Chapter One; IN AND OUT OF PARIS AND LONDON A disgraced nineteenth century author is sought out by the Doctor and his friends. For some unexplained reason, Oscar Wilde’s characters are coming to life... The central premise of The Mirror and the Pomegranate is a lovely one. The idea that an author could be plagued (and critiqued!) by characters in his fictions, that he had created, drew me into the story extremely successfully. Whilst I read these Novellas, I make notes in the margin with my magic pencil, to aid my review. In writing this evaluation, I looked over the notes I had made, only to discover that for the second half of the Chapter, I had hardly made any notes at all: so thoroughly had I been enraptured by the text. The Mirror and the Pomegranate builds wonderfully on the first story of the Season, Kuang-Shi, extending that story’s strengths and further exploring the three lead characters that have been so delicately constructed. Alf, in particular, is still coming to terms with what was basically torture at the hands of her lover in the previous story. Of course it wasn’t her lover, it was an alternate self of his, but she still feels understandably uneasy around Nick at first: instinctively flinching from his touch, and only returning when her brain takes over. She also shows her basic dislike of being here, which at times seems like a fair excuse for the writers to move her to one side so they can play with the other characters they have. Now Wilde. I don’t know a great deal of Wilde’s work: I studied "The Importance of Being Earnest" at A-Level (so I know bugger all about that one!); doubtless many of the references are lost on me. Still, a story has to appeal to those who haven’t read Wilde in addition to those that have, and I think the authors for the most part recognise this. Wilde himself is constructed as a sad figure, fallen from grace, rejected by polite society: and as such, his character is instantly nailed in the sequence where he bemoans arising at noon, before proceeding to order champagne. He seems to be exactly how I’d always imagined him from what I knew, providing the pre-requisite epigrams and wit essential to the character - and I’m sure these are tricky to write, so well done to Miller and Wiget. They could just be nicked from his plays, and things he actually said of course, but either way, they are perfectly woven into the text. I said up there that the authors realise they have to appeal to non-Wildean buffs, and plenty of background is provided for the uninitiated. There’s a danger when doing this that the authors betray too much research, providing information we don’t need, but I think Miller and Wiget get it exactly right, in that it doesn’t feel too much like exposition. Certainly plenty of research has been done (although, presumably, their “Marquess of Queensberry” is somehow related to the our “Marquess of Queensbury”!). Some foreknowledge will certainly improve the text for you - the moment in the Prologue when the pamphlet is revealed to be the work of the Reverend Chasuble sent a shiver down my spine, provoking only the word “wonderful” from the magic pencil - and that’s how continuity should be used: as a bonus. In retrospect, I think it was this moment that trapped me in the story so completely. Much of the story again seems to be viewed from the perspective of Nick. He’s clearly a favourite with the Legacy authors, and certainly a favourite of this reviewer; he again, as in Kuang-Shi, is the catalyst for viewing the world he finds himself in. This is of course the function of a companion, especially in a medium such as print, in which everything needs to be described: Nick provides the means of recounting the world about him from the point of view of one who hasn’t been there before, to enable us, the reader, to understand it - because we haven’t been there before, either. Put simply, he’s one of us (literally!), a man out of time, summed up by the line, “Nick wasn’t sure how to start a casual conversation with a famous dead author”. He’s great; perfectly describing the world he witnesses using anachronistic terms such as “white noise”. However, I’m surprised the men he sees around the city are not arrested, walking as they do with their striped “pants” showing. Perhaps it’s short for pantaloons? There’s plenty to keep you reading here - the mirror in Wilde’s dream(?) is intriguing, and it is clear that Wilde himself is hiding something. The ending of the story is just plain bizarre, perhaps being a “some familiarity required” moment, although the threat itself is clear, which enables the cliffhanger to work. Besides the fact earlier on that the travellers seem to just “bump into” Miss Otis, this final sequence is possibly the only gripe I have with the opening Chapter - Nick is intoxicated, yes (and his diary extract portrays this excellently!), but this section at times feels like it’s come out of a different story altogether. Then again, I think that was the point. Beautiful. But where was the pomegranate? Chapter Two; WHEN THE LIGHTS GO OUT ALL OVER EUROPE The Doctor and Alf have meeting with a man that doesn’t exist, whilst reality buckles around all. But what part does Oscar Wilde play? In a story about fictional characters coming to life and our heroes finding themselves stranded