"Neverwhere" review.
In any case anybody's worried, today is starting off much much much better than yesterday, despite the returning heat wave. I feel rested and inspired and...strong, somehow. Let's hope it'll last.
I checked my FList a few minutes ago and was astounded to find...three new entries. o.O It's good, though, because I'd been very frustrated with LJ lately (even though i did realize that my posts couldn't possibly be of interest to more than a bunch of people every time -- none in the case of LMDMF), and at least now the fact that just about everyone is away from their computers and frolicking in the summer sun (daredevils, I say, considering the heat!) is made clear. It's weird, anyway, how you can get pouty over something that you have long ago assimilated and understood, and yet keeps bugging you. Sometimes I think maybe I should revert to semi-public, but I'm always warry of trolls or unwanted people (like possible employers, one day) reading it. Anyway. I just thought I'd mention all this because after all this journal is supposed to be about my life and I don't want to shush down stuff just because it sounds wanky, else how will I be able to look back and see what really occupied my thoughts at that time?
Now for the real interesting thing. I'd love some discussion on this particular post because I was really happy at having so much to say about the book, but I have no idea which of you have read Neverwhere. Everyone should have, because it's an amazing, amazing book, but...
Mom, as much as I'd want you to read this, and even though I doubt you'd click the link without knowing the book, do not read this post. I'm going to lend you the book, because it is an amazing read and it's something you should read (after all, you like Terry Pratchett!), and then you can read this review and we can discuss it.
I was surprised to discover I had forgotten most of it, which meant that by the end of the book I was close to tears and begging under my breath for Neil not to leave us on such a real-but-bleak note. I would have liked it either way, because I do like the emotional trauma of being stuck in a life you no longer feel any link to (which is what I liked and disliked most about TLTwATW: that the Pevensies were thrown back into a childhood they had forgotten about...but that CSLewis never actually paid the slighest attention to the actual trauma this would have been for them) (thank the lord for fanfiction), but it was an immense relief (I do believe I actually shed a few tears of joy) to get the Happy Ending all the same. Which is weird, considering how twisted and bloody and cruel London Below is...and yet London Above appears so bleak and doomed in comparison that one cannot help but feel drawn to the dark and dangerous Underside.
I was pleased, too, to see that Neil Gaiman's first book wasn't flawless, far from it. I'm not talking about plot, because that looked pretty intricate and consistent to me, but about style. There are many instances where I stopped reading and sighed, wishing he'd phrased things differently; there is a distinct awkwardness between his descriptions and his dialogue -- the mixing of the two isn't always flowing. And of course his descriptions of Door make her look like a total Mary-Sue, which was pretty damn funny.
I mean, seriously:
Her cheek was grazed, and her dirty reddish hair was tangled; tangled, but not matted. And her eyes...Richard realized that he could not tell what color her eyes were. They were not blue, or green, or brown, or gray; they reminded him of fire opals: there were burning greens and blues, and even reds and yellows that vanished and glinted as she moved.
Not to mention her ability to talk to little birdies and rats. *chuckles* It's so hard, though, how can you describe all those things without making it sound ridiculous and Candy-like? Because it makes sense that she could talk to animals, and the color of her eyes goes pretty well with the nature of the people of London Below (I could have sworn there was a generic name for them but I can't find it back. Underworlders? London Below-ers??).
By the end of the book, I wasn't thinking about all that anymore, which makes me wonder whether he a)got better and better as the book unfolded or b)wrote such a compelling plot that I couldn't concentrate on the style anymore. My money is on the first one, but I'll try to pay more attention the next time I read it.
And so yes, this made me happy because it shows that even amazing writers always have room to improve...and that you do not need to be a weathered master of literature to write something compelling and magical (one might say that JKRowling ought to have proven that to me already, but in my opinion with her it's actually the opposite: her style leaves so much to be desired that it unserves her plot in the latest books).
I think they're planning on turning the book into a movie (I know they already turned it into a TV-series but I've never seen it*) -- and might I digress for a second and point out that Natalie Portman would be just about the most appropriate person to play Door?? --, and while reading it my main thought was "Dear god, I could never go see it." Because lord, I had forgotten just how grim and violent and frightening this book was. Not to mention gory. The fight scene in the Floating Market (when they're recruiting bodyguards), the Marquis' torture and murder, the sheer sadism of Croup and Vandemar...if adapted well, this ought to prove near unbearable to watch. On the other hand, what I wouldn't give to be able to see London Below, the grandeur of Lord Portico's scattered house, the darkness of the twisting tunnels, the absurdity of the Earl's Court subway, the labyrinth leading to Islington's sanctuary. This book must be the fantasy of many set-designers, make-up artists and costume designers, me thinks. If only I could draw...
One scene I really really really wouldn't want to see on the big screen?
