...where the fuck we went, we transferred to http://therantonator.blogspot.com/

So now you know.

If we're being perfectly honest, Mostly Harmless wasn't the ending The Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy series deserved. HHGTTG was fun and light. It was based on silliness, even if it was logical silliness, and that silliness just wasn't there in Mostly Harmless. It was, when all's said and done, a pretty grim book, concluding with the destruction of all Earths in all universes and the deaths of all the main characters apart from Zaphod and Marvin (the latter of whom got away with dying in this one because he died in the last one).

In 2005, the radio series (Quintessential Phase, as it was) rectified this by modifying the ending and giving us a happy ending which tied everything off quite nicely. The rest of the book wasn't badly adapted either, and this is how I choose to end Hitchhikers.

However, last year Eoin Colfer released the sixth book in the trilogy of four (don't try with the maths, unless you're the great sciento-magician Effrafax of Wug, or maybe Deep Thought). He was asked to by Douglas Adams' widow and daughter, who presumably felt on the 30th anniversary of the original that it would be nice to tie it all up in a much happier ending. I was delighted when I heard the news of it. Then I realised Eoin Colfer would be writing it.

My dealings with Colfer in the past have not been particularly happy. It would be fair to say I was as impressed with Artemis Fowl as a classical architect would be with a 1960s concrete multi-storey car park, from an aesthetic point of view at any rate. I didn't find it funny, engaging or any of the other things which people seem to laud it as being. So when it turned out he was going to be writing the new Hitchhikers book, I was cagey in my hope to say the very least.

It turns out that my instincts were correct. And Another Thing... is going to go down in the record books as 100% pure rubbish with matching tie. It isn't funny. It isn't even halfway to being funny. The story is just plain awful and doesn't have the Hitchhikers feel. The characters are cardboard cut outs of their former selves. Other than these major problems, it's still awful besides, with daft ideas being compounded by dire execution.

So, the plot. As the Grebulons destroy the Earth (not with the good old-fashioned blow the thing up bombs which appeared to be how it was blown up in Mostly Harmless, but with green rays which cut it to pieces) Arthur and co are rescued by the Heart of Gold and Zaphod Beeblebrox, who now only has one head (misstep no.1), with the other head now controlling the Heart of Gold (misstep no.2). Only Arthur managed to do what he did in The Restaurant at the End of the Universe, and stopped the ship going anywhere, only for them to be rescued by Wowbagger the Infinitely Prolonged (the abusive alien from Life, the Universe and Everything). So far, so flipping awful.

I could talk about how Wowbagger was a good one-shot character and how he isn't suited to being a major character, and how Colfer's style is nothing like Adams', and how the feel isn't of a physical world but of one controlled by the paranormal with Thor popping up and not being the character we've found in Life, the Universe and Everything as well as there being a whole planet of Norse gods and... You get the picture.

I found And Another Thing... to be awful. Avoid.

This review wasn't funny, and nor was it particularly good. Blame the fact I've not been reading anything funny lately.

-Rantonator Peter

Peter has a new golf swing. He can now clout it 170 yards down the fairway, if he ever manages to send it straight (it normally goes further right than... nuts can't think of a questionable politician/dictator). Next week, something will be reviewed. Maybe.

I didn't enjoy Dracula as I might have done, but by the same token, I didn't not enjoy it. That doesn't make sense, and I don't care, because ultimately Bram Stoker's magnum opus left me feeling distinctly meh about the whole thing.

First things first: as a vampire novel it's kind of the one. I don't need to do what has been done thousands of times over the years and recap the plot, beyond saying that it has a proper, non-sparkly vamp in it. Fine, so his dress sense is a bit camp, but there can be no doubt that the Count is every inch a stalking demon of the night with superhuman power born of the paranormal, with big teeth that Colgate would die to get into an advert. He has one aim and one aim only: subvert the human race and sate his own desire for blood (technically, it's two aims, but they've come in a multipack and must not be sold separately).

Instantly, Dracula gains points. It also gains points for the interesting narrative structure. I'm about to show the limits of how well-read I really am, but I've not come across a novel told through correspondence and diary entries too often in the past, and that was intriguing to read. My big problem was that all the characters wrote with exactly the same style almost without deviation. Whilst the characters themselves were well-drawn and interesting (especially that of Van Helsing), that lack of difference between writing styles sapped my enjoyment a little.