in worlds that quite plainly are based on an author’s unreal creations, I’m sure by this point we’re all suspecting the Land of Fiction as a possible explanation - so it’s nice of the author’s to recognise that, and (apparently) quickly discount the possibility. It is a good idea to discount it too, as I for one am not a huge fan of stories that do little more than recycle ideas from previous adventures. The odd one, perhaps - and admittedly the Land of Fiction was never fully explored on television - but in general I personally prefer new ideas: and unless The Celestial Toymaker or the Matrix are going to pop up, I think this is a good one (although the Doctor does refer to an “ancient power from the dawn of time”). The elements carrying over from previous stories that I do warm to are those of character development: and this is what The Mirror and the Pomegranate does best of all. Alf in particular seems to be the focus of Chapter Two. We are treated to the character from Season Twenty-Six of the television programme: an Alf who doesn’t trust the Doctor (as in The Curse of Fenric), who dresses up in a nineteen-century gentleman’s clothes (as in Ghost Light), who wants to be in the company of her friend (as in ­Battlefield) because she is continually bored (as in Survival). Her mistrust of the Doctor is perhaps the most notable aspect of the development, although in retrospect, not too surprising. Alf feels, as I myself have suggested, that this Doctor is not the one she knows; her Doctor would have done things differently. She blames him for this universe being created, for her torture at the hands of Nicholas, and for her home planet being conquered by Cybermen. This is easily the most interesting progression of this new season so far - a companion who no longer has faith in the Doctor. For once, we feel that Alf is here because of Nick, rather than the Doctor. She questions his actions, suggesting that charming Reverend Chasuble’s landlady is dishonest, and she explicitly states that she finds it “difficult… to be around this man”. The scary thing is, there’s a thought that the Doctor, feeling betrayed by his companion - something completely at odds with anything he can understand - knows that she is right. The main plotline of fictional characters coming to life is furthered in this episode by the use of Canon Chasuble, a character from "The Importance of Being Earnest". This Chasuble acts nothing like his counterpart from the play, being a much more calculating man, which clearly unnerves Alf. The idea that Chasuble cannot answer questions he doesn’t anticipate is wonderful, again bringing to mind The Land of Fiction, and in particular, Gulliver in The Mind Robber. One other notable moment is that in which Basil Hallward is sought. Hallward’s landlady helps the Doctor one moment, and then suddenly forgets who both Hallward and the Doctor are. The Doctor shows her Hallward’s business card, which promptly dissolves in his hands. This is absolutely great, and had me transfixed. The end of the chapter is again quite unbalanced. The authors repeat the trick from Chapter One of transporting two of the leads into a new world, again with little explanation of what is going on. This time, though, it feels like some extra explanation is necessary: we are two-thirds of the way into the story, and still know no more than when we started. In particular, if you aren’t familiar with Wilde’s plays, certain sections of this Chapter begin to seem just plain confusing. What worked well in Chapter One seems to be pushed slightly too far in this part. This is a point that’s very difficult to put into words, as it’s just the feeling I get from reading it; nevertheless, it’s there. Wilde continues to be portrayed well, if a little Noel Coward-ly at times; his wit is again evident. It now seems understandable to me where the authors are getting his wit from though, as even I recognised the line about having “something sensational to read in the train”. However, this reuse if Wilde’s actual phrases adds to the effect of a man fallen from grace, living on past glories by quoting himself from times more profitable. Overall, one can understand Alf’s complaint of boredom, as much of the episode seems to involve Nick and Oscar sitting around, or Alf and the Doctor walking around. Still, it’s all wonderfully written sitting and walking (I liked Nick’s words about a “sodding can-can line”!). However, there is a feeling, also voiced by Alf, that we have not actually advanced anywhere since the last episode. A holding chapter. And still no pomegranate. Chapter Three; CEMETERY GATES In which the Doctor expounds his views, And Wilde spurns his muse... The third chapter of this magnificently decadent story takes for the most part as its focus a confrontation between the Doctor, Wilde and their opponent. As both sides try to sway Wilde to their cause, their lengthy argument covers everything from post-Aztecs time-travel paradoxes to ancient Greek parable. It’s all wonderfully well done, too: when you think about it, it’s quite a daring experiment to turn over an entire third of your story to the final showdown between the protagonist and antagonist, and it takes writers of some talent to pull it off. Miller and Wiget pull it off. I’ve said before that too much