Doctor Who Fallen Gods Jonathan Blum

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.The relationship between the Doctor and Alcestis smoulders throughout the story, erotic without being sexual, a Greek tragedy of unconsummated love, which culminates in a skilful retelling of the myth of Prometheus.There are so many allusions to Greek legend in this novella, weaving in and around each other, that it's a delight for any reader interested in the subject to try to spot them all.I'm sure repeated readings would reveal more little treasures hidden in secret corners.Fallen Gods has everything I look for in a novel or novella: a rhythmic and vivid style of writing, in-depth characterisation, realistic and sparkling dialogue, a well-paced plot and a satisfying denouement.The authors' love of language is matched by their obvious affection for their main character, and a great sympathy for him too.When any writer adds to the existing canon of a fictional character, they expand the myth, keeping it alive and dynamic.Doctor Who spans generations, and its appeal continues to attract new fans.Perhaps one of the reasons for its success is that within its framework anything is possible, nothing is pinned down in time and space.It continues to evolve, because from its beginning no limits were placed upon it.It is not confined to a particular time in history, such as the early black and white TV programmes, which were but one aspect of the Doctor's evolution.The Doctor is an eternal hero, who can slip into any reality and change it.The universe is infinite, so the potential for Doctor Who stories is infinite.It's tempting to imagine what it would be like if he manifested in a time and place that is beyond human description.You can only suppose that must happen to a Time Lord now and again!The Doctor has come a long way from what I remember of those old TV episodes.I am happy to discover he is alive and well, because I used to love so much being scared by the series, no matter what nightmares they inspired.I am even happier to discover that darker aspects of the Doctor are being revealed, giving him more depth and fascination.He has stood the test of time, as a Time Lord should, of course.And his history is in safe hands with writers such as Jonathan Blum and Kate Orman.It's no less than he deserves.Storm Constantine StaffordOne: Dance—Close your eyes, murmurs her teacher.Alcestis, poised, touch of sun-baked sweat drying onto her.Finding her balance as she stands in the open fields.The odd foreign man behind her, pale and cool as ivory in the heat.Inside her eyes, all is warm orange.Even with them shut, the Aegean sunlight is bright enough to burn inside.She stands, breathing just a little too hard, and listens to his voice pass slowly behind her.—Feel the wind? he asks.—Just a light breeze.You can feel it against your skin.You're so light, if you lifted up just a touch, it could blow you away.His words form a circle around her as he paces.—There's a rhythm to it.A tempo.Swelling and fading.A slow, endless beat, slower even than your heart.It's the longest music in the world.And she can feel it, spreading across her: individual points of gooseflesh on her arms and chest, the ever-so-slight change in the pressure of her flounced skirt against her legs.She relaxes into it, just lets herself feel the wind blowing through her, as if emptying her mind will make her as light as he says.He's right by her ear now, but softer than ever.—You can feel it quickening now.Alcestis shivers for a moment.His breath came against the wind, she could feel it rock her in a different direction.She shifts her balance, raises herself up, light on her toes, ready to take the first step.—It's got a good beat – you can dance to it.Ask the local eagles.You know there are some people in the world for whom dancing isn't sacred? Oh, give them a tune and they can bounce about a bit, but that's as much as they know or care.They don't know what it means to move with the world, not just through it.She knows the dance, remembers from her time in the temple.This isn't so different.The tempo is far slower, but she can find it now – in the rhythm of the breeze playing across her skin, as it shifts direction, spirals and eddies, but always in the end leads back to the sea.And the counter-rhythm of his words winding around her.—Now take the wind to pieces.It's coming from so many directions at once, just look at one of them.Just feel the part that's moving across you, left to right.She can feel the difference.the afternoon sunfire on her right, just that much warmer than the breeze on the other side.Both sides of her tingling now, shivering in the heat.—Now the other direction.Just feel the bit of the wind on your front.It's got its own rhythm, you can play the two of them against each other.You'll have to remember that, to keep control.—And now the other direction.Out of the plane, right angles to everything else, away from the ways you usually move.Straight up and down.You can feel the wind lifting you, can't you? You can't follow it, not yet, but you can feel this pull ready to launch you.—And now the other other direction.—You can feel the wind blowing from your past to your future.A breath inside you, fanning the little spark of fire at your core.Feel that now.And it's as clear and sharp as all the others – the thrumming of her body, that she's never been able to pick out from her heartbeat [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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