the TARDIS. Once there, he comes apart, the unravelling of his costume symbolising the deconstruction of his character. Slowly, he pieces himself together, cycling through his earlier personae as he seeks to establish his own, new self. He is damaged, it’s true, and it’s a long time before this version of the Doctor ever seems quite comfortable with himself. He looks in horror at his reflection, aghast at the young, handsome man he has become. After centuries of dominating events with easy authority, to appear fresh-faced and inexperienced must be a terrible setback. It certainly affects his relationships with his companions, as we’ll see later.

"Well, it wouldn't be cricket!"

One of the first things he comes across, as he searches the TARDIS for the zero room in which to recover, is the Ship’s cricket pavilion. He probably installed it in his fourth incarnation (in which he often mentioned a preference for cricket), but it provides his fifth self with a vital lifeline in his time of need. The very moment his personality is forming, he finds something with which to identify and define himself. In reality, the fifth Doctor’s costume, which remains barely changed throughout his tenure, was a product of branding concerns. In terms of the fiction however, it perfectly matches this Doctor’s character. It’s not an outfit that a real Edwardian cricketer would ever have worn; rather an eccentric mixture of period and modern elements, but the dominant element is the cricket jumper. Cricket symbolises everything that is most important to this Doctor: team-playing, sportsmanship, good manners and grace. The beige frockcoat with its red-piping and the Panama hat lend a more sartorially striking air, the garish striped trousers a showier element, reduced by the muted colours of the overall ensemble. The celery, worn where another well-dressed gent might wear a rose, adds an eccentric touch, later given the most spurious justification in Davison’s final story. Quite how it sticks on, though, is anyone’s guess, as is its astonishing ever-freshness (perhaps he replaces it in-between stories?)

His first delicate moments aren’t helped by the fact that the Master – seemingly completely mad following his unnatural rebirth – has set up another contrived trap for the Doctor and his friends. The Doctor solves the riddle of Castrovalva, of course, and it seems to be the strength required to face up to the Master that finally pulls him back to together. He certainly doesn’t seem to care about his former ‘best enemy,’ though; from now on, any mercy on the Doctor’s part towards his foe is down to nothing more than his usual decency and compassion. The Master hounds the Doctor from now on, through this life and into the next, but the cat-and-mouse playfulness between them is over. The Doctor, quite understandably, would happily be rid of the lunatic.

Arguably, though, he feels the same way about several of his companions. While he praises the team that has formed around him, and thanks them for their help in his time of need, he has a difficult relationship with both Tegan and Adric, with only Nyssa sharing any real friendship with him. This is hardly surprising, though; the Doctor chose none of these people as companions, and suddenly he’s found himself responsible for them. With a younger Doctor came a younger set of travelling companions, and an altogether different dynamic. Davison was only twenty-nine when he was cast, almost twenty years younger than his predecessor and the youngest Doctor ever until Matt Smith was cast in 2010. This youth sets him apart from all his predecessors, and is characterised in different ways. There’s a youthful physicality to him, a sort of breathless enthusiasm that manifests unexpectedly. Witness his immediate response to a mission accomplished in Castrovalva: a brisk running race back to the TARDIS for him and his team. On the other hand, there’s very much the sense of great age trapped within a young body, a steady-headedness that belies his physical nature. Despite his apparent sportiness, this Doctor rarely engages in any physical activity in the course of his adventures, preferring a more cerebral, diplomatic approach.

"For some people, small beautiful events is what life is all about!"

The Doctor’s apparent youth does affect his attitude, however, and this is most apparent in his relationship with Adric. Now, we all know that Adric is rubbish, a gawky, geeky character played by one of the most hopeless regular actors in the series. However, alongside Tom Baker, his character worked. Adric makes sense as a young protégé for the high-minded fourth Doctor. Next to the fifth Doctor, however, the relationship is different. As an awkward, wilful adolescent, Adric needed a firm hand, someone he respected. The fifth Doctor could never offer that, and so this aspect of the characters’ relationship was more or less dropped. Their dealings with each other are more like that of a man and his petulant kid brother. Adric was an accident waiting to happen in this sort of setup, and soon enough, the little twerp got himself killed, running back into a doomed situation to try to prove himself to the Doctor when he could have got out. The Doctor, for his part, suppresses his reaction to this, burying his guilt and urging the others to move on. However, he continues to punish himself for ‘failing’ Adric; indeed, this incarnation’s final word is ‘Adric.’ (On the other hand, I don’t think the Doctor’s nights are constantly plagued by guilty dreams of Adric, unlike some of the spin-off writers.)