I also found my enjoyment sapped by the fact I didn't find the horror scenes too horrifying (just a slight shortcoming for a horror book, really). And for this, I actually blame the narrative structure, because you know at least one person's come through it. One of the best things about third-person storytelling is that there's always that risk (especially in end scenes) that characters will die en masse, and it helps to make a scene more intense and horrifying. This doesn't happen in Dracula. It's not even as if it isn't atmospheric, I just wasn't scared by it in the slightest. Nor did I feel an intensified beating of my heart in excitement (as I did Carrie). Perhaps it's just that the style wasn't quite doing it for me again.

No one could (and no one should) accuse Dracula of being dull and boring and a poor read. It is entertaining, but with those faults above I found myself disappointed, hence my lack of enjoyment. But at least I'm still turning round and saying that it was something that I can see something in, and why people have read it and why it has come to be regarded as a classic over the years.

And it wasn't Twilight, which is more than a massive bonus.

-Rantonator Peter

Peter is on holiday next week, so won't be writing any reviews. Whilst away, he'll be taking a break from his Dark Tower (Oy speak: Ark! Ower!) re-read to immerse himself once again in the next instalments of A Song of Ice and Fire. Huzzah! But Chris might do something, so that's OK.

Don't get me wrong, Star Wars is immense. It's undoubtedly my favourite film series of all time, and perhaps the most popular ever made (some would argue, but for once I'm not going to get involved). And with said popularity, people (OK, George Lucas) have tried to milk it for all it's worth, with the release of video games, action figures, books, spin-off films and novelty pens. Fortunately, the Star Wars fanbase isn't as weird as Twilight's, so thus far we've managed to avoid the Han Solo-themed vibrators and condoms.

Unfortunately, we haven't managed to avoid the trash spin-off novels. Again, this is prefaced by a 'don't get me wrong', as the Expanded Universe has also contained within it some belting books. The Thrawn Trilogy is regarded in some circles as the unofficial episodes VII, VIII and IX, and in more recent times The New Jedi Order was pretty compelling. On the other hand, we've also seen dross like Planet of Twilight, which kept up the tradition of anything with 'Twilight' in the title being more bobbins than a re-stocked loom (think about it).

So where does The New Rebellion fall?

Well, it's better than the lamentable turd that was Planet of Twilight, but it's not exactly Traitor. What it is is a run-of-the-mill, lightweight space opera with little to distinguish itself from the other standalones in the Expanded Universe. There's a wannabe Sith Lord with more in common with a cheesegrater than Darth Vader, and Luke is a bit too all powerful, able to do Jedi shizzle even with an ankle broken, all his skin burned off and his mind distracted by Leia's inability to look after herself for more than five minutes.

One positive in it is that we see Han Solo delving into the smuggling underbelly he supposedly belonged to before A New Hope, and this can only be a good thing. We see the rogue well-characterised, but you don't really get points for simply utilising an existing character without making them grow. But still, his plot thread is actually halfway interesting for a bit, before it descends into silliness, a flaw more and more common among Expanded Universe novels.

From a certain point of view, you could make a case for this not being the Star Wars we know and love. Yes, the cast is there, but it lacks the feel of the films. It's all a bit plodding and lacking in any real energy, like an Ewok after being made to run a marathon over hot coals (something I'd personally like to see done to them, but that might just be me). I can't seem to remember ever owning many franchised books without the feel of the source material like this, because this is just plain soulless.

I have a bad feeling about this, but I have to say this is one of the books I really wish I hadn't picked up this year. Following in from some excellent space operas over recent months, this is a let-down on a scale akin to finding out the Death Star has just popped along to pay a visit to your family and that they were superlasered, and just to rub it in they also got the family Wookiee.

Unfortunately when you trace it all back far enough, Lucas himself is to be found holding the novel's leash. I should have recognised his foul stench when I was opening the cover. Money, money, money. Can we please let Star Wars die and be great? Just not before a blu-ray release, mind.

