a friend of mine (a book-lover, one of the most admirable bookworms I know) gave this book to me as a present last year. We both love London, we both prefer to read English books in English, and she knows me well enough to anticipate that I would like this novel by Neil Gaiman, Neverwhere.
I confess I hadn’t read anything by Neil Gaiman before, but the name sounded familiar to me. And, as in so many other occasions, once you find out a little bit on the interwebs and mention the name to a friend or two and let your friends talk to you about the guy, you end up wondering how it’s possible that you didn’t know him.
I reckon most of the (three) readers of this blog don’t need an introduction, but let me just say that Gaiman is known for his writing of the acclaimed comic book series Sandman, and for other novels such as American Gods. Although you would be forgiven to think that his actual job is to collect impressive awards (Hugo and Nebula among many others). Even if you’re not familiar with his books, you may have watched some of his work: he wrote Coraline, upon which the screenplay for the eponymous film was based, and, most importantly, he wrote the screenplay of a little marvel that was too quickly forgotten: Beowulf. Oh, and he also wrote the dialogues for the version of Princess Mononoke that was screened in English-speaking countries. He has a blog since 2001, he is on Twitter, he possesses a beautiful, beautiful private library, and yet another library (you can zoom in to read every title on the shelves), he has given some long interviews and, to top it all, he is definitely much better than Chuck Norris.
Enough said about Mr Gaiman and his enormous talent.
Thirteen years ago Gaiman wrote Nevewhere, a TV series for the BBC. A bit later, and not feeling entirely happy with the many bits that he had to alter or prune during the shooting of the series, he would rework the screenplay and publish it as a 370-page novel. You can watch the whole series (six episodes) on YouTube (but I recommend you to save it for after you read the book).
But I mentioned London. What does London have to do with this story?
This fantasy novel is set in two Londons: London Above (the one you’ve seen: Big Ben, black cabs, bad weather, noisy tourists, gorgeous parks); and London Below (a magical, dark place under the surface where the disenfranchised fall; a world linked to London overground by tunnels and sewers, abandoned tube stations and hidden doors).
You will make the most of the novel only if you have lived in the city, or if you know the city at least a bit. There are lots of references to real areas, streets and landmarks, and underground lines and stations: Trafalgar Sq, Tate Modern, the City, Battersea, Centre Point, the ubiquitous off-licences and the curry houses… When the characters walk in London Above, you can follow them from Leicester Sq through Soho (“where the tawdry and the chic sit side by side, to the benefit of both”) and Old Compton St. And when they walk from Brewer St to Piccadilly, they stop to stare for a moment at the articles on display at the Vintage Magazine Shop. I have wandered around that shop quite a few times.
There are also nice references to the names of tube stations. There is an Earl, with his court, in Earl’s Court. There are black friars. Knightsbridge is actually a misspelling of the Night’s Bridge. One of the main characters is called Islington, and it is an Angel. We get to know one of the Seven Sisters. And so forth.
I was already enjoying all these references and word plays, when I read this about Richard Mayhew, the protagonist: “Richard’s offices were on the third floor of a big, old, rather draughty building, just off the Strand”. I stopped and re-read that sentence twice. During my last year in London, I worked at 80 Strand — my company was renting half of the third floor of a very large, old building on the Strand. But wait, I thought; it could be any of the other big, old buildings on that side of the road, or even on the other side. Then, towards the end of the story, Richard “walked over to the window, and sipped his tea, staring out at the dirty brown river” and I could discard all the buildings on the North side of the Strand. I could picture Richard perfectly, taking a break from work to stare at the Thames and the South Bank from that privileged position, as I myself had done so many times.
Gaiman writes concise, elegant and accurate. Also tender and funny. I had to laugh out loud a few times when I was reading it, specially with Mr Croup and Mr Vandemar.
It seems to me that Neil Gaiman would be perfectly capable of telling the same story indulging in a profusion of details and stretching some dramatic effects, but that he actually writes too well to fall into that trap. Of course, being a fantasy novel, the characters are not realistic, and there is magic, and sometimes a thin smell of deus ex machina floating around. Because of that, I think that you can’t engage with the story fully, on the same level you would with a historic novel, for instance. But it is interesting to note that Richard, the young Scot working in London who falls through the cracks to London Below, provides a useful counterpoint: he is sceptic and ironic about what is happening to him, he is easily scared, weak, wants to go back home. That makes him the more likeable to the reader, who can easily relate to him.
I wished there were better descriptions of the places in London Below, because sometimes I wasn’t sure what places looked like, the shape and size of tunnels, buildings, bridges and roads. I don’t even know if there is a sky above London Below or not; sometimes Richard and his companions walk in a direction that doesn’t seem plausible, and they end up in places you wouldn’t expect. Some features of London appear also in London Below (Harrods, the HMS Belfast), but because the “topology” of the “double city” is not clear, I didn’t understand if those landmarks are mirrored, or if the inhabitants of London Below come up to London Above and take them at night. It is a bit Escherian, I guess. But that might be on purpose.
The characters I liked the most are Mr Croup and Mr Vandemar, a couple of sadistic assassins, two refined torturers, funny psychopaths. They fit in the archetype of the short, cunning, talkative guy and his huge, violent dumb companion. Mr Croup loves words and talks in the manner of an old-fashioned gentleman, although his ideas are less candid (“The police? Alas, we cannot claim that felicity. A career in law and order, although indubitably enticing, was not inscribed on the cards Dame Fortuna dealt my brother and me.”). Mr Vandemar eats anything that has, or that once had, flesh or fur, and is immune to the suffering of the others. You have to love them from the first pages. Today I skipped through the first episode on YouTube because I was curious about how these two guys had been portrayed originally on TV. I recommend you not to do that until you’ve read the book — the image of them that gradually appears in your mind as you read the novel is probably far scarier and more complex than the image they have on screen (and that’s a good thing about the brief descriptions, I guess).
Definitely recommended (although, as I said, part of the appeal depends on knowing London and some of its layers).
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