This book by Nail Gaiman is an absolute treasure. Prepare for a deep dive into a world so magical it feels almost like Gaiman is witness-bearing to its reality as a travel writer rather than a mere imagineer - fairies, witches, foul-mouthed falling star-folk, pirates and fratricide aplenty - this is simply one of the most fun stories I've had the pleasure of reading for a while. Old stories are reforged on every other page and always rehashed with so generous a helping of Neil's own freshly-conjured brilliant quirks of ethereality that you may well find yourself, as I did, finishing this in only a sitting or two within a day of picking it up. I mean, lockdown helps with the time management on that front, but even assuming you're reading this and Covid 19 is no longer The News, I'm sure you can find time for a rollicking romp through the Gap in the Wall and find yourself adrift with Tristran Thorn on his romantic quest for something or other. I'm quite pleased and shocked at having got this far without dropping a spoiler so I'll sign off to stay safe on that.
Showing posts with label Neil Gaiman. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Neil Gaiman. Show all posts
Wednesday, 14 October 2020
Saturday, 5 August 2017
Good Omens
This book, a novel co-written by none other than two of the biggest cleverest funniest most inventive authors in modern British pop-fantasy comedy - Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett - is, if you know who they are, exactly as good (if not better) as you'd expect such a collaborative work to be. It's a decently-long novel but I steamed through it in three days (of evening reading, as daytime-reading is still given over to dissertation non-fiction, as you may have gathered from the fact that this blog has basically become just about Kurdistan lately) because it's just so flipping excellent.
To sum up what it's about - the end of the world is nigh, but the Antichrist becomes misplaced, and so an angel called Aziraphale, a demon called Crowley, the last living descendant of Agnes Nutter (a witch who predicted very nice-and-accurately all the things that would happen in the runup to all of this) and the last living descendant of the witch-finder who burned Agnes Nutter at the stake, all find themselves trying to prevent a cockup of literally apocalyptic dimensions. To say this novel is irreverent would be both completely technically true and a gross misjudgement of the value of being able to laugh at stuff - literally using the eschatological framework of the Biblical account from the prophesy of Revelation, adapted by Gaiman-Pratchett imagination to real-world workings that are as hilarious as they are commonsense and as thought-provoking as they are almost throwaway; this novel is just jam-packed with incredibly clever and incredibly funny characters, plot elements, turns of phrase, and just generally ridiculously well-concocted fictional happenings set against the backdrop of Christian world-endingness.
I don't really have any strong thoughts or reactions to it - apart from that it's brilliant and you would probably love it, given a particular sense of humour. Like, if the idea that the apocalyptic horseman Famine would have spent most of the later-twentieth century developing middle-class hyper-health-conscious diet schemes and supplements to stave off boredom while waiting for the show to begin strikes you as funny, then this is the book for you.
Edit [August 16th]: I don't flipping believe it. I literally finished this book, that's been out for over a quarter of a century, less than a fortnight ago, and then something incredible like this happens... hopefully it will be a better screen-adaptation than Neverwhere.
[edit - July 2019]: I just had to sign up for a free Amazon Prime account to be able to see this, which much like the book I binged in a sitting or two. They did it justice. Still not as good as the book as these things almost never are but it comes closer than most.
To sum up what it's about - the end of the world is nigh, but the Antichrist becomes misplaced, and so an angel called Aziraphale, a demon called Crowley, the last living descendant of Agnes Nutter (a witch who predicted very nice-and-accurately all the things that would happen in the runup to all of this) and the last living descendant of the witch-finder who burned Agnes Nutter at the stake, all find themselves trying to prevent a cockup of literally apocalyptic dimensions. To say this novel is irreverent would be both completely technically true and a gross misjudgement of the value of being able to laugh at stuff - literally using the eschatological framework of the Biblical account from the prophesy of Revelation, adapted by Gaiman-Pratchett imagination to real-world workings that are as hilarious as they are commonsense and as thought-provoking as they are almost throwaway; this novel is just jam-packed with incredibly clever and incredibly funny characters, plot elements, turns of phrase, and just generally ridiculously well-concocted fictional happenings set against the backdrop of Christian world-endingness.
I don't really have any strong thoughts or reactions to it - apart from that it's brilliant and you would probably love it, given a particular sense of humour. Like, if the idea that the apocalyptic horseman Famine would have spent most of the later-twentieth century developing middle-class hyper-health-conscious diet schemes and supplements to stave off boredom while waiting for the show to begin strikes you as funny, then this is the book for you.
Edit [August 16th]: I don't flipping believe it. I literally finished this book, that's been out for over a quarter of a century, less than a fortnight ago, and then something incredible like this happens... hopefully it will be a better screen-adaptation than Neverwhere.
[edit - July 2019]: I just had to sign up for a free Amazon Prime account to be able to see this, which much like the book I binged in a sitting or two. They did it justice. Still not as good as the book as these things almost never are but it comes closer than most.