-Rantonator Peter

When not making stupid numbers of references to the Original Trilogy, Peter enjoys playing on The Force Unleashed. There's something so satisfying about the phrase 'I have a bad feeling about this' being said by someone who actually seems to fit in the Star Wars saga more than Jar-Jar Binks seems to fit in a car crusher.

The Rantonator makes a trailer. Epic fail.

In terms of disappointment, the only thing ever more disappointing than Stranger in a Strange Land was the sixth book in The Dark Tower series.

Well, that's my view of SIASL given away inside the first sentence, but stick with this, there's more to come.

The most disappointing thing isn't that it's a bad book - which it is, by the way - but that there was actual potential there. And I'm not just talking the potential to not be a bad book; I'm talking the potential to have been a truly fantastic novel. All the ingredients are there: an original concept, interesting characters, an absorbing world, so just what the flip was Heinlein playing at to muck up so badly?

Just to add to the overall sense of frustration at the overall quality of the book, it actually starts well. Very well, in fact. We see a mission go wrong and get stranded, two members of the crew have a kid on Mars, the crew dies, the kid is stranded, before another mission goes to rescue it and find that he's been brought up by Martians. He's brought back and put in confinement to allow him to get used to Earth and also because he's a threat to the established order. He's never seen a woman either, just to really compound it all. Then a woman pops along, along with a journalist. Journo disappears, woman rescues former exile, and they go on the run. Belting start.

Unfortunately it builds on this foundation of pure silver with bricks made of excrement and cement of vomit.

Heinlein sends the plot down Strange Avenue, taking a left down Decidedly Weird Lane finally arriving at What-The-F***-Is-This? Place. And that's nothing as to how Heinlein's own ideals start to dominate the narrative.

If you're going to introduce your own vision for the world and explore it, at least do it in such as way as to not overwhelm the reader. In other words, make sure the ketchup is the dressing for your chips, rather than something which cloys any flavour of potato. Heinlein skips the ketchup, avoids the HP and makes straight for the French mustard; his vision doesn't so much overwhelm as blow your brains out, and not in the good way.

It doesn't help that the plot, as previously alluded to, becomes extremely bonkers. And characters don't so much grow as metamorphose every two minutes. Jill gets about six hundred personalities after the initial exciting bit, and Michael doesn't so much come on leaps and bounds as miss about two-thirds of the character development, and there's still this nagging feeling of them being vessels for Heinlein's own evangelising of this theology he has. They are oddly two-dimensional and strangely multi-faceted characters, considering their lack of consistency.

Don't get me wrong, messages belong in books. In Look To Windward, Iain M. Banks expressed his own view of the war in Iraq and American foreign policy. But in making in the core theme he was able to layer it in such a way as to almost disguise it behind the narrative. The result: one of the best books I've ever read. But in this the story is buried beneath the total twaddle, and after that promising start it just descends to madness.

Speaking of madness, it's worth breaking away from the abuse of SIASL to praise something (heh, rarity). Carrie, Stephen King's debut novel, came to my attention recently and I read it in something like a day and a bit. It's short (which, considering the recent average length of my readings, was a nice break), and this is in itself a rarity in Stephen King land; The Stand was 1,325 pages in length, and the man himself has said he doesn't like to publish things shorter than something like 600 pages.

Anyway, I thoroughly enjoyed Carrie, the tale of a girl with the gift of telekinesis who is eventually driven over the edge. It was filled with driving narrative, characters who fitted their roles well, and action scenes that really dragged me in to the story. It's the first time in a long time I've 5-starred a book on Goodreads (yep, Look To Windward was the last one, way back in October/November time last year), and considering the amount I've read since then it's remarkable. Highly recommended.

-Rantonator Peter

When not enjoying books, for a change, Peter has been enjoying video games, for a change. Final Fantasy XIII may be completed prior to the apocalypse, but we're not hopeful, considering his shocking games owned:games finished ratio. Next week: The Algebraist (Iain M. Banks).

You can always tell when I’m writing in Word rather than TextEdit. For one thing, I write in Times New Roman in Word, and for another, the reviews tend to be pretty much dead on 500 words (though this one won’t be, oh no).

