Long John Silver in space

The post-Christmas-holiday blog post is always a hard one. Even writing about something as straightforward and enjoyable as Skeleton Crew is going to be a challenge. And yet it really shouldn't be difficult, because this was the perfect example of a show that decided, early on, what it wanted to be and then stuck with it, without over-complicating things. It wanted to be a coming-of-age story with adventures and pirates thrown in, and it succeeded. That the series was set in the Star Wars universe was a bonus, but didn't distract from the story it wanted to tell.

The finale, which streamed yesterday (at least here in Sweden), stuck the landing, although it was a safe landing rather than a spectacular one. Mysteries that had been hinted at throughout the show were not really resolved or resolved in an off-hand kind of way that far from blew your mind. In the end, though, it didn't matter that much. What Skeleton Crew focused on – its child protagonists, their experiences in an often hostile universe, and their relationship to one another and the enigmatic Jod – it did really well.

The premise is simple enough. A bunch of kids – hero-worshipping dreamer Wim, the timorous but loyal Neel, bossy would-be rebel Fern and her introvert tech-savvy friend KB – live a sheltered but stiflingly regulated life on the peaceful planet At Attin. One day they come across a hidden star ship and accidentally take off to the skies. There are all sorts of complications to coming home. The children learn that their supposedly boring planet is the stuff of legends and hidden away from the rest of the galaxy. The only help they get is from a rusty old pirate droid and a ragged Force-sensitive man called Jod Na Nawood. Wim thinks he's a Jedi. It turns out he's a pirate, but the question is just how hard-bitten he is.

Though the child actors are all excellent – a feat in itself – the favourite part of the series for me was, unsurprisingly, Jod, as played by Jude Law who once again excels in a pirate role. Skeleton Crew unashamedly borrows from a number of pirate yarns (the droid is called SM 33 as a nod to Captain Hook's sidekick Smee), and Jod is clearly closely modelled on Long John Silver in Treasure Island. 

This is good news, not only because Silver is a classy high-prestige villain. One of Silver's many fascinating traits is that you never find out whether he really cares a button for Jim Hawkins. Sentimentalist as I am, I would like to think that he does, and I have a fondness for adaptations where Silver is allowed to have a soft spot for the boy. Nevertheless, in the original novel, there's always an ulterior motive that can explain why Silver is being nice to Jim. You're left guessing if there is any true feeling behind it all, or if he's just being his manipulative self.

The same ambivalence is found in the character of Jod. Sometimes he seems to bond with the children, sometimes he's only looking out for number one. Almost everyone the children come across who also knows Jod warns them not to trust him. So, as with Silver, you're kept guessing. Even when you think you've figured him out, there's a trace of ambiguity left until the very end.

My second favourite thing in the series was SM 33, voiced with salty gusto by Nick Frost. At the beginning I thought he would turn against the kids at some point – starting a conversation with any kind of Smee with the line "I killed your Captain" didn't seem like a great idea – but the story takes another turn, and I didn't mind being wrong one bit. SM 33 has his dark moments, but they tend to be connected to his programming, while when he can get around it and do what he most wants to do, he's on the children's side. He probably never believed Fern was a captain-killer anyway.

I've heard the viewing figures for Skeleton Crew have not been great, which is a shame. Let's hope they improve in the coming weeks through word of mouth. This is fun and charming family viewing, and the palate cleanser the Star Wars franchise needs after the Acolyte misfire. Though I do realise that Star Wars can't always play it as safe as this. 

Things to look forward to (or at least check out) in 2025

In many ways, cultural-consumption-wise, 2025 promises to be the same procedure as last year. That is, there will be continuations of series and franchises I enjoy, but I've yet to see something new slated for 2025 where I think "wow, I've got to watch this". As for books, I'm as likely to make a discovery in my own bookshelves as among the latest book arrivals (though I wouldn't mind a new Sarah Waters novel, for instance). 

YouTube nerds often talk about their "latest obsession". It's been a while since I've had a new obsession, and I'm not a hundred per cent sure I want one. If I find one – whether in the world of TV, film or books – it will probably be by chance rather than through purposeful searching. The items on this list, however, I will at least check out and probably enjoy.

