This is the third and final book in the famous Thrawn trilogy. Though each novel stands out more than, say, the three books that make of The Lord of the Rings (which in fairness, was never intended as a trilogy), to me, they all feel very much a part of the same thing – which is great, because I loved the first two books and so this one was just as great.

A large part of the plot this time is focused on the vestiges of the empire growing in strength after Thrawn successfully captured the Katana fleet in the previous book. Tension builds as his forces edge closer Coruscant, risking the safety of the New Republic as a whole. But, of course, priorities in the imperial forces are mixed, and there is more tension here between Thrawn and Joruus C’baoth than we’ve ever seen before – which I loved. It really helps the ‘Dark Side’ feel more three dimensional. Speaking of which, it also contrasts Thrawn’s leadership style to Vader’s and show how he is actually ‘better’ than him, at least in regard to how he treats his people, and that also helped give everything more depth. Certainly more than you see in the original trilogy of movies, anyway.

Between the New Republic and the imperial forces, you have the smugglers, who try to remain neutral. They, as a collective, have a more important role in this novel than they did in the previous two. This novel really helped me to appreciate the character of Talon Karrde, who has appeared throughout the trilogy, but who I feel really shines in this one. This was the first time I really grew to like Aves, a member of his crew who didn’t really do much before now. Mara Jade also has an important part to play, with this book acting as an end to the character arc she’d been on since Heir to the Empire. Like many other things I’ve mentioned, she felt more three-dimensional here and her reasons and motivations for certain things which had seemed odd to me in the past were now fully fleshed out.

Although I can’t say too much without spoiling something quite central to the ending, this novel also uses cloning in a way that is quite different to anything we’ve ever seen before. It’s a tiny bit silly, but I still loved it. About the only complaint I have about the ending is that it wraps up far more quickly, and a little more easily, than I would have expected. Not a huge problem by any means though.

Having now finished this trilogy of books, and having seen Disney’s sequel trilogy of movies, I can confidently say that this holds to the old adage that “the book is always better” (not that the movies were adaptation). It perfectly captures the wonderful fantastical nature of the Star Wars universe, while telling a story that is compelling and nuanced. It helps that this was written before the setting was as solidly defined as it would be after the prequel trilogy. Strongly recommended to anyone who enjoys the original trilogy of Star Wars movies.

Rating: 8.4/10

Buy it here.

This is the final volume of the Assassination Classroom manga – but, really, things wrapped up in the previous instalment. Volume 21 is essentially just an epilogue followed by bonus content. It’s all good stuff but more like a piece of supplementary material.

The final chapters of the storyline show us what the characters went on to do with their lives after graduating from school. There’s quite a bittersweet element to it, I think, but I love when stories go out of their way to show you what happened to the characters ‘after the end’ so to speak. I don’t have a great deal to say about this conclusion, other than that I enjoyed it – though the actual ‘ending’ of the last volume was much more impactful for me.

After this, we’re then treated to a flashback story which shows what Koro-sensei was up to when he was away from the kids. We get to see his house, and we see him visiting a bar where he becomes friends with the mother and daughter who run the place – and ends up getting caught up with some criminals who visit. I genuinely loved it, and think it shows Koro-sensei in a very positive light, while also showing us a side of him that we don’t see elsewhere. It even has a sweet moment where it is reveals he is fond of the girl because she reminds him of Nagisa. I think I’d go as far as to say that this is one of my favourite arcs for the character, even if it is supplementary. It’s cool to see him outside of his usual context too and how people react to him.

Finally, there’s a totally unrelated manga one-shot that Yusei Matsui wrote. It’s called Tokyo Department Store War Journal. It is very different to Assassination Classroom and tells the story of a girl who goes into a giant department store with a shifty guy in a post-apocalyptic world where the items in the shop are living monsters that have to be fought and killed. It’s nowhere near as good as any part of Assassination Classroom, but it’s an interesting curiosity nonetheless. It has quite a strong video game sort of vibe to it.

