I have to admit, I was initially drawn to this box set of 13 murder mystery novels because it was just £1.99 ($2.99) on Kindle, but it has proved largely enjoyable. The series features a Scotland Yard murder squad, sent out to help struggling provincial police forces, headed up by the urbane Superintendent Masters and the rough and ready (chief) inspector Green (he was promoted part way through the series), who initially seriously dislike each other, adding to the fun. It's important to realise that these books were written in the 60s and 70s - the earlier books in particular feature a decidedly dated approach to women from the male police. (To be fair, this was also true of, for example, the earlier Morse novels.) What I really liked about the first seven books though, was both the period feel and the old fashioned approach of portraying the entire story from the viewpoint of the investigator (just as was the case, say, with Sherlock Holmes). Once the books reach the 70s, there is...

As someone who earns most of my living from writing books it is genuinely painful to be negative about whole classes of books, but for me, there are definitely three circles of bookish hell. The worst, without doubt, are adult colouring books. I once upset Alex Bellos by being snarky about a mathematical adult colouring book he wrote the words for, both because it missed the opportunity to give far more text to accompany the pictures and also because... well, it was an adult colouring book. But that was arguably one of the better examples of the species. In the next circle come the coffee table books. These seem now to be something of an endangered species. You don't see them as much, perhaps because fewer people have coffee tables these days (or perhaps because there's less pretentiousness in home decor - we have less of the Changing Rooms vibe). The idea of a coffee table book is that it should be large format and picture driven. No one is intended to read it from end to en...

Technically, this 1985 Gene Wolfe novel could be classed as science fiction, but the reality is far closer to fantasy. I particularly love the cover image from my UK edition, because it's the worst example of a cover artist not knowing anything about the book I've ever seen. It portrays a hi-tech future city complete with a spaceship, where the actual novel is set in a seedy, run-down US city with a 1970s feel - and even when surprising technology does arrive, it's decades old. It feels like Wolfe is still finding his feet with real-world fantasy, and the book has a number of flaws, but it's still interesting. Four individuals down on their luck end up staying for a few nights free at the condemned house of Ben Free. The majority of the book simply features these four going about their lives, often in near-farce. This is particularly the case in a section involving a mental hospital where the staff assume everyone they meet is mentally ill. The two female characters - s...

As I've mentioned elsewhere I have recently moved to a plug-in hybrid car. The other day, when fiddling with the information system I accidentally got to a screen that showed miles per gallon (MPG) and the number - 174 made me think. Firstly, isn't a bit weird we still refer to miles per gallon when we buy petrol or diesel in litres? The only justification I can come up with is that I have better mental reference of what's a good MPG - maybe more than 40 - than I do MPL - I would have to do the conversion, rather than thinking in semi-metric. However, the main thing is whether or not this is meaningful. Traditionally MPG would tell you (roughly) how much petrol you would use for a specific journey. I can divide the distance by the MPG and get a feel for the fuel needed. But I will never do a journey where this is the case with an MPG of 174. What is really happening is that all my local journeys are done on electric with a nominally infinite MPG, while my longer journeys a...

I'm interested in why people believe odd things (and ignore the science), so I thought I'd give the podcast  Marianna in ConspiracyLand a try. This is the work of Marianna Spring, the BBC's 'disinformation and social media correspondent', who has the cringe-making habit of referring to herself as 'A.K.A. Miss Information.' The first series follows the rise in support for conspiracy theories in the West Country town of Totnes, boosted by a conspiracy-spreading newspaper called The Light . Despite a certain naivety in the interviewing, I found the series interesting for two reasons. The obvious one is the nature and danger of conspiracy theories, particularly around subjects like vaccination and climate change. I'm always looking for ways to get scientific views across and (as demonstrated so well in the book I recently reviewed, Science with Impact ) , it can be really hard to get past conspiracy viewpoints. When someone can claim, as they do in one of Ma...

One of Wolfe’s specialities is to keep the reader unsure of what’s happening - and this 1988 novel is probably his greatest example of this particular fantasy mode. The central character (we don’t even discover his name until well through the book) has fallen deeply in love with a woman he has only known for a few days - but she has disappeared leaving behind a mysterious note about doors he should avoid (or back out of if he accidentally goes through one). Inevitably he goes through such a door, into what appears to be an alternate USA, where there are references to people and even dolls who resemble the missing Lara, who he is obsessive to find. But is any of this real or is he mentally ill? This is an idea that isn’t pursued enough in real world fantasies (though done beautifully in Buffy ). It has been a long time since I last read this book, but I’ve always remembered it as one of Wolfe’s best. I was disappointed when I’d got well past halfway through and nothing was becoming clea...