Downton Abbey 3:  No need to go into detail: I've already blogged about the upcoming Downton film at some length. Am I surprised that Downton is coming back a third time at the cinema? Yep. Would I rather have seen a new story as compelling as Downton, which already has a satisfying ending, unfold? Maybe. Am I complaining? No, siree, as long as they don't mess up Thomas's love life. According to IMDB, Dominic West is returning as Guy Dexter, so it looks hopeful.

The Gilded Age season three: As far as I know, The Gilded Age will return next year, though I've yet to see a trailer for it. When it's out, it will be time for me to make the usual hit-and-miss predictions. As of now, I've no idea where this series might be heading, other than that a romance between Marian and Larry is definitely on the cards. Let's hope that they both acquire a little more personality in the process. Also, I want more servant plotlines.

Andor OK. So. I know that Andor is good. I'm grateful to it for adding a little cred to the Star Wars brand at a time when fans are disgruntled with it and apt to blame Disney for absolutely everything (though Disney seldom gets any credit when something Star Wars-related that the fans do like is released). And of course I'll watch it and admire the deft dialogue and storytelling, as well as the complex characters. 

To be frank, though, I'm not exactly excited for it. I find the premise that it's all right for the rebels to behave like swine if it's for the greater good of toppling the Evil Empire hard to swallow. Meanwhile, we have Skeleton Crew, which is much more light-hearted fare but which I confess is more my cup of tea (so far) than the somewhat disturbing politics of Andor. The galaxy far, far away is not yet on its last legs – I hope.

The Fantastic Four: First Steps and Thunderbolts* (yes, the asterisk is part of the title): Talking about struggling franchises, Marvel has had some tough years, but found favour with its fanbase this year with Deadpool and Wolverine. After an epic amount of homework – the X-men films and the previous two Deadpool films – I also watched it and really liked it. What's more, I've heard novices that have not done any homework to speak of praise it, which is, as Palps would say, a surprise to be sure but a welcome one. I may yet blog about how the film got away with a multiverse story where other films have failed (the answer is, basically: nothing clever, just two very charismatic leads).

What about this year, then? The upcoming TV projects seem all right, but not wildly thrilling. I had some hopes for the animated Spider-Man series, but judging from the trailer it seems awfully down with the kids (or rather teenagers). On the film front, Thunderbolts* seems promising, as the Thunderbolts team contains some interesting and/or funny antiheroes from previous films. But Fantastic Four is the studio's biggest swing, as it will introduce us comic-book ignoramuses to a new quartet of heroes in a completely new setting.

Now, of course I know that in the comic world, the Fantastic Four have been around since the year dot. There have been other film adaptations of their adventures as well, so they're not new from that perspective. But they're new in the MCU, and aren't tied to the previous complicated web of MCU stories. We are, in a sense, entering a new Enchanted Forest (I'm not one to forgo a Once Upon A Time reference). let's just hope it is enchanted. The casting is great: I'm particularly pleased to see that Joseph Quinn will be joining the MCU team. Others know him from Stranger Things (which I haven't seen); I know him as the actor who made the viewer sympathise with Arthur Havisham and Catherine the Great's useless son.

The Night Manager seasons two and three: I was somewhat sarcastic about the original The Night Manager series and, predictably enough, I think Tom Hiddleston would be better employed playing brainy, possibly redeemable villains rather than a strong, silent bore like Jonathan Pine. All the same, I'm curious. Where can the story possibly go after the first season? We didn't actually see Richard Roper get killed: will he escape his captors and return, out for blood? Will there be justice for Corky?

Why is the Moana/Vaiana sequel a box-office hit?

So, I watched Moana 2 (or Vaiana 2, as it's inexplicably called in Europe) at the cinema this week. And it was OK. It didn't irritate me as Ralph Breaks the Internet did and was mercifully free from the Wise Natives vs Civilisation rhetoric of Frozen 2. The story, although there wasn't a lot of it, followed naturally from what happened in the first film, and it didn't detract from it. It didn't, for instance, separate close friends or sisters because "they need to let go" or some such rubbish. According to one YouTube review, the animation for this project was outsourced as it was originally supposed to be a Disney Plus series, but I still thought said animation looked really good.