And that’s it. Perhaps one day Yusei Matsui will feel compelled to tell another additional story about Koro-sensei, or we’ll get further details about the adult lives of the kids. The ending for Nagisa feels, to some extent, like it’s setting up a spin off with him as the star. I’m not sure if that would work or not, but I’d love more. However, if that’s all we ever get of Assassination Classroom, it’s been quite a ride. It’s the first manga I’ve ever read all the way through and Koro-sensei stands out as one of my favourite fictional characters of all time. I strongly recommend it.

Rating: 8/10

Buy it here.

While I personally prefer The Picture of Dorian Gray, this is arguably the most popular thing Oscar Wild ever wrote. It is also a rare example of something that I have read twice. I already liked it on the first read, but as is often the case, I think my appreciation for it was even deeper the second time – partly because the witty dialogue is a sheer joy to consume.

The whole thing is built around two men who weave webs of lives to cover up their wayward behaviour. There’s a man who goes by Ernest in the city and Jack in the country. He has a young woman who is his ward and so when he sees her in the countryside, he lives in a very sensible way, but tells her he has a brother called Ernest in the city who he has to take care of. The other man, Algernon, tells people he has a horribly unwell friend called Bunbury and uses him as an excuse to be absent whenever he wants.

Jack sees himself as superior to Algernon, partly because he feels some level of shame for what he does, while Algernon doesn’t care in the slightest. Their arguments with each other are often really funny. The tangled web of deception ends up developing a few knots when Algernon decides he wants to meet Jack’s ward, so he heads down to the countryside and introduces himself as Ernest, Jack’s brother… Meanwhile, Jack has just announced to everyone that his brother Ernest has died. To make matters even more complicated, Jack’s fiancé, Gwendolen, knows him as Ernest, and she’s Algernon’s cousin, and she knows Jack’s ward, Cecily, who is herself becoming enamoured with Algernon as ‘Ernest’.

In a moment of completely absurdist comedy, both women reveal to the men that a big part of the reason they are attracted to them is because they are called ‘Ernest’. It’s all so funny and so silly. It’s also quite clever though, because the way everything carefully ties together in the end, and the way all the different plot threads end up getting tangled is not something that will have been easy to write. If you’ve not read many classics, this is an easy entry-point because the writing style is accessible and it’s not very long. If you already love classics, then you definitely don’t want to miss this one. An excellent demonstration of Oscar Wilde’s abilities.

Rating: 9.2/10

When Star Trek: Deep Space Nine came to an end after seven seasons, it felt as though the overall story it was telling had been nicely tied up. However, the Star Trek universe is ever expanding and so it’s no surprise that the station’s plot thread would eventually be revisited in some form. Avatar is a novel originally released in two volumes, but still very much a singular story and feels like it’s the season-opener for a hypothetical eighth season.

You might think that without Sisko, Garak, Worf, O’Brien, and Odo, it might feel like it’s missing something – and yes, while I did miss these characters to some extent, S. D. Perry does an excellent job of giving the remaining characters a deeper level of focus and development, while expanding the cast with new additions too. I think, perhaps, the best example lies with Kira, who we see getting used to her position as commander (replacing Sisko) and dealing with Odo’s absence. You see the weight of the responsibility on her shoulders and understand how her experiences of the Dominion War and the Cardassian occupation of Bajor continue to weigh on her. It very much made me enthusiastic for more stories with her running the station.

Kira often runs up against Ro’Laren (the Bajoran crewmember from The Next Generation) who has joined DS9 as the new Chief of Security following Odo’s departure. She has quite an edgy relationship with Kira, partly because of her natural rebelliousness, and partly because of the fact that the two of them have very different views of the Bajoran religion. The relationship between the two of them makes an interesting point of contrast with Kira’s original relationship with Sisko and I particularly liked the fact that in their disagreements, I found myself agreeing with both of them at different times. Also, Quark has a crush on Ro, which is kind of funny and gives a bit of comic relief (and is very different to his relationship with Odo!)

