In my endeavor to read through all original Star Trek novels, I now find myself intersecting with the episodic novelizations published by J.A. Lawrence and her late partner James Blish. I must confess I have shied away from these novelizations as a result of my enthusiasm to explore new Trek material, in addition to a general aversion to book adaptations in the first place. Why read a book when the original features the lively performances of the original actors and the charming sound and endearing visuals of the sixties production. Unfortunately, my experience with Mudd’s Angels only served to reaffirm my preconceptions regarding screen-to-text adaptations—for how can one effectively capture the glorious camp and cunning sleaze of Harcourt Fenton Mudd!
Biases aside, Lawrence’s adaptations of Mudd’s Women, and I, Mudd are effective retellings of the original serials. Her portrayals of space and alien planets are picturesque and direct, and the many scenes set on the Enterprise are delightfully tactile, as though we can hear the various beeps and whistles taking place around us. The subject matter does encounter trouble in book form, though so did the original serials. Without the gravitas of Roger C. Carmel, much of the wry manipulation and crudeness filters through without the humour, casting the Enterprise crew as even greater fools than in the show. Of course, their misogyny remains as disappointing and pathetic as ever and gaining extra insight into Bones’ appreciation for the ladies' appearances does little to improve things. In sum, the first half of this book serves as a perfectly serviceable adaptation, yet in comparison to the original serials, it remains considerably lacking.
What makes Mudd’s Angels distinct is its wholly original short story The Business, As Usual, During Altercations written to tie the whole Muddy collection together. Drawing heavily from his previous reckless ventures, Mudd has returned once more with a scheme so astronomically large that it brings the Federation-Romulan-Klingon hostilities to a standstill and propels the Enterprise out into the stellar arms of another galaxy entirely. Lawrence distills the absurd fun of Mudd’s character well, offering a steady stream of charming and bemusing scenes throughout. The image of a steady stream of glittering android women tumbling out from a spaceship’s airlock, cartwheeling through empty space comes to mind. The Enterprise crew was rendered faithfully with the prominent exception of Spock. He wavered prominently between his logical Vulcan self, and a surprisingly emotive science officer. I believe the phrase, “...Spock snorted,” says it all.
Where The Business, As Usual, During Altercations begins to unravel is its rapidly expanding scale. What begins with some familiar dilithium shortages soon evolves into a galactic event of unfathomable scale before abruptly collapsing down for a sudden court-room reprieve. This structural contortionism significantly disrupts the story’s pacing, granting it a harmful directionless quality. Further, the large-scale storytelling oversteps the bounds of a Harry Mudd story, to the point of rendering the entire galaxy incompetent before his powers. Cumulatively, the air of fan-writing lingers as Mudd’s extraordinary endeavors exponentially balloon outward.
The story begins and persists as a result of the pathetic and misogynistic lust of Star Trek’s entire mining population, harkening back to Mudd’s Women. Returning to the bland barren environments of dull mining planets quickly tempers expectations regarding this original story. However, the sweeping preposterous influence left behind by a mysterious charming portly moustached man quickly helps to reignite anticipation. Carmel or not, Mudd remains amusing, at the very least, and the gradual build up to his eventual reveal, punctuated by Kirk’s bubbling exasperation, was fantastic. Yet the story soon draws from the muddy well of I, Mudd and places us back on Mudd’s planet among its half-naked android population once again. To facilitate Mudd’s newfound galactic presence, the ending of that original serial is easily waved away, providing him with greater android-based power than ever before. Lawrence's overreliance on the original serials is disappointing, especially as these elements largely serve to return all to the status quo.
Following the Enterprise’s acquaintance with the android society of the planet Mudd, Harry Mudd soon blasts away, leaving most of the androids behind. Subsequently, the Enterprise follows in pursuit under the guidance of one of the most contrived and bizarre navigators of all time, to the detriment of poor Chekov. The modest technobabble that is usually prevalent in these books steps aside for a moment for some pseudoscience quackery that bursts any and all suspension of disbelief. Hereafter, the Enterprise and Mudd’s game of cat and mouse continues, free from any allusions of grounded science fiction. There is a certain type of freedom associated with this rapid-fire galactic goofiness that is in its own way cathartic. Lawrence uplifts this space chase to such transcendent heights that it is difficult not to lay back and enjoy yourself. But she does not choose to end the story here. Instead, at the journey’s end, Lawrence abruptly attaches an extended epilogue about the evolving android society on Mudd’s planet. Manifesting as a loosely assembled courtroom drama, we’re subjected to a few chapters of detached postulating on the human condition, despite having spent no meaningful time with any of the android characters.
Altogether, The Business, As Usual fails to stand apart from the stories that preceded it. Harry Mudd’s unnatural charm is dulled by the textual medium, and his schemes are entirely too productive for one lone swindler. There are several moments of bombastic joy that rise above the mediocrity, yet the discordant structure shatters the pacing. It appears that poor Harcourt Fenton Mudd is fated to repeat his mistakes in the same ways, for all of eternity.