Genre: Urban fantasy
Series: A sequel is coming out at some point.
Page Count: 318
Publication Year: Originally published 1996, this updated version came out 2015.
Publisher: BBC Books, then William Morrow
Special Notes: I read the author's preferred text addition, which had an extra chapter and alternate prologue.
Summary: After rescuing a dying girl, Richard discovers there’s another world beneath London. He goes with the girl on a quest to find out who killed her family. It’s not interesting.
Alright, I skimmed the last 100 pages. I wanted the story to GET TO THE POINT. It’s such a long fetch quest and nothing amazing happened whilst they fetched. It’s impressive how it can go so many places and yet get nowhere.
This is my third-ish Gaiman book. I read Good Omens (co-written with my man Terry Pratchett) and listened to The Ocean at the End of the Lane (narrated by Gaiman). The former has good bits but I prefer the mini-series. I don’t remember much about the latter other than it being mildly okay.
I’d say that some of the problems stem from this book being written in the nineties when fantasy didn’t have as strong a grip on society as it does now, or because it was his first solo novel. BUT, this is the updated version, so he had ample opportunity to make it better and cut the fat. He didn’t.
This story is weak. Richard is brought from place to place as Door acquires bits of stuff to find out who murdered her family. Revenge can make a great story, but not when it takes you on a merry chase around, wait for it, Neverwhere. It’s show-and-tell instead of things that matter and contribute to a fascinating story and strengthen characters into likable people. And the ending is anti-climactic.
The goal of finding the culprits is watered down by Richard. Oh, Richard. Since it’s a portal fantasy story (one that starts in the regular world and goes somewhere irregular, like in Narnia) a lot of the world is filtered through his perspective. But all his wonderment, confusion and shock is dulled because I’m not wowed with him. I’ve read many fantasy books. I know the drills. I’m meant to feel his emotions but I couldn’t. No amount of the fanciful descriptions made me feel anything remotely close to wonderment. All I wanted was for him to get a grip.
Richard is a bland character. I guess he’s the canvas you’re supposed to paint yourself on. He’s not going on the journey; you are. I didn’t. Like I said, I’m used to this kind of fantasy and I’m more annoyed at his persistent lack of comprehension than sympathetic to his bewildered attitude. I even forgot he has a Scottish accent, his one redeemable quality. At the end he’s gained a bit of confidence but I didn’t see obvious growth toward that confidence. It felt unearned.
The description is good in that I can picture everything. But the places are so quirky and out of place it calls undue attention to itself. It’s jumping around saying, “Yoo-hoo! Aren’t I special?” instead of letting me be the judge. I like things to make as much sense as is reasonable and be smooth in its execution. Gaiman literally took two worlds and smashed them together. It’s weird for the sake of being weird.
It’s like Gaiman is so desperate to show how crazy his idea of another London is that he forgot to make it interesting. This whole book is a private joke he can’t bother to explain in an engaging manner. He’s laughing at the reader because he knows we won’t get it, but he has to share it anyway to show how wonderful he is.
But in reality, it’s not crazy or clever. For instance, there’s this underground (subway) stop called Earl’s Court. I guess he thought it’d be radical if an actual earl and his court lived there. What’d be radical is if instead of an earl you found Joe Blow and the Blind Hooligans serving hummus and champagne to a bunch of one-armed fishermen while only communicating through tap dance and off-key humming. They call it Hum with Us. The leader’s name is Earl. I’d rather have read about that than the fat earl.
Gaiman overwrites. I don’t remember if his other book is like this, but this one over explains EVERYTHING when it is not necessary. For example:
The angel took the top off the crystal [decanter], and poured an inch of the liquid inside it into a wineglass.
REALLY? I thought he’d dump a bunch of marbles from his ear onto the floor. I don’t need my hand held that much. I’m capable of filling in the blanks when it comes to ordinary movements.
And then there’s this golden description:
It was crystal-gold and clear and tasted like diamonds and ice.
So he drinks diamonds on a regular basis, does he? And ice is, you know, water, so it tasted like water? Or did the ice pick up the taste of plastic ice-cube trays and the freezer, so it tasted nasty and artificial? I assume he meant it tasted clean and fresh. That’s not what he’s saying.