Mirroring the very first episode of DS9, this episode also features Picard – and, in fact, his whole crew play a part in the storyline. At first, they’re off investigating an abandoned ship in some space “bad lands” in what feels like a very disconnected plot thread, but it all ends up tying together and we even get to see him reunited with Ro, which I was hoping would happen, since she betrayed him in DS9. The Enterprise stuff does feel a bit like it’s just there to create an excuse for those characters to appear in the book, but I enjoyed it, so I’m not complaining. They also introduce a distinguished, senior Starfleet officer who I found pretty cool – he’s an experienced man who avoided attaining too high a rank so he could continue to go on adventures, but carries an air of wisdom and distinction to him. I also look forward to reading more about him.

Over on DS9 the plot focuses on a murder and the looming fear that the war with the Dominion could start up again. A Jem-Hadar character named Kitana’klan arrives on the station, claiming to have been sent by Odo, but circumstances surrounding his arrival are suspicious and a lot of people (especially Nog) have a hard time trusting him. Amidst all that, there’s the whiff of another possible conspiracy from Bajoran religious leaders. You’ve also got an Andorian character named Shar in the mix who has joined as the new science officer on DS9 and I loved him because I feel he has provided the best insight into Andorian people that I have seen in Star Trek media thus far.

S. D. Perry had a tough job on her hands – she had to establish the new normal aboard DS9 and introduce a number of new characters, alongside giving a clear insight into what existing characters were doing after a small time-jump, while also telling a compelling story. There were a lot of balls to juggle, but I think she did an excellent job and I felt the whole thing had a lot of depth and respect for the source material (even working in a fun reference to the earlier Garak novel by Andrew J. Robinson). If you loved DS9 and want more, this is definitely a good place to start.

Rating: 8.9/10

To this day, there are those who glorify war and make it out to be some noble, adventurous experience. Luckily, there have always been people like Stephen Crane who have worked to highlight just how brutal and harrowing war can be… so it’s kind of ironic that he wrote this without any first-hand experience of it himself.

Nonetheless, Crane’s story about young Henry Fleming’s experience in the American Civil War stands out for how realistic it feels (and I say that as someone who, thank goodness, also has any first-hand experience of war). There’s no obvious story structure, but I think that fits well with the idea that this book captures a realistic snapshot of a battle. With Henry himself, there’s a sort of emotional journey because after he runs away from the enemy near the start, he’s riddled with guilt and considers himself a coward.

Crane does an excellent job of highlighting that Henry’s “cowardice” is no moral failing though. There’s a lot of detail about the horrible conditions that the soldiers experience, and gruesome descriptions of injuries and fatalities on the battlefield. There’s one scene in particular where Henry discovers the body of a soldier who was obviously killed some time ago and forgotten which I found deeply haunting. He describes it with a sort of perverse serenity and it was disturbing in a way I’d never really found other things before.

On top of that, there’s also the fact that a lot of people die. You get to like the side characters and though they don’t get enormous amounts of development, you feel for them in the same way that Henry does and when they die, it’s not nice. Admittedly, one of the few things I didn’t like about this book was the way that the characters’ accents were written phonetically. It occasionally made things hard to understand and, from my perspective, it damaged the tone a little, as fictional characters always feel silly to me when I read their accents like that – hearing accents is not a problem, but when written, they feel like exaggerations. An unintended benefit of this though is that it gives you a bit of emotional whiplash when the horrors of war start, making them land even harder.

For some people, this might just be too horrible to read – it is pretty grim. I guess the ending wasn’t as bleak as I thought it might be though. If you’re interested in the American Civil War, anti-war literature, or literary classics in general, it’s well worth a read. It’s not long, so you’ll easily finish it quite quickly and the writing style is generally accessible (phonetic accents notwithstanding).

Rating: 8.7/10

This is the penultimate volume of the Assassination Classroom manga. It’s a tricky one to review, as I really don’t want to spoil what happens (a lot of readers may be able to guess though), but what I will say is that this is a perfect volume. There’s another volume afterwards that acts as kind of epilogue / offers some bonus content, but this is where the story comes to an end.