 

Well, I’m writing this one in Word for a couple of reasons. Firstly, Word is good. I can do more with Word. Secondly, I’m trying to get used to Word again when it’s just me and my imagination. For some reason the blank page has become daunting of late, and it’s pretty important to get this fear of the blank page out of my system so I can carry on writing short fiction and what have you (a delightful phrase, I find. I’ve used it a few times of late in texts, and… What’s that? Get on with it? What is this, Monty Python?) .

 

As usual, it’s a slow start to a review. Which shouldn’t be shocking, after about thirty slow starts to reviews, which ramble like bushes in the outback. I really need to think about these similies. Anyhoo, Harry Potter’s later instalments are about as entertaining as an afternoon sitting by the pond in summer with a good book.

 

For people who say that isn’t enjoyable, go and look in a mirror for a very long time. There is nothing finer than sitting by the pond in high summer with nothing else to do, an Iain M. Banks book being read. Incidentally, yes, I am reading The Algebraist at the moment, thanks for asking.

 

But despite the fact all three of the later instalments in the series are enjoyable (if you read the last paragraph, disregard it), they’re still full of problems. Not quite problems of epic plot hole proportions, but still problems that hinder their flow.

 

In Order of the Phoenix we are introduced to half-breed hating, Ministerof Magic loving, cuddly cat decorating, pink cardigan wearing tyrant teacher Dolores Umbridge, and unfortunately we’re treated to a one-dimensional character. Some of her motivations are fairly easy to divine, but her overall tyranny and her hatred of half-breeds go completely unexplained. They’re just there, like that rash which strangely popped up in a sensitive area for you the other night.

 

Moving on, in Half-Blood Prince we’re treated to 400 pages of aimless wandering which actually do explain a fair bit about Lord Voldemort’s past, to be fair to them, but overall it’s a plodding addition to the series with weird logic and sensationalised storytelling. In previous tales we’ve seen hints and concepts introduced which foreshadow what’s coming later, but in this we see a book, a single hint… and nothing. It’s like writing a murder mystery without clues, and Poirot pulling the answer to the question out of the ether after the murderer has told him he dunnit.

 

And then comes The Deathly Hallows. This alone of all the series can genuinely be described as a tour de force. It’s epic, and exciting, with set-pieces galore. Stuff the fact that the Deathly Hallows themselves are only hinted at in the very loosest sense of the word. Stuff the extremely contrived ending set-piece. Just bear in mind that it’s supreme, pure entertainment.

 

Right, fine, I’ll be more critical of some things, then. Most specifically, where did J.K. learn to stick to her plan absolutely rigidly in relation to the relationships? Harry and Ginny are not a good couple. To compare: the Harry and Hermione relationship going in to Godric’s Hollow is a good couple (even if it is atrocious grammar). There’s that distinct feeling of them belonging together at that point. Going through the graveyard, they understand one another, they hold hands, they are an entity. But J.K. had an idea that Harry and Ginny belonged together, so the hero who saved the magical world ended up marrying a ginger. Curiously, Hermione did the same, so what lesson does this teach us? Other than that saving the magical world results in marrying gingers and not being laughed at for it?

 

Overall, it can actually be argued that the Harry Potter series is propaganda from the ginger side of things. We have a family of redheads who are all likeable and loyal to a fault (apart from one, but in a family of 23,983,904,507 that isn’t bad going), a ginger with more than one friend and who ends up married, and his sister, who goes through school getting more than one boyfriend.

 

This is probably a good time to bring the review to a halt, as ginger jokes just aren’t cool any more. Well, they are, but considering the volume of gingers I know, abusing them isn’t a good thing.

-Rantonator Peter

Peter doesn't enjoy being made to wait for phone calls when he could be outside playing football. Or reading stuff by Iain M. Banks. Next week, Stranger in a Strange Land.

So, the North Koreans have qualified for the World Cup, and as I type are preparing for their first match of the group stage. The task before them is fairly straightforward: beat Brazil. That's Brazil, the five-time World Champions, with Kaka, Robinho, Luis Fabiano…

North Korea have pretty much no hope of winning that one, but at least they have more winnable games against Portugal and Cote d'Ivoire (I'm not getting in trouble with their authorities for calling them by the wrong name). Yeah, so that's just Cristiano Ronaldo and Didier Drogba to worry about. Anyway, in honour of the great achievement of DPR Korea, the Rantonator presents the North Korean World Cup Odyssey… complete with press clippings from back home.

