I have too many hobbies, and my company hasn't sent me on a long plane trip for a while, so I haven't just picked up a book and read for pleasure lately. So I grabbed a book Karen had gotten from somewhere, a science fiction novel apparently called On Basilisk Station, by David Weber.

(I say "apparently", because that appears to be a mere subtitle on the front cover and the title page - but it's what's on the spine and the copyright page. The dominant text on the cover is "Honor Harrington", who I am guessing is the novel's protagonist; she is depicted on the cover in a Napoleonesque martinet's uniform.)

Since I have to be preparing for a trip this weekend, I shall review the entire book based on its first page.

The ticking of the conference room's antique clock was deafening as the Hereditary President of the People's Republic of Haven stared at his military cabinet.

So far, to quote Jack Black, off to a bad start. Already we've got hyperbole in the first sentence (one wouldn't expect a conference room to be furnished with objects which literally damage the hearing of those who sit within), but even more distressing, it appears to be a political novel. Yawn.

The secretary of the economy looked away uncomfortably, but the secretary of war and her uniformed subordinates were almost defiant.

Not sure why the secretary of the economy is in a military cabinet, nor why his title doesn't rate any capital letters, but okay. Obviously we're going to have an argument between the bean-counters, and the military who needs to Just Get Things Done.

"Are you serious?" President Harris demanded.

The technique of in media res can be an extremely powerful literary tool: it pulls the reader immediately into the action of the scene, and can provoke a feeling of chaos and confusion until the author makes it plain exactly what's going on. Unfortunately, the action in this case appears to be a budget meeting or something similarly gripping.

"I'm afraid so," Secretary Frankel said unhappily. He shuffled through his memo chips

This is how you know this happens in the Future, see, because they use memo chips instead of paper (or handheld computers capable of storing multiple files, apparently). Unless maybe "memo chips" are a crunchy snack containing Ginkgo biloba, but I'm guessing that's probably not the case.

and made himself meet the president's eyes. "The last three quarters all confirm the projection, Sid." He glowered sideways at his military colleague. "It's the naval budget. We can't keep adding ships this way without-"

Again with no capital letters for titles. I would guess that the futuristic society they live in is an egalitarian one, and considers capitalized titles to be a shameful attempt to proclaim oneself more important than one's fellow beings, but we already know we're dealing with the Hereditary President, who rated a capitalized title in the first sentence. At any rate, Secretary Frankel eschews the President's title altogether, calling him by his first name.

"If we don't keep adding them," Elaine Dumarest broke in sharply, "the wheels come off. We're riding a neotiger, Mr. President.

More evidence that we're in the Future: old-fashioned tigers have evolved into "neotigers", which apparently have wheels. At any rate, Elaine Dumarest, who may or may not be the secretary of war (but who is definitely not on a first-name basis with the President, because she is not in the Old Boys' Network), continues:

At least a third of the occupied planets still have crackpot 'liberation' groups, and even if they didn't, everyone on our borders is arming to the teeth. It's only a matter of time before one of them jumps us."

So now we have a fairly good inkling of what kind of government this is: although it calls itself a "People's Republic", it has a Hereditary President and is occupying a number of planets by force.

"I think you're overreacting, Elaine," Ronald Bergren put in. The Secretary of Foreign Affairs rubbed his pencil-thin mustache and frowned at her.

With the fourth character introduced, we finally have a physical description, scant though it may be. Mise-en-scene does not appear to be Weber's strong point: we know very little about the conference room in which the novel opens: not where it is, how large it is, what color the walls are, nor how it is furnished; nothing but than the fact that it contains an exceptionally loud clock and an unspecified number of people. Of these people, one is female and has an unspecified number of subordinates; and three are male, one of whom possesses a thin mustache, and two of whom actually rate capital letters in their titles, albeit inconsistently. Young or old, corpulent or slender, tall or short - we don't know. We view the scene from inside a dark box, opaque to sight but for a pinhole through which we can make out one single facial feature.

"Certainly they're arming - I would be, too, in their place - but none of them are strong enough to take us on."

The Secretary for Foreign Affairs - again, an interesting participant in a military cabinet - feels the "crackpot 'liberation' groups", or the neighboring sociopolitical groups, or both, are justified in arming themselves. Is he loyal to the People's Republic of Haven? He does have facial hair, a pencil-thin mustache at that, which immediately marks him as untrustworthy and devious by standard literary convention. Or cartoon convention, at least, as evidenced by Snidely Whiplash, Boris Badenov and every Mark Trail villain ever.

"Perhaps not just now," Admiral Parnell said bleakly, "but if we get tied down elsewhere or any large-scale revolt breaks out, some of them are going to be tempted into trying a smash and grab. That's why we need more ships. And, with all due respect to Mr. Frankel," the CNO added, not

Assuming Ms Dumarest is indeed the aforementioned Secretary of War, and that the Chief of Naval Operations is considered one of her subordinates, then the Admiral's bleakness doesn't seem to reconcile with the defiance mentioned earlier. Perhaps the Admiral was traumatized as a child by a mustachioed man, and it is the sight of a hirsute upper lip which has filled his or her heart with despair, as Mr Bergren's statement alone wouldn't seem to justify it.

The page ends there. Not a terribly auspicious start for a novel: faceless figures in a shapeless room, haggling over a military budget. It's just the first page of the prologue, so I'll keep reading, in hopes things improve in the main chapters, but I fear the worst.

This latest Mutant Enemy show marks a radical stylistic departure for Joss Whedon. If I hadn't seen his name on it, I wouldn't have any idea he was associated with it. Whedon's shows, despite their subject matter, have all shared certain key aspects: genuine chemistry between the characters, lightning-fast dialogue full of unique turns of phrase, and characters likeable enough that you actually care when he inevitably kills one or more of them off.

Dollhouse has none of these.

Furthermore, both episodes they've aired so far have require more than the usual effort to willingly suspend disbelief:

• Really? A wealthy businessman hires a high-priced call girl to negotiate the return of his kidnapped daughter? Really?
• Really? They only verify the background details of their clients after something goes horribly wrong, even after that background had indicated that the call girl might be placed in some danger? Really?

Also, apropos of nothing, Eliza Dushku wearing glasses and an updo looks an awful lot like Jessica Alba did before she decided she had to go blonde in order to get nab roles in major Hollywood movies.

To say that Dirk Benedict isn't entirely appreciative of the changes that were made to "his" character when Battlestar Galactica was remade would be an understatement.

And he's none too keen on the rest of the changes in the show, either.