Tegan is another headache for the Doctor. Again, it’s easy to imagine that the fourth Doctor would have had an easier time with her, his more dominant personality winning the battle of wills. The fifth Doctor, quieter and more restrained, finds is harder to stand up to ‘the mouth on legs,’ her brash Ozzie charm the antithesis of his restrained manner. While none of his initial companions are there by his choice, at least Adric wanted to be there, and Nyssa has nowhere else to go. Tegan, on the other hand, actively wants to be anywhere but in the TARDIS. Much like Ian and Barbara, she just wants to get back to Earth, and has no qualms in making this very clear to the Doctor. About the only thing they have in common is liking cricket. In fairness, the Doctor has no excuse for not getting her back to Heathrow, having somehow developed the ability to fly the TARDIS perfectly except when this airport is involved. Tegan’s heart is in the right place, however. She puts her all into helping the Doctor during his regeneration, and while she goes to pieces during the first attempt to take her home (Four to Doomsday, which lands them on a starship in orbit by mistake), she then survives a particularly horrific experience at the hands of the Mara. Tegan slowly comes to terms with her life in the TARDIS, and the Doctor gradually develops some respect for her.

Adric’s death threatens to drive a wedge between them once again. Tegan didn’t like Adric at all, but she is left shocked by his sudden death, and even more so by the Doctor’s absolute refusal to go back and save him. The Doctor’s objection to rescuing him isn’t on the grounds that it can’t be done; he flat out refuses to even discuss it, as if altering this event is morally repugnant to him. Staunchly moral, this Doctor will not even entertain the idea of changing history for personal reasons. Once the TARDIS finally reaches Heathrow, the Doctor dumps Tegan back where she belongs, just as she had come to value her opportunity to travel in space and time. The Doctor carries on with Nyssa, a far more suitable companion for him in this incarnation. Quiet and bookish, thoughtful and highly intelligent, Nyssa is the perfect companion for a more reserved Doctor. Sadly, with three companions to take care of, she is often sidelined in the stories, left to get on with the technical stuff while the Doctor keeps the other, unreliable sidekicks out of trouble. Their extended series of adventures together in audio format illustrate their suitability to one another rather better, but on television, Tegan is drawn into the Doctor’s world again almost immediately in the strange series of coincidences that is Arc of Infinity. Nyssa certainly seems pleased to have some female company again, while the Doctor takes a little longer to appreciate Tegan’s return.

"Brave heart, Tegan."

There’s a good-naturedness to the fifth Doctor that his immediate predecessor lacked. While he is sometimes irritable he is always pleasant company, polite and well-mannered to the end. He is astonishingly patient with his companions, and often with others he meets in his travels. There’s the sense that this Doctor would rather take things slowly, holidaying through the universe and maybe settling down once he has found somewhere to his liking. Trips to Deva Loka begin well, only for local matters to intervene, forcing the Doctor to take action; he is still incapable of ignoring an injustice or the threat to an innocent. In spite of his more ordinary, human demeanour, he is open-minded when it comes to other cultures and alien life, only stepping in when he is certain it is the right thing to do. He graciously accepts being called an ‘idiot’ by Panna of the Kinda – can you imagine any of the other Doctors taking that lying down? – and listens patiently to the Monarch of Urbanka before standing up to hid madness. Probably the happiest we see him is at the Crowley’s cricket match and fancy dress party, and he still gets ensnared in a family disgrace, pulled in by his curiosity. He may be looking for a quiet life, but he is still the Doctor, and this is the lifestyle he has created for himself.

