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.

The Zombie Apocalypse, as Presented by PBS

World War Z

by Max Brooks
p. 2006

World War Z is a very odd book.

One of the very few ‘zombie novels’ out there, World War Z doesn’t read like a novel; it’s certainly not a conventional narrative. Penned by Max Brooks, the same author who wrote the tongue-in-cheek Zombie Survival Guide, World War Z is more like a history book with a narrative spin. Reading it feels like you’re watching a Ken Burns documentary, and if you’re able to immerse yourself in the individual stories well enough, it’s almost better than any historical reenactment.

It’s all very ‘break down the third wall’ as Brooks simultaneously plays author and interviewer, creator and character. Though the ‘interviewer’ himself stays on the outside, it is impossible not to gain some insight into the character through his introduction and his probing questions. When he states at the start, “if there is a human factor that should be removed, let it be my own,” you know you are about to read a series of accounts that are personal and very human.

Indeed, the individual interviews are interesting, telling and sometimes gripping as they approach the zombie apocalypse from all sides—early warnings, civilian experiences, military tactics—and from all parts of the world. I have got to hand it to Max Brooks—the man did his homework. With the exception of the zombies themselves, everything in World War Z is accurate and grounded in reality. It’s what makes the whole thing so chillingly believable.

On the whole, I appreciate that Brooks set out to give us a story that really breaks down what such a catastrophic event would look like on a global scale, because—admit it—we’ve all wondered how we might react in the event of an actual zombie apocalypse. Brooks’ presentation, however, represents an incomplete version of the whole story. It’s almost as if Brooks wanted to write a hundred different stories but couldn’t decide which one so he wrote them all. Nearly every one of the interviews could make a decent full-fledged movie about life post-Zombie-Apocalypse in and of itself. It’s the author’s prerogative to write it the way he wants to but Brooks did kind of spoil the possibility of ever getting to read any of these stories in their entirety. It’s almost as if he opted not to write them and decided if he wasn’t then no one could.

The upcoming movie adaptation of this novel sounds nothing like the book. On the one hand, that’s alright because a straight up adaptation would be kind of boring, but for the most part, it’s pretty disappointing that none of the characters are being written straight into the movie, killing the reader’s one chance of seeing any of these individual stories through to completion. There will be some parallel characters probably, names changed, but based on the previews, it’s almost a wonder they were allowed to still call it World War Z.

With the expansion of the zombie phenomenon into mainstream pop culture, it was inevitable that we would have to get creative in our approach. I’m still excited for this movie and any possible book sequels simply because of the new approach to an existing theme. I feel similarly about Warm Bodies, the upcoming zombie romance movie (which will only work if it remains tongue-in-cheek and doesn’t try to be serious). I’m not saying we should all start taking zombies too seriously, but it’s a force to be reckoned with, and it’s interesting to see people take the theme of living versus dead to new levels.

Many Thanks to the Woman Who Dumped Harlan Ellison for Inspiring This Collection

I Have No Mouth & I Must Scream *
by Harlan Ellison
p. 1967

This collection of short stories was my first introduction to science fiction writer, Harlan Ellison, lent to me by a friend who knew I would enjoy Ellison’s style. Indeed, the man does have a certain offbeat approach to science fiction which focuses on the characters over setting and plot. Ellison is not afraid to disgust his readers, to challenge them to form opinions on his writing. The titular story—which details the horrific, torturous lives of the five remaining humans in the wasteland reality that was the result of a vengeful supercomputer taking over the world—is an ugly, violent picture of a dystopian future of our own doing. In each of his stories, Ellison is nothing if not insistent that we bring our greatest pain on ourselves.

My favorite story of the bunch was “Delusion for a Dragonslayer,” the dreamlike account of a man’s immediate entry into the afterlife after living an unfulfilled life. Upon arrival, he is given the opportunity to achieve the more eminent life he’s always coveted, but only upon completion of a quest... which he promptly fails in a hilarious rejection of convention that I was not expecting. It’s only then he is confronted with the reality of his failures in life as the ‘dream’ turns into a hellish nightmare. I particularly liked the unusual intro to this story, a list of unplanned and peculiar deaths reminiscent of the protagonist's own untimely demise.

If I had one complaint about Ellison’s collection presented here, it’s that almost every single story in the bunch had a female character who betrayed the male protagonist or at the very least failed to love him. As a consequence, the female characters—even if they did nothing to deserve it—are frequently abused, verbally or physically, and not given much care or consideration, much less characterization. It’s hard not to wonder how much of Ellison’s true character is peeking through in these depictions; if I had to hazard a guess I’d say Ellison’s own experience with feminine betrayal inspired a great deal of these stories.

Ellison had the unique habit of preceding every story in this book—and the collection as a whole—with his own personal introductions, a little slice into the mind of the man poised above the typewriter. I found them to be a little cheesy but it was interesting to get an idea of what Ellison was all about when he conceived of each story. Near the end, he mentions that some people hate the intros, some people abide them, and a select few absolutely love them and wish he would write an entire book just using his real voice. As I generally liked his self-deprecating and conversational style, I probably would the idea of some sort of creative nonfiction book by Ellison, assuming he had an interesting story to tell and not one about the bitch who double-crossed and abandoned him. Otherwise, that might get a little tedious. Until then, I will stick to his detours into the darker side of science fiction.

* Bonus points for the best title I've ever seen on a pulp sci-fi novel. As soon as Zach told me what this book was called I knew I had to read it for myself.