Having said all that, the film felt underwhelming – "mid" as the kids may or may not say. The origin as a Disney Plus series really shows. Ironically, I think I would have appreciated it much more as a series, as the characters would then have had to be fleshed out. As it is, although Moana (yeah, I'm calling her that, so sue me) and Maui are as charming as ever, the secondary characters don't have a lot to do. Moana brings a crew with her on her new adventure with different skill sets, but these skills don't really come into play that much. Why did she have to bring the reluctant old farmer again? 

Villain pickings are slim. The antagonistic-seeming Matangi who holds Maui captive is a fun addition, but she's painfully underused. Instead, the main villain is a thunder god named Nalo, who only shows up as an angry face in the clouds and as a disgruntled, not very menacing guy in a mid-credit scene. Nalo has cursed the peoples of the ocean by sinking a particular island, which somehow means they can't find one another. Why? Because he thought splitting people up would give him more power. Why would it do that? No idea. As thunder gods go, Nalo is singularly personality-less. In a series, they could have explained things a bit better with a mythological flashback, but as it is...

It's not the only time the storytelling is a let-down, either. Moana and Co. make a deal with her old foe the Kakamora to defeat a giant clam in return for their help. But the clam-defeating is a dismal failure, and were it not for one of the Kakamora's own warriors they would have been worse off than before. This is not how deal-based storylines work! Since the Kakamora have no debt to pay to Moana and her crew, as they failed to deliver on their part of the bargain, this plot thread is simply cut short.

I could go on whining about how Moana 2 feels it has to hit the very same storybeats as the first film, which slows the whole thing up – does Moana really need a new "How Far I'll Go"-style song, or wouldn't it maybe have been better if her big ballad had a new topic this time? – but it's time to come to the question I posed in the title, to which I have no answer. In spite of everything, I had a good time watching Moana 2 (and there were some enthusiastic kids in the cinema audience). But I've no idea why it's such a smash hit.

It seems I'm as lousy at predictions in show business as in any other kind of business. Were I a studio boss, I would have no idea where to invest money in order to get a good return. It could be that cinemagoers aren't that fussed about creativity and originality, which is fair enough – I myself can feel that film snobs go on about these virtues a little too much. But in that case, why does entertaining and lightweight fare like Dungeons and Dragons: Honor among Thieves and Red One bomb at the cinema? In both cases, you can argue "yeah, they seem fun but not unmissable: I'll wait until they hit the streaming services". But you can make exactly the same argument about Moana 2.

Maybe Disney's Bob Iger is right, and nostalgia is such a strong factor with filmgoers that they're prepared to show up at the cinema for a mid product as long as it's tied to a franchise they know and love. That would explain why Dreamwork's Kung Fu Panda 4 did well in cinemas, in spite of being an even more tired sequel than Moana 2. Apparently, it's much harder getting people so excited about a new potential franchise they're willing to leave their TV sofa in favour of the cinema. A film that's simply entertaining but little else isn't enough.

In the long run, as I've discussed before, this poses a problem. Disney and other studios can't rest on their laurels and churn out sequels forever. I suppose I should take my responsibility as a consumer and go to the cinema more often, if a film sounds promising enough, instead of lazily waiting for the streaming release. But for now, I'll snuggle down in my TV sofa and just be glad I'm not a studio boss.

The mysterious appeal of Netflix Christmas films

I have a shameful confession. Not only have I watched both the A Christmas Prince trilogy and The Princess Switch trilogy on Netflix; since they came out, I've also had the time and the inclination to rewatch them. The appeal of the soupy Netflix Christmas film is hard to explain. Never mind high-brow stuff: there's plenty of light-hearted TV and film fare which is of way higher quality than this. 

And yet, there's something deeply satisfying with a Christmas romance with just the right amount of hokeyness thrown in. I enjoy picking the tropes apart – sleigh rides, snow fights, handing out Christmas presents to orphans – while admiring the efforts of the leading lady (it's more or less down to her) to carry the whole show on her back. Rose McIver (Tinkerbell in Once Upon A Time – I knew there was a reason I liked her) and Vanessa Hutchens are both seasoned pros, and they have to be. 