The train doors hissed open. The carriage was filled with every manner and kind of people, all of whom were, unmistakably, quite dead. There were fresh corpses, with ragged cuts in their throats or bullet holes in their temples. There were old, desicated bodies. There were strap-hanging cadavers, covered with cobwebs, and cancerous things lolling in their seats. Each corpse seemed, as much as one could tell, to have died by its own hand. [...] The carriage smelled like a morgue might at the end of a long, hot summer during the course of which the refrigeration equipment had failed for good.
Going back to the sadism of Croup and Vandemar (who btw kept reminding me of the bad guys in "Hogfather", down to Croup's unexpected love of art -- even though in Hogfather it's "Vandemar" who shares that passion), I find it amazing that in the end, more than the rat-eating and throat-slashing and blood-hunger, the most traumatizing, fucked-up scene, is the one with the T'ang dynasty figurine.
Mr. Croup examined the figurine minutely, turning it over and over in his hands, a Dickensian curator of the Museum of the Damned contemplating a prize exhibit. [...] "Oh, fine, fine," he whispered. "T'ang dynasty indeed. Twelve hundred years old, the finest pottery figurines ever made on this earth.[...] Examine the color of the glaze; the sense of proportion; the life..." He was smiling now, like a baby; the innocent smile looked lost and confused on the shady terrain of Mr. Croup's face. "It adds a little wonder and beauty to the world."
And then he grinned, too widely, and lowered his face to the figurine, and crushed its head in his teeth, chomping and chewing wildly, swallowing in lumps.
*shudders* Chilly, I say.
Something else I had forgotten and which obviously pleased me to no end? Hunter. The line "She had given the Great Weasel's pelt to a girl who had caught her eye, and the girl had been appropriately grateful." still puts a dreamy, slightly horny haze in my eyes. Even apart from the "Yay! Gayness!!", I love that she's strong and beautiful (really, really beautiful) and a hunter in every aspect of her life. And doesn't need men without shunning them either, because that's always nice.
I'm also very amused that no matter what, despite knowing he's actually a man and all, I will forever see the Marquis as a huge anthropomorphised cat. XD
And I love Richard. It seemed to me sometimes that his so-called stupidity was pushed too far (you would think it wouldn't take so long for him to stop questionning all the absurd and just go with the flow...I mean, wouldn't that be a kind of survival instinct? His constant "dumb" questions made me weary), but I loved how anti-hero he was. Even when he kills the Beast of London Below, it's not that he's suddenly become a different man. It's exactly like Peter Pevensie, when he kills his first wolf and is named WolfBane, even though it was a mere lucky shot. It makes them, and the world they are in, so much more human. Not to mention it makes them more likeable, because nobody likes a show-off, especially when it's out-of-character. And his transformation after getting back to London Above was very believable too; I loved that going through so much effectively changed him for the better...but also caused the world he had longed for for so long to appear much less challenging than before. And of course, I loved his fear of heights, even though those passages made me seriously uncomfortable, especially the one with the elevator. *shudders just thinking about it*
And, just like with Pterry books (haha! I'm so glad because I've finally found out why people call him Pterry, instead of TerryP or whatnot, and it's much less annoying now) (for those who are curious, it's because of one of the Discworld books, Pyramids, where everybody's name starts with Pt. I'd totally forgotten that, even though I have read that one), or the fourth HP book, even though I technically should have known who was the culprit...I fell for every trick. I couldn't believe it when it finally became clear that Islington was the bad guy, and I couldn't believe the depth of his madness. That had totally disappeared from my memory and it was oh-so-chilling, but wonderfully described. It's believable, too, that after having lived for thousands of years, one might lose his head. I don't like mentionning Anne Rice but I can't help but think of the Lestat books in which it was mentionned that most of the oldest vampires burried themselves and slept for several decades from time to time, to try and fend off the weariness and eventual madness that came with their unending life.
And well, what else could I say? I loved everything about it. The supporting characters (especially Old Bailey and his jokes), the various intermingling hierarchies, and especially the system of favours. I love how it appears at first to be rather quaint and useless, but then, there are favours and favours, as proven by De Carabas. It seems a bit like an unending business, though, considering it's quite hard to tailor said favours for them to be the exact repayment of each other, and the Marquis ended up owning favours to the people who had owned him favours (ow, my head).
I wonder, is there any Neverwhere fanfiction? There remain so many things to explore in the book, and usually people take advantage of that...
I must say, I am delighted at the length and detailing of this post. Considering I didn't take any notes while reading and waited a week to jolt my ideas down, I had expected a lame five-lines-long review with not a single quote and minimal substance. It's still not mind-blowing, but at least it's a good overview.