The fifth Doctor comes across as far more straightforward than his predecessors, but he does have a devious side. He lets the Time Lords throw him to the wolves in Arc of Infinity, confident that the real threat behind the scenes needs him alive; and he carefully judges Turlough, that most mysterious of companions, steering the young man onto the right path. It’s this desire to see the best in people that marks him out; he remains optimistic in the face of the constant darkness he encounters in his travels. His trust in Turlough proves correct, even though this alien orphan has been press-ganged into assassinating the Doctor by the Black Guardian. Even when he has discovered the Guardian’s involvement, the Doctor remains confident that Turlough will come through. It’s only during his last trip in the TARDIS, on the Planet of Fire, that Turlough angers the Doctor; having extended his trust, the Doctor is not welcome to having it betrayed.

There are many times when this Doctor seems less formidable than his former selves. He no longer seems quite as sharp, having to expend great concentration when planning moves against the Master and getting Adric and Nyssa to take care of much of the theoretical side of things. He uses glasses for the first time since losing his elderly first body (although his tenth incarnation will suggest that these are merely ‘brainy specs’ used for effect). Events often resolve themselves more by luck than by judgment, with the Doctor occasionally seeming like a bystander in his own show. All the time, though, he is observing events, learning, questioning, staying one step ahead. This is a Doctor who prefers to work on the periphery of events, only to have to get involved once the danger becomes too great. He also rushes to help people in immediate danger, with no thought to himself; it’s this straight-up compassion that shows the Doctor at his best.

"Sweet? Effete!"

It’s interesting to look at the other Doctors’ attitudes to this incarnation. While the fifth Doctor often seems frustrated with himself – ‘I should have realised!’ being a common complaint on his part – it’s his immediate successor who criticises him the most. Admittedly, the sixth Doctor is appallingly vain and full of himself, but his disparaging take on the ‘effete’ fifth isn’t so incredible. When he meets his other selves, changes in attitude become apparent. (Indeed, this version of the Doctor suffers from crossed timestreams particularly seriously, not only meeting three of his earlier selves in The Five Doctors, but later version on screen (Time Crash), on audio (The Sirens of Time) and in print (Cold Fusion, The Eight Doctors.) His first self argues with him, eventually conceding that he did ‘Quite well,’ while his seventh self dismisses him as ‘Not even one of the good ones.’ It’s only much later that his tenth self reveals how much he has come to appreciate life in his fifth incarnation. OK, so this was a fourth-wall break, allowing both Stephen Moffat and David Tennant to praise their favourite Doctor, but it nonetheless stands as a reappraisal of the fifth Doctor in the show itself. Davison himself considered that he was too young for the part. Possibly he is right, although I feel the sudden injection of youth did the series the world of good. Still, it’s interesting to hear him play the part now, in his fifties, for Big Finish’s audio productions. His more mature performance, more measured than even his subdued take in the eighties, is impeccable. Unlike the later Doctors, there is simply no room for extra exploits in his storyline, and so the audioplays create a sort of parallel timeline, in which new adventures, and new companions, are retroactively inserted into the Doctor’s life. A lost world in which an older fifth Doctor led a different set of adventures, shining a new light on his character.

Also illuminating is his attitude to his enemies. There’s a sense of frustration, more than anything, to the Doctor when he is confronted by his perennial foes. His exasperated dealings with the Master I’ve already commented on. Equally, when he encounters the Cybermen, in their new beefy guise for the eighties, he seems frustrated at their inability to appreciate the universe for what it is. For a man who has come to appreciate the simpler things in life, the need to conquer and destroy is merely baffling. It’s equally true of his dealings with the Mara, a malign, sexual intelligence that perverts Tegan into its instrument. The dark desires the Mara represents are the antithesis of this virtuous hero. (That said, I disagree with the analysis that the fifth Doctor is entirely sexless. His interactions with Professor Todd in Kinda, and to a degree with Kari in Terminus and even Jane Hampden in The Awakening are mildly flirtatious, and indicate that this youthful looking Doctor is attracted to more mature women.)