I guess this is what people mean by enjoying something "ironically", though I suspect in my case there's some unironic enjoyment thrown in as well. Watching Netflix Christmas films is a little like watching old Barbara Cartland adaptations, except the casting's more wobbly – you don't get Oliver Reed purring "I can see you are going to be very interesting". True, you can find the odd trouper (Alice Krige is the Queen in the A Christmas Prince films), and the kid actors tend to be solid too, but as for some of the supporting cast, you're amazed that there was no better talent on offer. Surely, good character actors can always be had for a decent pay check. Nevertheless, the prince-themed trilogies somehow manage to get the mixture of groan-worthy clichés and slick execution just right.

That's not true of all Netflix Christmas films, though – far from it. I've watched a fair number of misfires over the years: a heroine with a suitably Christmas-film-friendly job (wedding-planner, caterer, candystore owner) and pretty, snowy surroundings aren't enough to compensate for the amateurishness of it all. The unfunny script, the awkward pauses, the non-existent chemistry between the leads: it's just painful to watch, and more than once I've simply given up. But I'm not put off the genre altogether. Being the new A Christmas Prince or The Princess Switch should, after all, not be that high a bar for a film.

I've been comparatively lucky this year. Meet Me Next Christmas, about a girl called Layla who has to get a ticket for a sold-out concert in order to reunite with a potential Mr Right, is actually cute and funny. True, there are some absurdities thrown in. At one time Layla (Christina Milian) selflessly abstains from a designer handbag she would have needed to barter for her ticket, so it can go to a father and son who want to give it to their wife/mother who's been ill. But if they can afford an exclusive designer handbag (which isn't even that pretty), they can find a better present for the convalescent mum. We're not talking about food rations here. However, it wouldn't be a real Netflix Christmas film without a good helping of cheese.

Meet Me Next Christmas may not be Love Actually, but it's several notches above Hot Frosty, one of the most marketed Christmas films this year (at least on streaming). Nevertheless, Hot Frosty is worth a watch if you want to see an absolutely bonkers premise (even for a Christmas film) carried out with some panache. It scores high on the "what did I just watch?" scale. So, get this: young widow Kathy, played by former Mean Girls actress Lacey Chabert, puts a scarf with vague magical properties around a snowman. The snowman comes alive. He looks like a handsome bloke, but is still sensitive to heat. Will he help Kathy find love and joy, perhaps by judicious matchmaking, before melting away as is the custom in bittersweet tales involving live snowmen? No, silly. The snowman is the love interest, so the film has to find a way to do a Pinocchio on him.

Chabert and the rest of the cast do their game best to keep this surreal love story on the road. But the mind does boggle. Also, I wondered if the live snowman (called Jack, not Frosty, which is something) really, truly is the male ideal nowadays. Is this what other women want? A man full of childlike wonder, who has to learn everything from scratch (though he is a fast learner)? Who may have emotional intelligence, but not much of the other kind? A guy who's sweet, ripped and clueless? I never thought I'd say this, but could we have Mr Darcy back, please?

If you want a nice, frothy romcom that does not insult your intelligence all of the time, Meet Me Next Christmas is your best bet. If you want a jaw-dropping festival of hokeyness to enjoy ironically, you could put Hot Frosty on (perhaps while wrapping your Christmas presents, so you feel you've done something sensible with your time). Or why not watch both? It's almost Christmas, after all.

Anticipation list follow-up: expectations met, mostly

Back in January, I did one of my almost-yearly "things to look forward to" posts (restricted to the area of pop-cultural consumption). As it's sadly a bit too early to start the 2025 lists, but I feel in the mood for a list post, what if I followed up on the projects I thought sounded at least vaguely promising? I mean, I know I've already blogged about some of them, but as a summing-up? No, I'm not dodging an in-depth analysis of the problems of making the multiverse work (in film/TV) at all...

I'll change the order around a bit, though; I'll start with the items I haven't discussed in blog posts yet and save the item that was the biggest disappointment to last.

Moonflower Murders: Thankfully, Swedish Television didn't let me down. They both aired the latest adaptation of an Anthony Horowitz crime novel and made it available on their streaming service, and I was well pleased with it. It had the same virtues as Magpie Murders: Lesley Manville's Sue Ryeland and Tim McMullan's Atticus Pünd make for a likeable sleuthing duo with their meetings on the border between fiction and reality (there's a multiversal incursion for you), and the way some of the actors played two roles in parallel plot threads was cleverly done. As with Magpie Murders, I felt less cheated by the way the two interlocking crime mysteries were laid out than when I read the novel. Moonflower Murders the novel ended with a firm goodbye to this particular fictional universe, but the TV adaptation (also done by Horowitz) leaves the door a little more open for a sequel. I would not say no.

