Welcome to Part the Second of the three-part Gaiman-tacular! In this riveting installment, we take a look at one of my absolute favorite books, Neverwhere: A Novel by Neil Gaiman. I actually don’t own a copy of this book anymore, although I really should. I ended up giving mine to a lawyer from New York in South India. It’s a long story. Regardless, I’m sitting with my girlfriend’s copy on the desk here, and I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t tell her I’m borrowing it.

Anyway, now that that’s out of the way, we can get down to business. Last time, I made an allusion to Alice in Wonderland, and it seems like I really ought to follow up with Neverwhere because it shows just how much Gaiman has blown this type of story out of the water.

Our story starts with Richard Mayhew, a run of the mill, 9-to-5, 20-something doofus. He’s the very promising sort of nobody that corporate culture really jives with. His fiancee is what you would get if you were to cross Paris Hilton and an Oxford education. That is, she very capably helps run a museum in London, but she apparently does so with the intention of being seen at the museum. Richard tries his best to keep up with her demands for their relationship, but he even finds that his little rebellions against her tyranny (rebellions that always take place when she’s not around) leave him feeling unfulfilled. At least, until he takes his tumble down the rabbit hole.

One evening, as Richard and Jessica are walking along an empty street, a girl in rags suddenly appears as if thrust from a wall near the sidewalk. Against Jessica’s vehement protests, Richard takes the unconscious girl back to his apartment, where the figurative shit hits the figurative fan. Twenty pages and a vigorous brush with death later, Richard and the girl, whose name is Door, are in London Below, the world where place names are literal and strangeness is the norm. There they meet the Marquis de Carabas and travel the maze of pipes, tunnels, and sewer lines below all of London in their adventure to thwart the terrifying Mr. Croup and Mr. Vandemar and to discover who has been killing off Door’s family. Someone has been killing them off, you see. Door’s only clue as to why comes from a passage in her father’s diary. Following it, they seek the Angle Islington.

Now, if you have ever read Gaiman’s work before, you’ll know that half the fun of his stories is just reading the way he puts words together. His dry humor runs throughout this story, but it carries a morbid edge that never lets the tone quite become light. For instance, Knightsbridge is a subway stop in London Above, but in London Below it is an actual bridge. A bridge that is very dark. Because it belongs to Night. And sometimes it eats people. Cute people, whom you thought might become key characters and are actually kind of sad to see go. Earl’s Court, again, is a subway stop in London Above, but in London Below, it is an actual court. Held by the Earl. In a subway car. I think you see where I’m going with this. The point is that it is all very amusing to read but does not take away from the gravity of the adventure.

Magic in this one is slightly downplayed but fun when it pops up. It is thankfully not overused as a plot device. The references to actual London landmarks is also fun, and even if you aren’t a Londoner you can follow them on the subway map at the front of the book.

This is a great one, especially if you hate your life. If you see yourself as a Richard Mayhew, wasting away inside as you die the slow death of commercial preoccupation, you must try this novel. It’ll have you wandering down lonely streets, just waiting for some injured girl to pop out of a wall to save you from your stupid life.