I mentioned in a Witcher review how Ciri’s eye and hair color are repeated beyond necessity. Boy oh boy, does Gaiman know how to repeat himself. Door’s opal-colored eyes and elfin face are bashed into the ground. I can’t tell you how many times I was reminded of her strange eyes. I’m thinking, “But are her eyes odd? I don’t know; maybe he should tell me ag-, oh, there it is: another reminder.” All she is is her features and her baggy clothes.
And most of the women are GORGEOUS. Like, look at this woman, she’s soooooo beautiful. She looks wondrous. Just WOW. And what kind of personality does she have? None? Well, I guess he’d better cover that fact up with more stunning women. Yep, there’s another one.
At the end of the book someone is standing “at the top of the hill, silhouetted by the rising sun. Her cheeks were glistening.” Correct me if I’m wrong, but if someone’s silhouetted by the sun, you can’t see their face. They’re silhouetted, not illuminated.
People’s eyes flash too. In theory I know what that means but it is so cliché and cheap and ridiculous. Is he that bad of a writer he can’t come up with a better way of conveying emotions?
Gaiman tries to create scary and nightmarish things. And fails. His idea of spooky is a big animal with weapons sticking out of its hide. And a guy who eats raw birds and is kinda stupid. Or Knightsbridge (a.k.a. Night Bridge), which you could die by crossing because of the darkness. Aren’t those terrifying? Yawn. I’m making my way through H.P. Lovecraft’s short stories and those are scary. I didn’t understand how you could be legitimately scared reading until I started those. Maybe Gaiman’s trying for comedy. I’m laughing…at how un-scary it is.
He also doesn’t know how to write sarcasm, or humor in general. There’s this character who’s supposed to be dashing, exciting, sarcastic, and devastatingly handsome to boot. Har har har. From that description I’m expecting someone similar to Captain Hook from Once Upon A Time. I got the discounted, bargain bin version that was thrown out the backdoor. Here’s a sample taken from the bonus chapter:
The Marquis tried to sit up. The Elephant pushed him back to the floor, with one bare foot. “Beg for mercy,” said the Elephant.
That one was easy. “Mercy!” said the Marquis. “I beg! I plead! Show me mercy—the finest of all gifts. It befits you, mighty Elephant, as lord of your own demesne, to be merciful to one who is not even fit to wipe the dust from your excellent toes…”
“Did you know,” said the Elephant, “that everything you say sounds sarcastic?”
“I didn’t. I apologize. I meant every single word of it.”
What kind of half-baked, try-hard sarcasm is that?!
There are a few mildly funny things said but it’s pretty bad otherwise. I don’t think it’s all London humor I’d never get. There are isolated bits of “humor” where someone is laughing and it is supposed to be funny but I don’t agree. It’s not jokes I’m failing to understand; it’s just not funny.
One bit of good imagery is this:
Then they waited while the footman lit each of the candles on a candelabra, of the sort normally only seen on paperback book covers, where it is traditionally clutched by a young lady in a flowing nightdress who is fleeing from the kind of manor house that only has one light on anywhere, burning in an attic window.
But where’s the substance? Where’s the memorability? The skill? Tell me, because I’m not seeing anything someone else couldn’t write.
On top of all that, he is addicted to commas. There’s one sentence I took note of that has six commas and a semi-colon. Just for kicks, here’s a different sentence (also taken from the bonus chapter) that abuses the comma:
He made a small, courtly bow to the Elephant, and the Marquis’s coat, his glorious coat, caught the bow, amplified it, made it perfect, and made it the kind of bow that only the Marquis de Carabas could ever possibly make.
Why-y-y-y?
From reading this book I get the impression that Gaiman is extremely arrogant. But because he talks loftily and is successful, no one has told him he’s pretentious and boring. And so he continues to create things and inflate his ego. It sucks that he’s famous and so many other better writers are under-appreciated or unpublished.
Kirkus Reviews says it’s “Terrifying…Consistently witty, suspenseful, and hair-raisingly imaginative…Some of the best pure storytelling around.” Is it me?
There’s a sequel happening. I will not read it.
And is the word “neverwhere” ever mentioned? If it is, it’s only once. I’d rather have been reminded of that than Door’s freaking opal eyes.
One final thing: the woman Lamia, did she inspire the witch in Stardust? She’s got the same name and penchant for stealing life, so are they somehow the same person? That’s the only weird thing about this book.
Check out my rating here.
Comments