The Bad Batch season three: Is it just me, or have the animated projects from the Star Wars and Marvel franchises been consistently great of late, while the live-action projects are a bit more hit and miss? It may very well be just me with my soft spot for animation. Be that as it may, this Clone Wars spin-off, which perhaps didn't seem that promising on paper, outdid expectations with an engaging, well-knit overarching story about a band of brothers and a sister trying to carve out an existence during the Imperial era of the Star Wars galaxy. Crosshair remained my favourite throughout, but as he kept himself on the path of redemption he hesitantly started on previous season, new entertaining if unsubtle villains were introduced. Doctor Hemlock (I warned you!) with his pleasing design, satisfactorily high level of competence and purring voice (American-accented, which makes a nice change in this context as Star Wars baddies are so often played by Brits) caused my villain-loving heart to flutter, and disgraced Vice Admiral Rampart was a hoot.

Inside Out 2: Yeah, as I've previously mentioned, this was pretty darn good. Even though I prefer the original, which is more rewatchable, the way Anxiety is portrayed in this film is almost too relatable. Roll on Inside Out 3 – next time, I want to see Riley fall in love.

Belgravia: The Next Chapter: OK, I can't pretend it wasn't a let-down that Julian Fellowes didn't pen this supposed sequel to Belgravia, which at the end of the day had very little to do with the original. I had other reservations as well, especially at the start of the series, but taken all in all it was a solid period drama that felt a little closer to being set in a recognisable past than many costume dramas of late (which are often knowingly anachronistic). It particularly seemed to find its stride in the final episode. Poor Oliver Trenchard was hard done by, though.

Doctor Who series fourteen/season one: As you may already be aware, this was a big let-down for me. When will I stop hoping for Doctor Who to return to its former glory? It's hard to let go of hope when the very same duo that were show-runners back in those glory days are still running and/or writing for the series. But by now, Doctor Who has become so heavily politicised that it has a harder time getting away with things that weren't such a big deal in the olden days. 

When the main thrust of Doctor Who stories was about something bigger (love, friendship, the wonders of the universe, the problems of near immortality, the strengths and weaknesses of mankind) or something smaller (oooh, look, Daleks and Cybermen are fighting!) than politics, I could shrug off the odd bout of clumsy messaging. Now, it seems, clumsy messaging is practically all the show does. I had hopes that the Steven Moffat-scripted Christmas special would be a suitably light-hearted palate cleanser, but the sneak peek we've been given does not look promising. "Evil must logo"? Really? Also, the main villain being a Big Bad Arms Manufacturer isn't only clichéd, it's not quite as obvious a choice of common enemy as it might once have been. Yes, of course there are all sorts of ethical implications when a company's products are expressly made to maim and kill people. But at the end of the day, what are we supposed to defend ourselves with if we are attacked? Bananas?

I've not yet reached the point where I will stop watching Doctor Who, and most likely I never will. But for now, it's no longer my favourite sci-fi franchise. For all its faults, Star Wars has eclipsed it. It gave me the most memorable Doctor to watch this year.

My problem with witches

My feelings about the latest Marvel TV series Agatha All Along are mixed. On the one hand, I think it's a solid-quality product and much better than one had any reason to expect. The story hangs together, the acting is strong, and the characterisation good enough for the viewer to go "awww" when a character dies (there's a surprisingly high body count). There's a particularly well-crafted, timey-wimey (sorry, Doctor Who slang) episode which manages to give one of the characters a satisfying send-off. Unlike some commentators, I found the series stuck the landing, too. The flashback in the final episode, showing how Agatha really lost her son, was perhaps a bit lengthy, but delivered the emotional gut-punch needed.

On the other hand, there's the witch thing.

Now, to be clear, I don't disapprove of all fictional witches, as my fondness for Once Upon A Time can attest. Many, perhaps most, witches in popular culture I'm perfectly fine with. But there are some I have a really hard time with, and I find the premise that witches should naturally be seen as a great symbol of girl power supremely irritating. 

