Johnathan Morris 2011 BBC Books
Look, I knew what I was getting into when I bought this book. It’s a Dr. Who novel. Essentially, it is published fan fiction w/o any of the usual creepy sex that you find in such things. If you don’t believe me, look it up. Or don’t. You’ll sleep better if you don’t.
For those of you unfamiliar with Dr Who lore, Dr. Who is a quirky alien with two hearts who bumbles through time in a spaceship (called the T.A.R.D.I.S.) that is shaped like a 1960 British Police box. Hilarity ensues. I find it charming. Some people don’t. Whatevs, back to the book.
The plot revolves around this guy Mark who is zapped back into the past by these living statue assassin things called the Weeping Angels. They are in a stasis lock and can only move when they are not observed. When they touch you they will send you back in time and feed off your potential life force or some such. Sound scary? No? Well, that’s because it really doesn’t translate well to the written word. On screen (and I thoroughly encourage you to watch a weeping angel episode of the show) the angels are scary as fuck. They just don’t work here.
The only reason that you know this book is a Dr Who book is that they use the Dr’s catchphrases over and over and over. I swear to god, if they had used the word wibbily one more time, I would have thrown the book out the window. That is where the simularities end. The characters are vapid and empty. The Dialog is wooden. The “witty banter” comes across as childish. There is no feel for the character of the Doctor at all. Amy and Rory are simply cardboard cut-outs. Any emotion is overbearing pap. So, overall, I would eat gritty sand before I read another Dr Who book.