Tuesday 15th June 2010, Johannesburg.

The reality: Brazil thoroughly outplay their less illustrious opponents, and Kaka opens the scoring after 15 minutes with a delightful chip from the edge of the box, before doubling his and Brazil's tally just before half-time after a flowing counterattack from Korea's only foray into Brazil's half in the game thus far. Luis Fabiano makes the points certain, heading in a Kaka corner on the hour before Kaka seals his hat-trick with a run from the halfway line. Korean central defender Pak gets his marking orders from the Hungarian referee for a cynical foul on Robinho in injury time.

In the post-match press conference, coach Kim Jong-Hun admits his side were outplayed by the better side before two sinister-looking blokes appear at the back of the room and Kim changes his tune to it all being the fault of capitalism.

The headline at home: Kim ONE-NIL! Beloved Leader comes off the bench to inspire deserved victory over Brazil.

The story: With Brazil pegged back in their own half by a DPR Korea side apparently containing 18 players, Kim Jong-Il himself comes off the bench to win a free-kick and then curl it past Julio Cesar. Jubilation! Celebratory missiles fired over South Korean airspace by an over-enthusiastic public. Korea top the group after Cote d'Ivoire can only draw 0-0 with Portugal.

Monday 21st June 2010, Cape Town

The reality: Portugal are in effervescent form, scoring after only 3 minutes through the talismanic Ronaldo. From then on, it's only the Korean back four being incredibly stubborn and the goalkeeper playing a blinder that stops Portugal adding to the lead before the 75th minute, when the keeper hauls Ronaldo down when through. After the second red card faced by a Korean in the tournament, coach Kim Jong-Hun goes for a tactical masterstroke, putting striker Pak Nam-Choi in net. Unfortunately, it backfires. Ronaldo nets the penalty, Simao then fires in a third from long range. A deflection aids Simao's second. North Korea's misery is made complete when midfield man Mun In-Guk clatters Ronaldo, picking up a second booking. However, he becomes an unlikely hero to everyone else, as Ronaldo is stretchered off and misses the rest of the tournament. Accolades for the midfield man include the Nobel Peace Prize, and World Footballer of the Year.

With those two sinister-looking blokes at the back, Kim Jong-Hun goes on the offensive against capitalist teams in the press conference, blaming bribing of the referee, FIFA conspiracies and Ronaldo being on drugs, before a daring journalist from the Times suggests his side aren't very good. Journalist disappears, never to be seen again.

The headline at home: TREACHERY! DPR Korea lose after FIFA ban Beloved Leader.

The story: FIFA officials ban Kim Jong-Il after his performance in the previous match. 'It's unfair on other teams for him to be out there,' is one quote. Not that Kim himself is too bothered; he breaks all the records around Cape Town's golf course, managing to go round in just 17 shots (his tee shot on the 12th lands in the hole, stays there for a minute, then bounces out and lands in the 13th). At home, missiles are fired at South Korea in retaliation for the capitalist conspiracy.

Friday 25th June, Durban

The reality: North Korea take a shock lead against Cote d'Ivoire, who need to win by at least 4 clear goals to progress. Jong Tae-Se is the man with the goal, stealing in after a mix up between Toure and Barry to net North Korea's first goal of the tournament. Superstar striker Didier Drogba hits back almost immediately before Kalou puts Cote d'Ivoire ahead. 2-1 at half-time, but only 10 Cote d'Ivoire players come out after the break, Drogba being missing. No sub is used. Curiously, three more players keel over on the pitch just as the second half gets underway. Korea level through Jong, and it's Jong again who puts DPR Korea in the lead, heading home a corner in the 87th minute. And that's the way it stays, but subsequent drug testing suggests all 11 of Cote d'Ivoire's players have been drugged at half-time.

At the post-match press-conference, the coach, Kim, suggests that Kim Jong-Il's spirit reached out and stunned the opposition. FIFA, doing something useful for a change, don't believe him, and Cote d'Ivoire are awarded the win 3-0 and DPR Korea banned from all international football for three years. Those sinister blokes at the back disappear at roughly the same time as Sepp Blatter (so they do do something good).