To over-simplify, witches in popular culture I've come across mostly fall into one, maybe two, of the following categories:

Fairy-tale witch: Often lives in the forest and is a menace to children, above all. Mostly very, very bad – there are good female magic-wielders in fairy tales, but they tend to be called something else, like "wise women". Her own boss.

Malleus Maleficarum witch: I'm not sure if she's the brain-child of learned men of the 17th century who was then enthusiastically adopted by the populace, or if it's the other way around. Has clear diabolical ties and flies away at certain times to certain places to celebrate Witches' Sabbaths, where she gets up to all sorts. Forms covens, but – how shall I put this? – not for obviously feminist purposes. Evil (duh).

Fantasy witch: Can also be called Harry Potter witch after one of the many fantasy franchises where she resides. Here, "witch" basically just means "female practitioner of magic", and there's nothing suspicious about the magic's origins. The fantasy witch can be good or bad, depending on her own choices, whom she chooses to hang out with and whether she uses "dark magic" (not the same as downright black magic) or not. Only forms covens when the plot demands some extra magic boost, but it's not a way of life.

New Age witch: Wants to be close to nature. Vaguely pagan – likes to talk about earth and moon goddesses. Forms covens for sisterly, female-bonding purposes. Paints herself as the victim of centuries of persecution, a victim status largely unearned (more on that in a bit). Harmless.

Of these categories, I have zero problems with the fairy-tale and fantasy witches, except I'd say bad habits such as snacking on children or cursing babies make them questionable as feminist icons. But as villainesses or redeemable anti-heroines they work very well. New Age witches I think are annoying, but I recognise they probably mean well. Malleus Maleficarum witches, however, I find downright disturbing, and if the witches in a story don't take steps to definitely distance themselves from the seriously occult I'm apt to tut-tut.

The problem with the witch lore in Agatha All Along is that it borrows freely from all four categories above. All right, to be fair, there's not much of the black-magic stuff, but there certainly seems to be a bit more hardcore things going on than, say, the everyday New Age witch would get up to. The witches in Agatha may not consort with demons (and we should be thankful for that), but occult imagery does not faze them, and the focus on covens gives out some creepy-cult vibes.

I'm willing to give Marvel witches the benefit of the doubt and categorise them as a mixture of fantasy and New Age witches. Marvel witch magic appears to be in itself morally neutral, and can be used for bad (Agatha) or good (the other witches) depending on who wields it. Ugh, do they have to spell it "magick", though?

Something that really gets my goat (no pun intended) is the way popular culture appropriates the horror of the Witch Trials. I've lost count of how many times it has been implied, in different fantasy franchises, that there actually were witches in Salem. Sure enough that's a theme in Agatha as well. 

Now, this may seem priggish, especially as I'm usually quite nonchalant about historical wrongdoings, but I can't help feeling this is a bit disrespectful to the innocent women (and men too, in surprising numbers, but mostly women) who were killed in olden times because they were accused of witchcraft. What was so horrifying about the Salem Witch Trials was that there were no witches. In real life, witches do not exist. In a fictional world were witches do exist, the most terrifying aspect of historical witch hunts – that they could strike down anyone, no matter how blameless – is lost, and we're left with a yet another lame persecuted-minority metaphor.

I mean, what's the better defence when accused of witchcraft? "There is no such thing as witches, and you're out of your mind", or "Look, I may have cursed, you know, the odd cow. But no demonic hanky-panky, I swear"? I rest my case. 

Lilia, one of Agatha's coven members and generally a good egg, gets irritated about "misconceptions" about witches. But it's hard to know what the "misconceptions" are when so many witch tropes turn out to be true. Not long before, Lilia herself doesn't want to exit a death-trap of a house through an oven as a friend of hers was killed that way. Cute. But if the Hansel and Gretel witch existed in this universe, did she eat children? And why would it be so out of the way for the good people of the MCU to believe that witches have extra nipples?

I did enjoy Agatha All Along, and for someone without my occult-wary hang-ups it's probably even more fun. But spare me the whole "feminist coven" rhetoric. A good witch is a witch who works alone.  

Neo-Victorian or just set in Victorian times?

Once again, a thorough analysis of why Dungeons and Dragons – Honor Among Thieves is so entertaining proves too challenging (look, just take it from me, it's a fun film). So once again I resort to books, more specifically two historical novels I've recently finished, both coincidentally set in Victorian England.

