Evil People Doing Things Evilly

Neverwhere

by Neil Gaiman
p. 1996
  

Existing beneath the surface of London streets is a rail system that connects all parts of the city. According to Neil Gaiman’s fantasy romp, Neverwhere, also existing beneath the city streets is an entire culture of people who have fallen through the cracks of society, people who possess magical abilities unheard of above ground. Neverwhere is the story of one young man’s journey as he becomes part of this figurative and literal ‘London Underground.’

Richard is an average guy (which, of course, is the best kind of guy for these kinds of stories); he has an average job with promotion prospects, a serious girlfriend with marriage prospects, a decent apartment and his health. He is all set up for a normal and innocuous (if a bit dull) life, until he helps an injured girl he meets on the street. In an act of mercy, Richard rescues Door, a girl on the run from a pair of nasty characters who chased her to ‘London Above’ after murdering her entire family for their unique abilities in—what else—opening doors most cannot.

As a direct result of his brief interaction with Door, Richard’s life is slowly stripped away as he is first ignored then entirely forgotten by his peers, essentially becoming invisible to the world. Left with no other choice, Richard takes to the London Underground to find Door and her bevy of curious comrades and restore the life that was stolen from him. Instead he finds himself pulled along on a dangerous journey to discover the truth about Door’s family’s demise—and a plot that would forever change life Underground.

Though I own the movie adaptations of two of his other novels, Neverwhere is my first foray into the works of Neil Gaiman and I have to say, I like his ideas here. He has a fantastic imagination and it manifests itself in a lot of creative ways, such as the Floating Market—a gypsylike bazaar that changes locations and can only be reached by word of mouth, the mysterious warring class system that exists in London Underground, and of course, the various machinations of Door’s protector, family friend, and requisite scene-stealer, the marquis de Carabas, a harlequin-esque rogue to whom there is more than what appears. Gaiman’s best idea, though, is his ability to draw parallels between the various characters that populate the Underground and the very real homeless and disenfranchised. The fact that an entire world exists that no one can see unless they are looking for it, where people are lost and forgotten and overlooked, where you too could find yourself if you fell far enough... it’s all strikingly real when you think of how easy it is for the world to turn a blind eye on its societal problems. Gaiman just took this parallel many steps further and turned this land of lost souls into a world unto itself, one with a purpose and a style all its own.

I enjoyed Gaiman’s imagination when it came to setting and theme, but I found myself unable to fully immerse myself in the atmosphere of Neverwhere, littered as it was with clichés. Richard and Door and even the roguish marquis are charming heroes, but there’s nothing new about them. Richard is your standard everyman, whisked away unwittingly on an adventure. No one expects much of him and he is entirely unremarkable and yet, when faced with a challenge that hundreds have failed he inexplicably passes with flying colors, no explanation given. Door is sweet and innocent, a speaker for and lover of helpless rats, but she’s got spirit and moxie and it all just makes me want to gag. She never fully takes credit for destroying Richard’s life and no one ever calls her on it. The marquis is clever and keeps the reader on their toes. He was definitely my favorite character but even he failed to completely win me over with his charm, maybe because I’ve seen it all before.

By far the worst offenders are the villains, though. The treacherous duo that doggedly chase our heroes all throughout the book are the demonic Mr. Croup and Mr. Vandemar whose villainous villainy is shoved down your throat until you choke on it (Croup would probably like that though). I found myself rolling my eyes every time Croup was likened to nails on a chalkboard, every time Vandemar devoured a small creature, and especially every nauseating time they were respectively referred to as a fox and a wolf, two creatures which we all know are notoriously evil in reputation. I feel like the exaggeration was meant to convey to the reader exactly what bad news these two were, but it was just so over the top, I found myself not the least bit creeped out by them. In fact, in most encounters, they aren’t even allowed to engage the heroes physically, making them the most ineffective creepers in fantasy. Then there’s the lead villain, the head honcho, a literal fallen angel who speaks in wispy platitudes and is generally aloof to the fact that he is a raging douchenozzle with a God complex. I could go on, but I think you get the picture.

I think Gaiman was onto something comparing his ‘London Underground’ to London’s disenfranchised. I very much liked the idea that there is a society of people the world has forgotten who have found their own power and their own place. Gaiman doesn't just leave the door (no pun intended) open for a sequel, it's wide and gaping with a heavenly chorus of angels beckoning you through it without subtlety, and perhaps he’ll get around to it one day. If that happens, I for one hope Gaiman focuses more on drawing out that parallel and less on over the top characters having predictable adventures.