I read the entire volume in one sitting and I was filled with emotion the entire time – it’s the only comic I’ve read that made me cry (I think). Koro-sensei is trapped within a forcefield at the school and the children have come to help him. Shiro arrives for a final confrontation, bringing the Reaper along with him – hoping to finally assassinate Koro-sensei. That’s pretty much all that happens, and while it might sound not sound like much, I found it very powerful.

I already loved Koro-sensei before I got to this volume, but it’s here where he was elevated to the position of one of my favourite fictional characters of all time. The way that he always tries so hard to ensure that the children are happy and safe even under the most dire of circumstances is something I find incredibly beautiful. He has the kind of backstory that, in other characters, turns them dark and edgy, but even when he’s confronted with his past, he never loses his heart. I think this is the best way his story could have ended.

If you’ve read the first 19 volumes, I don’t think there’s much chance that you’ll stop before reading this one. It ranks as one of the best and most moving things I’ve read in my entire life.

Rating: 10/10

This relatively short philosophical text is great because although it was written in the nineteenth century, it champions both women’s rights and LGBTQ+ acceptance (without even mentioning the latter). The married couple behind it essentially extrapolate the moral values behind a simple notion – if somebody’s not hurting anyone, let them do whatever they want.

Like I said, there is no mention of the LGBTQ+ community, but considering the radical (for the time) beliefs that they held, I don’t think it is at all far fetched to say that they were offering their tacit endorsement. Most likely, they only didn’t mention it because of the controversy something like that would have caused at the time – they’d have been advocating for something that was actively illegal and no doubt would have faced some pretty severe consequences, but their moral framework encourages respect of both same sex couples and trans identities, when you apply it to them.

If you know anything about England in the nineteenth century (and you’ll pick up a lot just through novels, really) you’ll know that it was a society in which people had to be seen to wear the right clothes, say the right things, and behave in a way that was generally agreed to be “proper”. What the authors were suggesting would essentially turn that unhelpful system on its head.

The feminist element is quite important too – and not only because you can apply the moral rules to how women live their lives too. Although it doesn’t focus too heavily on women, when it does talk about them, it’s with the inference that they are just as capable as men and should be afforded all the same rights. It’s not surprising though, since Harriet Taylor Mill was a woman’s rights activist.

I quite enjoyed the section where they talk about religious freedoms as well – naturally, they’re in favour of religious tolerance. It talks about how the most evangelical members of any religion may feel that others are doing harm by spreading the word of different belief systems, but that that fear is essentially cancelled out by the fact that others will think that about them too, and so it is best for everyone to simply accept that they feel differently.

What I also liked was the way that they acknowledged that what is believed to be good and moral in their current age, may well be considered bad in the future – and this is a moral framework that accommodates that. It’s good that they said that, too, because there is a bit at the start where they essentially say that these rules don’t apply when dealing with uncivilised people, and the colonialist element to that has aged awfully, especially when compared to the rest of the text.

If you’re interested in reading more historic philosophy texts, I think this is a good one to start with. Though it’s occasionally a little dry, it’s short and generally quite accessible. I think it also helps that its morals are ones which are just as important today as they were when they were written – divisive politicians seem to be trying to make people hate others for living differently as much as possible, and this is the kind of thing philosophers have been arguing against for centuries.

Rating: 8/10

Read it here.

At the start of this year, I had never heard of Mafalda – but I am glad I now have. She’s a little girl who was the star of a newspaper comic strip in Argentina and her antics are hilarious. I’m in the process of trying to learn Spanish, and so a friend of mine bought me a collection of Mafalda comics translated by Frank Wynn in the hopes that it would both entertain me and help with my education. I am happy to say that it did both. Although I didn’t find the Spanish originals, occasional strips retained the original Spanish in some illustrations (e.g. in newspapers) which gave me a chance to learn and revise.