research can confuse a reader rather than bring enlightenment (pun intended). We are on the borderline here, but I think we remain on the right side. In an adventure about an intellectual such as Wilde, alluding to classical mythology only adds to the feeling of authenticity about the piece. There’s a possibility that we are being deceived with style over substance (the “stick-enough-references-in-and-it’s-bound-to-turn-out-right” syndrome), but this episode seems to genuinely tell a of a real argument, and I applaud it for the lovely writing within. I pointed out in my review of Chapter Two that re-using continuity and races from previous stories can smack of lack of ideas and original thought. It sometimes seems to be in Doctor Who fiction that if an author needs a villain who, as an example, can shape-shift, it may as well be a Zygon, because they’ve already been invented by someone, and it saves time later. Useful in a short-story format, certainly, but still a Scott to their Amundsen. Things like the Eternals have become so much a part of our shared fan consciousness that their actual origins become unimportant. Just to prove my point, there’s a dedication to Oscar Wilde at the end of this story, but none to Barbara Clegg. Why one and not the other? OK, I’m being facetious, but given that the Eternal plays just as much a part of the story as Wilde (presumably the Mirror in the title reflects the Eternal, whereas Wilde is at the Pomegranate’s core), it’s a shame one is somehow “more legitimate” than the other. However, given the quality of the writing on offer, I’m prepared to assume that the recycling of both the Eternals and many of Wilde’s ideas and speeches is a conscious nod to the fact that this story is about a lack of creativity. I’m sure that’s what the authors will tell me. Still, the Doctor pointlessly quoting a big chunk of William Hartnell’s Aztecs dialogue verbatim is absolutely horrible, and is the only real gripe with this Chapter. He’s obviously talking about his own experience as a time paradox, but this is still a case for some stronger editing. There are some lovely ideas present here, though. It’s notable that the Eternal on display here shares few characteristics with Enlightenment’s Eternals, beyond their thirst for entertainment: which is hardly exclusive to this race, as both the Toymaker and the Gods of Ragnarok shared similar interests. Then again, the Eternals in that story didn’t have much of a peculiarity themselves, so they would be difficult to copy exactly. They’re well realised here, though. The idea of an Eternal doing a Dorian Gray, and living in a painting which can change depending on mood (rather than age) is a wonderful one; and as, obviously, an Eternal can’t die, the dissipation of the creature at the climax is a chilling way for it to be defeated. Nevertheless, a villain whose only desire seems to be to have a bit of a laugh is a slightly unimposing one. And that’s the one of the few problems I can claim: there’s a sense of irrelevance about it all. On the other hand, a villain who could put people’s lives at risk purely for its own enjoyment could be said to be a very potent one indeed. As to the Epilogues, everything seems well suited, and in time with the story: if a little redundant in Epilogue Two’s case. As for the first one, it’s great. And referencing the authors’ favourite album is not the greatest of sins, especially when I’m listening to it right now. However, The Smiths feel slightly out of place in a story about Oscar Wilde; as my previous review titles suggest, I’d been imagining The Divine Comedy’s Casanova. Oh, and can I just mention the sequence where we see how the Doctor’s mind works in comparison to his outside demeanour? Perfect. An impressive climax. Overall The Mirror and the Pomegranate is a beautifully written adventure from Miller and Wiget. Researched to oblivion, any story that requires most of my critique to be for stupid little things because that’s all I could think of and I’m jealous of the authors for being too good is a marvellous one without doubt. We have discovered a new side to Nick, who has become enthralled by Wilde, and who looks to be growing more bookish with the creation of his journal; conversely, the Doctor and his companions seem to have come just a tad closer to splitting up eternally. Some lovely touches (I like the way Nick’s journal is referred to in Chapter One, before being created in Chapter Three) fill out a thoroughly well written story (although for the second story in a row, the word “blonde” is used to describe Nick’s hair, as opposed to the more correct “blond”). This is a piece that is perfectly suited to its length: three episodes are just right, the final one in particular being a successfully achieved experiment. I personally would have left out the superfluous Epilogue Two, as I think Epilogue One is an ideal way to finish, but if that’s the only complaint of a text, you know someone’s doing something right. Miller and Wiget delightfully play to their strengths of prose over plotting; yet at the same time have some truly wonderful ideas on show. I want more from this team. But do one about Terrance Dicks’ characters coming to life (or something) next time, so we all know what you’re talking about. And we got the pomegranate.