An Unconventional Prophet

The Complete Persepolis
by Marjane Satrapi 
p. 2000

Persepolis is a bit unlike most of the other books I’ve read this year, not only because it is a graphic novel, but because it is an autobiographical account by the author, Marjane Satrapi, and covers a topic that not many westerners see a whole lot of in their day to day lives: life growing up in Iran from the point of view of a young girl. My friend Kristy lent me her complete Persepolis, which includes the first two volumes of Satrapi’s story. It covers her childhood and young adulthood during the war between Iran and Iraq, the Islamic Revolution, and Satrapi’s adolescence as a student in Austria.

I had the opportunity to read another of Satrapi’s graphic novels, Chicken with Plums, about six years ago for a college course. I wish I could remember the details better but I could not keep the copy I employed for class and admittedly all that is left is the vague impression of being impressed. Thanks to this and all the good press I’ve heard about Persepolis (particularly after the film version was released in 2007), I had reasonably high expectations going into this endeavor and I do not feel I was disappointed.

Satrapi’s narration and art has an extremely minimalistic style. The narration is probably due in part to a loss in translation, but the subject matter Satrapi covers carries no less weight. The stylistic choice works incredibly well for the story, because so much of it is from the point of view of a child and children possess a remarkable wisdom their adult peers lack. Viewing through the lens of a child offers a much wider perspective of the restrictions and complexities growing up as an Iranian woman. And so much about this topic was unknown to me that it was an eye-opening experience.

At fourteen, due to the rising tension in her country, Satrapi’s parents send her away to study in Vienna, Austria. There’s a moment as Satrapi is leaving home, never knowing when or if she would ever return, when you feel simply gutted. It took me completely by surprise and when I was wiping away the tears I never thought I’d shed over a comic book, I realized that the minimalist art approach really works for this story. Like the traditional Iranian woman—who is forced to hide so much of herself behind a veil—there is so much there beneath the surface that begs to be seen, and Satrapi offers such an intensely personal take on that.

The second half of the book has a different feel, focusing more on Satrapi’s awkward, lonely adolescence and highlights her inability to feel like she fits in anywhere. It focuses more on the woman little Marjane grew into and the outside influences that shaped her. There is a return to her home but you get the feeling that the story is not really done, and seeing as the real life Marjane Satrapi is still out there doing what she can to bring awareness to the rest of the world, I have no doubt there will be more story to tell.

The Poor Man's Magnificent Seven Heads Out West

The Outcasts Series

by Jason Elder

War Hatchet

Pistols and Powder
p. 2000

 

I decided to try my hand at a western series after finding a few of them on the discount rack of a used book booth at Gibraltar. After browsing for a minute or so I snagged the only two of what appeared to be a long running series, the Outcasts series, by Jason Elder, which is a damn fine western name if ever I heard one.

Upon further deliberation, I probably should have been a bit more scrutinizing.

What I thought were two random books in a lengthy series turned out to be books three and four... of a series that only lasted four books. I can’t find a whole lot of information about Jason Elder or the Outcasts series, so I have no idea why he quit after four books, but it probably wouldn’t be off base to assume there just wasn’t enough demand to continue.

I feel like Elder watched a lot of old westerns and movies to prep himself for writing this series, as it is chock full of cliches and offensive stereotypes. The plot is simple and easy to stretch out—you have a group of diverse characters thrown together by circumstances and they are traveling west in hopes of finding a better life in California. Here is a rundown of the Outcasts; we’ve got:

• Freed ex-slave
• Noble savage
• Kentucky-fried southern gentleman
• Disgraced ex-army man who can't quit thinking like a soldier and assumes unofficial leadership
• Drunken Irishman who likes to blow things up
• And... horny young idiot?

And those cliches are every bit as empty as you’d expect them to be. No one has a really dynamic personality and there isn’t enough time spent on any of them in the books I read, especially the so-called leader, who is a dud. After spending most of book 3 in a saloon, the horny young idiot gets particular focus in “Pistols and Powder,” but he’s like the poor man’s Joe Cartwright, without the sufficient wits, nobility or charm that character possessed.

Hilariously, Elder wrote several of his character’s dialects into the story. The ex-Confederate southern gentleman is full on Foghorn Leghorn, referring to himself with “Ah” instead of “I”, “Ah’ve instead of I’ve” and so forth. This dialogue quirk was distracting enough but it was nothing compared to the awful mess that was the freed slave’s dialogue. There was not a single line in which Elder hesitated to fuck up the black man’s speech, producing cringeworthy sentences like “Well, yo’ done found yoreself de right company... We am all orphans—in a manner of speaking.” I get the value of writing dialect, in theory, and I understand wanting to write ‘realistically’ but for fuck’s sake, these books were written in 2000.

In addition to this travesty of the written word, “War Hatchet” was the first book I read, and less than half of the book actually centered on the Outcasts, the rest being dedicated to an obnoxiously plucky orphaned boy and a trio of inept villains. Choosing to steer the focus away from your main characters in book 3 of a series was a mistake and possibly a damning one. “Pistols and Powder” brought the focus back to our main characters and offered a more balanced story, but it wasn’t enough.

The Outcasts series had the feel of an old-timey western television series, something that would have had a long run and better company back in the fifties and sixties, but seeing a series like this written near the end of the millennium seemed a bit outdated. Elder’s characters just aren’t interesting enough nor is his writing intriguing enough to snare readers so it’s not the least bit shocking that the series just ended without resolution. Did the Outcasts ever reach California? Did the southern gentleman open his own fried chicken restaurant chain? Did the drunken Irishman ever find a decent saloon? How many STDs did the young guy pick up along the way? Alas, these are questions which we shall never know the answers to.