The strips in these comics are only a few panels long, but there are a few mini story arcs which continue across multiple strips (they’re pretty simple though). In some of them, she’s getting into chess, for example. Usually, she latches onto some aspect of the world or of politics that doesn’t make any sense to her, and ends up driving her parents to distraction. To some extent, its rooted in the period of history in which it was written (e.g. you’ll find criticisms of communism, which are very much tied into the political landscape of the day) but for the most part, I feel that the strips are pretty timeless. Perhaps, in part, because the world is just as ridiculous now as when these strips were written (if not more). I love the slices of history anyway.

Besides her parents, Mafalda hangs out with a few friends of hers, like Manolito, the son of a local shopkeeper, who is kind of dumb, Susanita, a gossipy girly girl who is usually at odds with Mafalda, and Felipe, who actually feels like a pretty normal little boy. All the characters are quite endearing, but it’s Mafalda herself who stands out the most to me, because she really is written quite authentically. She’s very much like a real six year old – she’s got that confidence of youth which leads her to question conventions without fear of controversy, but also a lack of experience and knowledge of the world, which gives her some funny perspectives. Sometimes, of course, in her childhood innocence, she sees through the nonsense of our society and leaves adults speechless – on the other hand sometimes she thinks having to eat soup is a human rights issue.

They’re such great little strips and I’m very pleased to have been introduced to them. I’d usually plan to read just one page of them before bed each night, but almost always ended up reading more than that because they were so moreish. If you enjoy historic comics with a political angle, I definitely recommend this collection. It left me wanting to read more.

Rating: 8.2/10

Buy it here.

Despite being such a cultural landmark, I hadn’t consumed any version of Bridget Jones’s Diary – neither the novels, nor the popular movie series until very recently. However, I was always aware of its existence and after a good friend of mine recommended it to me, I decided I’d finally give it a go – and I had a lot of fun with it.

The book is presented literally as diary entries from Bridget Jones herself and they’re filled with things that a lot of readers (especially women) are going to find relatable. At the same time, Bridget herself is a deeply flawed and not at all aspirational figure. That might sound like I’m being mean about the millions of fans who find her relatable, and I’m not – I actually also found her quite relatable in a lot of ways. She embodies a lot of fears and anxieties that society places on women and she always gives into the unhelpful little voice in her head that’s telling her the worst thing to do, and she’s relatable because we all do that at some point or another… even if we probably don’t do it to the same extent as Bridget.

A good example, I think, is her obsession with weight loss. She’s always worried that she’s “fat” and counting her calories or weighing herself with every diary entry. If she loses a few pounds, she’s absolutely delighted, but if she gains any she’s miserable and then starts starving herself for a few days – which inevitably leads to a binge eating session later on, and the cycle then begins anew. She’ll make excuses to herself about why it was okay to have a treat (when, obviously, no excuse is needed) and obsessive list out her meals. I related to that very much, and I’m sure it’s a pretty broadly relatable experience, so you feel for her. Helen Fielding does an excellent job of underlining the pointless absurdity of it.

Her obsession with food and weight is a result of her being told from all angles that that is what she should care about. That’s pretty much true for all her flaws, and while she occasionally says and does eye-roll inducing things, we know her whole personality is basically the result of societal pressures. You feel for her because, as most people in a happy state of mind will know, it takes a lot of work to break free from society’s chains, and why should anyone have to put into that amount of work just to be happy in themselves?

She’s also likeable because she’s quite funny – both in an intentional self-deprecating way (and in the way she criticises people she doesn’t like) and also in an unintentional melodramatic kind of way. Aside from being obsessed with food, she’s also obsessed with her romantic relationships and starts dating someone who is pretty obviously not right for her and yet she lets the relationship consume her whole life and her reflections on being miserable and dying alone are kind of amusing (partly because of how easy it is for her to get into those rabbit holes) even if you do feel bad for her. This is something else which I’m sure most people will have had at least a little taste of in their life.

I’ve not said that much about the actual plot, because really I think it’s secondary to the character of Bridget herself. There are bizarre and amusing family dramas, problems at work, and a time when one of her friends seems to go missing (one of the best bits), but it’s more about Bridget navigating these things and her perspectives on them all. In many ways, as a woman in her 30s, the way she lives her life is quite similar to how a lot of people live now (30 years later!) but there is also a distinctive 90s charm to it (especially in regard to the technology of the time) and that gives it quite a nice nostalgic element for me (as it will for other readers of a certain age).

