Feature by PETE McTIGHE
If you’re a child of the 1970s or 80s, Doctor Who and Target go hand in hand. Each new novelisation was a lifeline. At the turn of a page, they whisked us away from rainy Sundays and detentions and divorces and launched us into all of time and space. They were all we had to relive our favourite adventures, or help us experience episodes from before we were born. There were no DVDs or Blu-ray sets or streaming services – the novels were all we had. And we treasured them. Now, those original books are artefacts. Little slices of history. Many of my first editions are over 40 years old, but they’re still loved, and they still resonate. Terrance Dicks’ stripped-back, energetic style soaked into my bones and influenced my own writing. Malcolm Hulke’s love of character, Ian Marter’s grit and Donald Cotton’s wry sense of humour all found a special place in my heart.
And the covers. Oh those glorious covers. The drama of Horror of Fang Rock, the KKLAK! of The Dinosaur Invasion, the blazing colours of The Loch Ness Monster. I could eat them.