*: o.O I've just gone to Wikepedia to check a few things and hey, I had no idea the series had actually been written before the book! That might explain some of the descriptions' awkwardness.
I checked my FList a few minutes ago and was astounded to find...three new entries. o.O It's good, though, because I'd been very frustrated with LJ lately (even though i did realize that my posts couldn't possibly be of interest to more than a bunch of people every time -- none in the case of LMDMF), and at least now the fact that just about everyone is away from their computers and frolicking in the summer sun (daredevils, I say, considering the heat!) is made clear. It's weird, anyway, how you can get pouty over something that you have long ago assimilated and understood, and yet keeps bugging you. Sometimes I think maybe I should revert to semi-public, but I'm always warry of trolls or unwanted people (like possible employers, one day) reading it. Anyway. I just thought I'd mention all this because after all this journal is supposed to be about my life and I don't want to shush down stuff just because it sounds wanky, else how will I be able to look back and see what really occupied my thoughts at that time?
Now for the real interesting thing. I'd love some discussion on this particular post because I was really happy at having so much to say about the book, but I have no idea which of you have read Neverwhere. Everyone should have, because it's an amazing, amazing book, but...
Mom, as much as I'd want you to read this, and even though I doubt you'd click the link without knowing the book, do not read this post. I'm going to lend you the book, because it is an amazing read and it's something you should read (after all, you like Terry Pratchett!), and then you can read this review and we can discuss it.
I was surprised to discover I had forgotten most of it, which meant that by the end of the book I was close to tears and begging under my breath for Neil not to leave us on such a real-but-bleak note. I would have liked it either way, because I do like the emotional trauma of being stuck in a life you no longer feel any link to (which is what I liked and disliked most about TLTwATW: that the Pevensies were thrown back into a childhood they had forgotten about...but that CSLewis never actually paid the slighest attention to the actual trauma this would have been for them) (thank the lord for fanfiction), but it was an immense relief (I do believe I actually shed a few tears of joy) to get the Happy Ending all the same. Which is weird, considering how twisted and bloody and cruel London Below is...and yet London Above appears so bleak and doomed in comparison that one cannot help but feel drawn to the dark and dangerous Underside.
I was pleased, too, to see that Neil Gaiman's first book wasn't flawless, far from it. I'm not talking about plot, because that looked pretty intricate and consistent to me, but about style. There are many instances where I stopped reading and sighed, wishing he'd phrased things differently; there is a distinct awkwardness between his descriptions and his dialogue -- the mixing of the two isn't always flowing. And of course his descriptions of Door make her look like a total Mary-Sue, which was pretty damn funny.
I mean, seriously:
Her cheek was grazed, and her dirty reddish hair was tangled; tangled, but not matted. And her eyes...Richard realized that he could not tell what color her eyes were. They were not blue, or green, or brown, or gray; they reminded him of fire opals: there were burning greens and blues, and even reds and yellows that vanished and glinted as she moved.
Not to mention her ability to talk to little birdies and rats. *chuckles* It's so hard, though, how can you describe all those things without making it sound ridiculous and Candy-like? Because it makes sense that she could talk to animals, and the color of her eyes goes pretty well with the nature of the people of London Below (I could have sworn there was a generic name for them but I can't find it back. Underworlders? London Below-ers??).
By the end of the book, I wasn't thinking about all that anymore, which makes me wonder whether he a)got better and better as the book unfolded or b)wrote such a compelling plot that I couldn't concentrate on the style anymore. My money is on the first one, but I'll try to pay more attention the next time I read it.
And so yes, this made me happy because it shows that even amazing writers always have room to improve...and that you do not need to be a weathered master of literature to write something compelling and magical (one might say that JKRowling ought to have proven that to me already, but in my opinion with her it's actually the opposite: her style leaves so much to be desired that it unserves her plot in the latest books).
I think they're planning on turning the book into a movie (I know they already turned it into a TV-series but I've never seen it*) -- and might I digress for a second and point out that Natalie Portman would be just about the most appropriate person to play Door?? --, and while reading it my main thought was "Dear god, I could never go see it." Because lord, I had forgotten just how grim and violent and frightening this book was. Not to mention gory. The fight scene in the Floating Market (when they're recruiting bodyguards), the Marquis' torture and murder, the sheer sadism of Croup and Vandemar...if adapted well, this ought to prove near unbearable to watch. On the other hand, what I wouldn't give to be able to see London Below, the grandeur of Lord Portico's scattered house, the darkness of the twisting tunnels, the absurdity of the Earl's Court subway, the labyrinth leading to Islington's sanctuary. This book must be the fantasy of many set-designers, make-up artists and costume designers, me thinks. If only I could draw...
One scene I really really really wouldn't want to see on the big screen?