I know that some people might describe this book as “trashy” and look down on it, but I feel like it has a fair bit of substance to it – it’s a social commentary and it’s easy to see how it has resonated with so many people. For that reason, it’s quite an important piece of literature, but it’s also quite an easy read, so I recommend giving it a go, whatever your interests. Also, as a quick side note, like Pride and Prejudice it has a Mr. Darcy, and the Fielding Mr. Darcy is better than the Austen Mr. Darcy (and I love Jane Austen).

Rating: 8.5/10

Buy it here.

This is the seventeenth book in the Doctor Who New Adventures series, and it’s one of my favourites. Although I have grown to like her, until this point I felt that none of the novels really gave Bernice Summerfield enough focus and, in fact, actually side-lined her in a lot of the plots, having her get possessed or whatever. For long stretches of this book, Bernice is on her own – the Doctor isn’t there, Ace isn’t there, she’s just navigating an adventure by herself, and I was delighted to finally see her get her moment in the spotlight.

While the TV series has made a habit of doing “Doctor lite” episodes, the concept was relatively unique when this book came out. In it, the TARDIS crashes in London at the very start of the twentieth century, leaving Bernice in a time period that is far removed from her own. While the story is fairly self-contained, Nigel Robinson does a really good job of making the Doctor Who universe feel like a real, lived-in place, and Bernice sees the impact of the Doctor’s adventures in the same time period and I thought that was excellent. It’s a look at the consequences which aren’t often considered, and the actions the Doctor takes to preserve history.

The storyline features a string of murders in London, which brings Jack the Ripper back into the mind of the locals, and has others claiming that it is Spring-Heeled Jack. Of course, the reality is that there’s an alien plot afoot and this is something I think Nigel Robinson did an excellent job with. The Charrl, who had not appeared prior to this story, are a genuinely interesting species. It’s a pleasant surprise, because this is top tier stuff and Robinson’s earlier novel, Timewyrm: Apocalypse, is one I think of as being rather forgettable. You can tell he has a soft spot for the Second Doctor era though, as both novels tie into it.

Another portion of the novel features Ace on her own, struggling to survive with a group of people on the Charrl home planet. This bit was much less interesting to me. Very early twentieth century London is a setting I am very fond of, and I think the author captured the feel for it perfectly. Though I prefer Ace as a character overall, I do think that her hardened post-departure persona is a little less interesting than when she was younger. Having said that, she was better written here than she was in the last few novels, and I think it does a decent job of reconciling the different depictions. Luckily, this part of the novel doesn’t take too much away from my overall enjoyment, and it ties into the events in London in unexpected ways.

My only real critique, and it’s a relatively small thing, but there’s some pretty gratuitous violence in here. Various women are murdered ala Jack the Ripper, and it goes into horrible amounts of detail about what is done to their bodies. It came across as needlessly edgy and kind of tasteless to me – the story would have been just as good without these descriptions and it feels a little juvenile that they’re in there. It’s only a handful of scenes throughout the book, but it’s the kind of thing that feeds into negative stereotype of New Adventures novels being really dark.

This novel could be enjoyed as a standalone, I reckon, as it doesn’t really tie into any previous New Adventures – though I’d say that dedicated fans will get a lot more out if it if they can recognise the references to classic era stories. The Doctor himself does play a small role in this story, mostly in short scenes that show him popping up in different eras of history, and I love it because he comes across as extremely enigmatic when used so sparingly. The character Muldwych is also in this novel, and I won’t say anything about who they are or what their connection to the Doctor is, but I was very satisfied and think it’s one of their best appearances yet.

So, overall, this is an example of Doctor Who novels at their best. It’s a unique story, and one that gives a pre-existing character (Bernice) an opportunity for greater development than she’s had before, while also paying a lot of respect to the history of the Doctor Who universe overall. I loved it.

Rating: 9.1/10