On The Cancellation of Angel

No cards in the postbox on Saturday, but that didn't matter because I'd already planned to spend this weekend with my one true love: Books. In fact with one particular book, The Knight, a book that I felt I had to set aside a clear 48-hour run for because it's by an author, Gene Wolfe, who is right up there with Bulgakov on the makes-my-head-hurt-ometer. We spent a romantic afternoon in Puccino's just enjoying each other's company. To me, that's what Valentine's day is all about; yes, ideally we should be romantic all year around, but it's all too easy to let things slip, to not spare the time or the money, and it's good to have this excuse to spend quality time with those you care about. The Knight didn't disappoint me, either, since it managed to more-or-less single-handedly reclaim quest fantasy from the hordes of Tolkienesque tomes crowding the bookshelves by providing a spectacularly subtle adventure story and much debate about what gives a thing its reality. Now, that's what I call a committed partner.

But also over the weekend, the news broke that Angel has been cancelled, or more accurately that it will not be renewed at the end of this season. Much as it pains me to say it, I think the decision has come at the right time. Season five is working only in fits and starts, and never spectacularly; ending it now, I have some confidence that they'll pull themselves together for a big finish, and overall these five seasons give the show a kind of internal symmetry (one of vamp detective, three of myth-arc, one of [spoiler]) that I appreciate. Still, it's a weird feeling; another show down, another one bites the dust, and come May it's going to be a big part of my life that suddenly ups and dies. I think, if I can be organised, a series finale party might be indicated.

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Watching The American President having watched four-and-some seasons of The West Wing is a profoundly weird experience.