The train doors hissed open. The carriage was filled with every manner and kind of people, all of whom were, unmistakably, quite dead. There were fresh corpses, with ragged cuts in their throats or bullet holes in their temples. There were old, desicated bodies. There were strap-hanging cadavers, covered with cobwebs, and cancerous things lolling in their seats. Each corpse seemed, as much as one could tell, to have died by its own hand. [...] The carriage smelled like a morgue might at the end of a long, hot summer during the course of which the refrigeration equipment had failed for good.
Going back to the sadism of Croup and Vandemar (who btw kept reminding me of the bad guys in "Hogfather", down to Croup's unexpected love of art -- even though in Hogfather it's "Vandemar" who shares that passion), I find it amazing that in the end, more than the rat-eating and throat-slashing and blood-hunger, the most traumatizing, fucked-up scene, is the one with the T'ang dynasty figurine.
Mr. Croup examined the figurine minutely, turning it over and over in his hands, a Dickensian curator of the Museum of the Damned contemplating a prize exhibit. [...] "Oh, fine, fine," he whispered. "T'ang dynasty indeed. Twelve hundred years old, the finest pottery figurines ever made on this earth.[...] Examine the color of the glaze; the sense of proportion; the life..." He was smiling now, like a baby; the innocent smile looked lost and confused on the shady terrain of Mr. Croup's face. "It adds a little wonder and beauty to the world."
And then he grinned, too widely, and lowered his face to the figurine, and crushed its head in his teeth, chomping and chewing wildly, swallowing in lumps.
*shudders* Chilly, I say.
Something else I had forgotten and which obviously pleased me to no end? Hunter. The line "She had given the Great Weasel's pelt to a girl who had caught her eye, and the girl had been appropriately grateful." still puts a dreamy, slightly horny haze in my eyes. Even apart from the "Yay! Gayness!!", I love that she's strong and beautiful (really, really beautiful) and a hunter in every aspect of her life. And doesn't need men without shunning them either, because that's always nice.
I'm also very amused that no matter what, despite knowing he's actually a man and all, I will forever see the Marquis as a huge anthropomorphised cat. XD
And I love Richard. It seemed to me sometimes that his so-called stupidity was pushed too far (you would think it wouldn't take so long for him to stop questionning all the absurd and just go with the flow...I mean, wouldn't that be a kind of survival instinct? His constant "dumb" questions made me weary), but I loved how anti-hero he was. Even when he kills the Beast of London Below, it's not that he's suddenly become a different man. It's exactly like Peter Pevensie, when he kills his first wolf and is named WolfBane, even though it was a mere lucky shot. It makes them, and the world they are in, so much more human. Not to mention it makes them more likeable, because nobody likes a show-off, especially when it's out-of-character. And his transformation after getting back to London Above was very believable too; I loved that going through so much effectively changed him for the better...but also caused the world he had longed for for so long to appear much less challenging than before. And of course, I loved his fear of heights, even though those passages made me seriously uncomfortable, especially the one with the elevator. *shudders just thinking about it*
And, just like with Pterry books (haha! I'm so glad because I've finally found out why people call him Pterry, instead of TerryP or whatnot, and it's much less annoying now) (for those who are curious, it's because of one of the Discworld books, Pyramids, where everybody's name starts with Pt. I'd totally forgotten that, even though I have read that one), or the fourth HP book, even though I technically should have known who was the culprit...I fell for every trick. I couldn't believe it when it finally became clear that Islington was the bad guy, and I couldn't believe the depth of his madness. That had totally disappeared from my memory and it was oh-so-chilling, but wonderfully described. It's believable, too, that after having lived for thousands of years, one might lose his head. I don't like mentionning Anne Rice but I can't help but think of the Lestat books in which it was mentionned that most of the oldest vampires burried themselves and slept for several decades from time to time, to try and fend off the weariness and eventual madness that came with their unending life.
And well, what else could I say? I loved everything about it. The supporting characters (especially Old Bailey and his jokes), the various intermingling hierarchies, and especially the system of favours. I love how it appears at first to be rather quaint and useless, but then, there are favours and favours, as proven by De Carabas. It seems a bit like an unending business, though, considering it's quite hard to tailor said favours for them to be the exact repayment of each other, and the Marquis ended up owning favours to the people who had owned him favours (ow, my head).
I wonder, is there any Neverwhere fanfiction? There remain so many things to explore in the book, and usually people take advantage of that...
I must say, I am delighted at the length and detailing of this post. Considering I didn't take any notes while reading and waited a week to jolt my ideas down, I had expected a lame five-lines-long review with not a single quote and minimal substance. It's still not mind-blowing, but at least it's a good overview.
*: o.O I've just gone to Wikepedia to check a few things and hey, I had no idea the series had actually been written before the book! That might explain some of the descriptions' awkwardness.