Or not so coincidentally, perhaps. It's no secret I'm a sucker for this time period as a fictional setting. As some sort of hook on which to hang my reflections, I'll try to look at whether these two novels are "neo-Victorian" or not.

I only became aware of the term neo-Victorian fairly recently, after having unknowingly been a fan of it for years. Definitions I've randomly come across while googling are "contemporary fiction that employs Victorian settings and/or styles to self-reflexively invoke the Victorian era for the present" and "creative narrative works set in the Victorian period, but written, interpreted or reproduced by more contemporary artists". So, a few of my favourite things, in other words. 

If I understand the term correctly, though, it doesn't merely refer to contemporary fictional works set in the Victorian era. It implies a fascination for and engagement with "real" Victorian fiction. James Benmore's Dodger trilogy and Fingersmith by Sarah Waters are clearly neo-Victorian. I've also heard novels like The Thirteenth Tale by Diane Setterfield being described as neo-Victorian, in spite of not being set in the period, simply because of their Victorian vibe.

So can a historical novel be set in Victorian England and yet not be neo-Victorian? I'd say yes – and I'd also claim that The Other Side of Mrs Wood by Lucy Barker is a pretty good example. It's set in 1870s London and features a famous medium, Mrs Wood, who is afraid her act is getting stale and as a means to staying relevant takes on a young, pretty protegée. Eventually, though, the girl turns out to be a rival rather than a help.

I liked the novel for its fascinating dive into the world of mediums and its new approach to why anyone half-decent would attempt such work knowing she's a fraud. Mrs Wood is well aware that she doesn't really commune with spirits, but she sees her job as consoling the grief-stricken – a sort of bereavement counselling – with some harmless tricks thrown in to keep the punters happy (and the cash flowing). She firmly draws the line at "full-spirit manifestations" which she considers too exploitative. The new girl has no such scruples. It's a point of view, though more than a little doubtful – can it ever be OK to pretend you're talking to a dear friend's dead twin brother in order to comfort him? And what if you're found out?

On the down side, I thought the book took a little too much time on each storybeat and was too generous with detailed descriptions when I just wanted it to get on with the story. Personally, I'd also have liked some genuine spookiness. The mediums in Mrs Wood never get anywhere close to having a real ghostly encounter. I prefer medium stories with a hint of the supernatural, a "what-if-there's-something-in-it-after-all" element. But that's just me.

The reason I wouldn't call the The Other Side of Mrs Wood neo-Victorian is that there are no references to the classic Victorian novel, and it mainly appears to be set in the 1870s because that's when people were crazy about mediums. The Secrets of Hartwood Hall by Katie Lumsden is another matter. The author sets out her stall right away in her bio: "Katie Lumsden read Jane Eyre at the age of thirteen and never looked back." Neo-Victorianism is afoot.

The novel delivers on its promise: there are clear echoes of Jane Eyre and The Tenant of Wildfell Hall in the plot. The characters themselves are fond of (to them) contemporary literature and read novels by Dickens and others, often when it's thematically relevant. But of course it's not the same story as Jane Eyre. Its heroine, Margaret Lennox, may be a governess, but she has other ideas of what constitutes happiness than Jane.

Lumsden, like Barker, pulls off getting the reader engaged in her protagonist. Margaret is likeable (most of the time) and her affection for Louis, the boy she's teaching, is especially touching. I found Hartwood Hall a very pleasant read and downright page-turning as it neared its climax. The conclusion, though, was a little disappointing, with the "neo" in neo-Victorian coming to the forefront. You could see contemporary preoccupations shining through even earlier. The villains of the tale are Oppressive Husbands and Margaret's love interest is a gentle gardener, younger than her and socially beneath her, an anti-Rochester if you will. He's sweet and all, but I caught myself thinking rebelliously: "Does he have to be such a beta male"?

The novel's twists, while not being exactly what I thought they would be, felt less like "wow, what a rug pull" and more like "OK, so we're doing this". What with the implied praise of "found family" (not that the term is used outright) at the end, I found the modern pieties a little trying, even if they're by no means objectionable in themselves. No matter. I had a good time, and I'll look out for Lumsden's (hopefully also neo-Victorian) next novel.