The headline at home: HEROES! DPR Korea's glorious side win through to the last sixteen.

The second headline at home: TREACHERY! (AGAIN!) DPR Korea's glorious side ejected after FIFA capitalist skulduggery.

The story: Pretty much what it says on the tin. The upshot of this is that a barrage of nuclear warheads are aimed at South Africa and the world ends in a fiery holocaust because the North Koreans can't accept that they're worse than England. And possibly Scotland (but let's not push the joke too far).

-Rantonator Peter

Harry Potter triple review next week, thanks to this being too good an opportunity to miss for jokes at propaganda-based state DPR Korea. I'm wondering when those two sinister blokes will be knocking on my door. Just to tempt them that big more: KIM JONG-IL IS A PUSSY! I'D TAKE HIM ON ANY DAY! And finally: HE'S CRAP AT GOLF!

Perhaps the kindest thing to be said about the referee AI in PES2010 is that it's retarded in much the same way as Uriah Rennie after being battered around the head by a block of concrete. If I was being less kind, I'd point out that Trevor Parkes and that bloke Bates are actually better than the refs on PES2010.

Case in point: Zodiac United (my excellent squad of edits) against some French lot in the Second Division of the Master League. As my big number 9 brings the ball down and spins, preparing to shoot, one of the cheese-eating surrender monkeys slides right through him, missing the ball and bringing him down in the box. No penalty. Two minutes later (and a revenge 20-yard screamer from my number 10 and captain), my waif-like central midfielder goes sliding in, and makes minimal contact with their lad, who goes down, as foreign flouncy ponces are wont to, feigning death. Straight red, three match ban, court appearance, thirty-year jail term, deportation to Afghanistan.

Unfortunately, referee AI is the first thing that springs to mind with PES this year, because it takes what could have been a fantastic football simulation and turns it to being merely good. The gameplay is satisfying, especially on the ball, as passing moves string themselves together and glorious goals reminiscent of that Argie goal against the Serbians at the last World Cup are more than possible: they're encouraged.

To someone such as myself, who is determined to pass teams to death (after going a couple of goals up), this is a Godsend. In the past, carving teams open with glorious football was made awkward by passing mechanics that just weren't quite sharp enough. This season, precision passing is the name of the game. Also take note: get pace up front, with a bit of technical ability, and play on the counter. Wonderful goals are possible on the break.

And that's not to say the old long-range belters are out of the question either. Many a spectacular long-ranger has been scored from various sources, including several marvellous free-kicks. Unfortunately, scoring penalties is right out. This is not because of awkward mechanics - it's because you just won't get any. After over 100 games in various modes, 20 dives in the box (all punished with bookings - what's the point of being able to dive when you can never get away with it? Take a leaf out of the old This Is Football book, will you?), and at least half-a-dozen stonewallers turned down, I've come to the conclusion that nothing short of a centre-half committing an axe murder in the box then blowing the body away with nukes will encourage the ref to give you a pen, although he's much keener at the other end. I haven't got a penalty yet.

Modes wise, it's the usual PES fare. The Master League is the crowning jewel, and is, as usual, an engrossing mode that will eat your life away. Those with sense will play the other modes first to win the trophies, and then play the Master League. Unlike me. Become A Legend is improved by the fact the players you're with are apparently less retarded this season, although the same cannot be said for the opposition.

Again, case in point. My little lad signed for Wolves. After a successful run (involving me scoring goal after goal, straight after coming into the side), we went to Old Trafford. I get into the gap between left-back and centre-half, pull it back, 1-0, Kevin Doyle. Two minutes later, Vidic error, Doyle gets away, I peel off my man, Doyle pull-back, 2-0. Moments later, it's 3 as I'm allowed to run 40 yards then curl it past the keeper. You're not telling me that this is regular, because it isn't.

In fact, even professional is way too easy unless you're playing as Aberdeen against Barcelona or something.  Considering that I average 4 a game on professional in the Master League (including 6 against Sunderland), and also managed a 4-0 win at the Nou Camp against Barcelona on it, it's just too easy.