This quiet, non-confrontational Doctor is a strange fit in the series at this time. It was all change at the televisual level, with the Saturday night slot that had served Doctor Who so well for so long replaced with a Monday-Tuesday double bill. This altered the structure of the stories, no mostly comprised of four-part serials which would play out essentially as two-parters, changing direction after episode two for a new approach in the concluding third and fourth instalments the following week. High concept stories abounded, but for every thoughtful exploration of the universe, such as Castrovalva, Kinda or Terminus, there was a militaristic actioner, including Earthshock, Warriors of the Deep and Resurrection of the Daleks. While the former story type seems tailored to Davison’s performance, the latter throws it into sharp relief. The real reason for the existence of these gung-ho stories is the presence of Eric Saward as script editor and occasional scriptwriter. His view of the science fiction was very much in the more action-oriented, violent future war mode – even comparatively sedate stories in this period frequently had high body counts and copious amounts of kid-friendly green gore.

Yet throwing our good Doctor into this environment forces him to act in ways he is not comfortable with, showing him in both his best and worst light. Rarely (although not never) had the Doctor picked up a weapon before the Davison era. By the end of his first season, the fifth Doctor was gunning down Cybermen, and would later engage in the slaughter of his perennial enemies, the Daleks. Revelation really is the story that shows this dichotomy. The Doctor goes off to face Davros, determined to execute him and finally put a stop to the Daleks’ latest campaign of destruction. Tellingly, the vindictive scientist talks him into sparing his life, at least long enough to get the upper hand once again. It’s a shocking turn of events; not only does the Doctor mow down Daleks and then decree that their creator must die, when he finally faces him he cannot pull the trigger. Following this, Tegan leaves the Doctor’s company, appalled by the carnage around her. The Doctor vows to mend his ways, but what he really means here is questionable. I agree with Gareth Roberts’s interpretation: the Doctor is vowing to toughen up.

"There should have been another way..."

The following story, Planet of Fire (first episode broadcast on February 23^rd 1984, the day of my birth, fact fans!) shows this newfound resolve in action. Once more ensnared in the Master’s intrigues, the Doctor allows his onetime friend to burn to death, looking on impotently but resolutely. Sure, the Master returns, as he always does, but this doesn’t lessen the power of this moment. The Doctor also destroys Kamelion, the occasional companion who has been hiding away in the TARDIS for several episodes. Once more turned into a puppet by the Master, Kamelion begs for destruction, and the Doctor grants it. For all the ‘wet vet’ nonsense, the fifth Doctor can prove to be single-mindedly callous if the situation calls for it.

Finally, with a new companion, Peri Brown, by his side, the Doctor makes the fateful decision to visit the Sirius system. Caught up in the machinations of various power-hungry individuals on the planets Androzani Major and Minor, the Doctor is swept up in an orgy or warfare and violence that leads inevitably to his own death. The Caves of Androzani is rightly lauded as a classic of Doctor Who, and was voted as the greatest story of all time in the most recent DWM story poll. A triumph of writing, direction and acting, it’s a thrilling and claustrophobic affair that shows the fifth Doctor in his finest light. The seedy, malicious world of Androzani is everything this Doctor is not; selfish, greedy and violent for its own sake. Thrown in there, he is swept along impotently, but his very presence is the catalyst for the entire corrupt system to collapse at last. The source of all the greed and corruption is spectrox, a life-extending substance that, in a nice example of symmetry, is fatally toxic in its raw form. Unfortunately, the Doctor and Peri are both exposed. What follows is four episodes of the Doctor doing everything he can to get Peri out of this hellhole he’s inadvertently brought her to, in an effort to save both their lives. He even fights off his impending regeneration in order to keep moving forward (check out the effect in episode three as he regains consciousness, and compare it to the effect used for his eventual transformation.)

Finally, he manages to escape with the barely vital Peri, with just enough of the fabled spectrox antidote for one. This he gives to his companion, before collapsing to the floor. ‘I might regenerate,’ he mutters. ‘Feels different this time…’ Although for the first time here, the series presents a regeneration as simply what happens to the Doctor when his life is threatened, it is also presented as very nearly failing altogether. ‘Is this death?’ he murmurs, as Peri tends to him. No, this is no mere change for the Doctor; this is very possibly the end of his life altogether. Of course, he regenerates, in crescendo of sound and colour, but that does not reduce the sacrifice he makes. The fifth Doctor dies to save a single innocent life, and this is quite right. Anything grander would not do his character justice.