All of this pales in comparison to the retard refs, though. Yellow is a rare colour, and red is far more common. Innocuous challenges are straight red offences. It wouldn't rankle so much if the computer suffered the same fate, but they don't. Everything is yellow, and none have been sent off against me yet. It's basically Hitler computer against me most of the time. Lucky it's made up by retard AI half the time as well.

-Rantonator Peter

This went distinctly off after the deportation to Afghanistan bit. Next week, bear witness to the triple-review of the final three books of the Harry Potter series. And be prepared to be stunned by a revelation of world-shaking proportions.

Before we start, I reckon I need to put a disclaimer over this whole review: I do actually like Harry Potter. Not in a gay way, obviously (as a friend of mine was so keen to point out in the car last night, sniggering as she mentioned it. She knows who she is), but in an entertainment way. It's fun and exciting and satisfying to read, sort of like Indiana Jones films are at the cinema.

Look, don't read that sentence too much. After a while it stops making sense, and without making sense, we're nothing. Making sense to us is like the Force to a Jedi. Anyway, we're already getting off-topic, and my George Lucas reference loyalty card bonus is getting larger by the minute. Rather like his bank account, although considering he hasn't made a good film since 1989 (ooh, controversial), we're not sure why.

Anyway, Harry Potter. People who don't know who Harry Potter is are obviously bedouin monks in a desert somewhere, and if you're reading this, hello. Of course, if you are reading this, how have you got internet connectivity when you're barely discovered fire and the wheel yet? The trick's to bang the rocks together, guys! Yeah, that joke's been done before, by both me and Douglas Adams.

Potty Wee Potter is, of course, the boy wizard responsible for the biannual meltdown of society between 2003 and 2007 and previously for the first real book craze after rampant marketing took over between 1997 and 2000. I'm not blaming him or anything, but this is the first book really marketed like you see current titles advertised. It was all over the telly, on the sides of buses, tattooed at the top of prostitutes thighs, etc. It was impossible to get away from it, and my eleven-year-old self was so excited by this he took the executive decision to get his dad to drive him to Huddersfield to pick up a copy. And the copy was finished by the latter part of the evening, the first in my tradition of completing new Harry Potter books on their day of release.

Now I'm ten years older and just slightly more critical. What was, back then, the pinnacle of literary achievement, is now one of the biggest plot holes just about ever.

If I'm spoiling this for you, then sorry, but this is a point that has to be made. At the end, Lord Voldemort returns thanks to an elaborate plan involving portkeys, a servant at Hogwarts and the Triwizard Tournament. Surely - surely - it would have been easier just to have said servant just make a portkey during the year and make sure Potty picked it up? It'd have saved Voldy about nine months of stress, and could still have been done in such a way as to make the servant look innocent.

It's a shame about this glaring oversight of J.K.'s, because Goblet of Fire's a cracking read otherwise. And I am perfectly aware of how rare it is for those words to appear on these reviews for anything which isn't by Iain M. Banks. GoF is pacey and compelling and entertaining and easy-to-read and all kinds of other adjectives. For all its 636 pages, it doesn't half pass quickly.

And one of the crowning jewels of the book is undoubtedly the sequence around the third Triwizard task. J.K. has that knack of making her set-pieces big and spectacular. The best is that one in Prisoner of Azkaban, not because it's particularly massive in scale, but because of the intricacy and the way it runs almost seamlessly. GoF doesn't have that intricacy, nor (thanks to that minor oversight by J.K.) does it possess of the seamlessness of PoA, but it does have the sense of leading into something massive, and when that something massive comes, it's massiver than the massivest thing in the most massive place ever. To use the vocabulary of a six-year-old.

Surprisingly, I've managed to get through a review without reference to your mum, which is a shame, considering humour is actually at a premium here. I blame the despairing sense of these exams never ending (no, seriously; it feels like I've spent the last ten years engulfed in them) and the attraction to the Tyne Bridge as a result.

-Rantonator Peter

Peter returns once again next week with an analysis of the Freudian trends in Alien. Or maybe Arnie's yell of 'GET TO ZE CHOPPER!' or 'I'll be back' in the most overused quotes of all time. Or maybe a nice book. Whatever. Just nothing to do with the law.