Thursday, 18 September 2014
Neverwhere
This book, the stunningly cunningly twistily mistily delightful first novel from storyteller extraordinaire Neil Gaiman, was (you can probably tell from the parts of this sentence you've already read) very enjoyable indeed. I picked it up second-hand years ago, and in this last week of my abhorrently long student summer, ploughed through it in a couple of days. I loved it.*
To explain what the book is about would basically require a full synopsis, which I cannot be bothered to write and you shouldn't be bothered to read. You should just read the book. It's brilliant. The basic premise though is that another London exists, under and inbetween the gaps and forgotten areas of England's capital; this London Below (as it is called) is populated by weird conglomerations of cultures and peoples left behind in time and reality, by stern indefatigable warriors and people who idolise rats and immortal hitmen (Mr Croup and Mr Vandemar are hilarious and terrifying in equal measure) and medieval courts based on the Underground and black tea-drinking monks and dark life-sucking temptresses and some fantastically pompous dude called the Marquis de Carabas and even an angel called Islington. By accident, Richard Mayhew (a man with the stereotypical yuppie lifestyle and an appropriate unease at it) finds himself inextricably sucked into this world, and caught up in the murder plot of Door, the last surviving daughter from a noble family with the magical powers of opening anything. Richard, dragged along by Door, the Marquis and Hunter (a bodyguard with a penchant for slaying giant beasts), must come to terms with the weird new magical London he finds himself stuck in, and if possible return to his old life - all the while accompanying the others on their increasingly-dangerous quest to avenge Door's family.
In terms of deeper thoughts and reflections on the content and themes and such of what I've read (which is what this blog's meant to be about) - well, I don't have any. Sorry. This book doesn't probe at concepts, it's not philosophical, it has no real agenda and makes no real points**, and I actually really enjoyed that about it. Sometimes it's nicer for a novel not to have one. It's only a story, but that doesn't diminish it, as in fully embracing what it is, it's a superb one. Neil Gaiman is probably one of the most genuinely imaginative writers alive. The world created is so unique, so inventive in odd yet comprehensible ways, so filled with characters real enough to care about (even the bad ones); the prose is intelligent and witty and deliciously descriptive; the plot is tight and neat and winds at the perfect pace to a fully satisfying resolution. It's punky and ethereal and postmodern and easily-accessible and wondrously entertaining.
If you like great stories, read this book.
* A few days later, I acquired the 1996 TV-miniseries that Neil Gaiman originally wrote Neverwhere as (the novel was an extended in-depth adaptation of his previous work), only to be thoroughly disappointed. DO NOT WATCH THE MINISERIES. Almost everything about it is horrendous, except the writing (obviously) and the fact that Johnson from Peep Show plays the Marquis de Carabas and Malcolm Tucker plays the Angel Islington.
** Other than arguably a slight comment about individualism leading to antisociality, isolation and lack of interpersonal compassion in modern urban culture; the contrasts between London Below and London portrayed paint a picture of our normal world as one in which it becomes supremely easy to ignore everything and everyone outside one's own neat little life, which makes us both boring and complacent to others' ills. This isn't a central theme, though it is interesting and well-put (if somewhat socioeconomicoculturally (is that a word? I'm having that as a word) outdated, as a post-2008-recession reader).
To explain what the book is about would basically require a full synopsis, which I cannot be bothered to write and you shouldn't be bothered to read. You should just read the book. It's brilliant. The basic premise though is that another London exists, under and inbetween the gaps and forgotten areas of England's capital; this London Below (as it is called) is populated by weird conglomerations of cultures and peoples left behind in time and reality, by stern indefatigable warriors and people who idolise rats and immortal hitmen (Mr Croup and Mr Vandemar are hilarious and terrifying in equal measure) and medieval courts based on the Underground and black tea-drinking monks and dark life-sucking temptresses and some fantastically pompous dude called the Marquis de Carabas and even an angel called Islington. By accident, Richard Mayhew (a man with the stereotypical yuppie lifestyle and an appropriate unease at it) finds himself inextricably sucked into this world, and caught up in the murder plot of Door, the last surviving daughter from a noble family with the magical powers of opening anything. Richard, dragged along by Door, the Marquis and Hunter (a bodyguard with a penchant for slaying giant beasts), must come to terms with the weird new magical London he finds himself stuck in, and if possible return to his old life - all the while accompanying the others on their increasingly-dangerous quest to avenge Door's family.
In terms of deeper thoughts and reflections on the content and themes and such of what I've read (which is what this blog's meant to be about) - well, I don't have any. Sorry. This book doesn't probe at concepts, it's not philosophical, it has no real agenda and makes no real points**, and I actually really enjoyed that about it. Sometimes it's nicer for a novel not to have one. It's only a story, but that doesn't diminish it, as in fully embracing what it is, it's a superb one. Neil Gaiman is probably one of the most genuinely imaginative writers alive. The world created is so unique, so inventive in odd yet comprehensible ways, so filled with characters real enough to care about (even the bad ones); the prose is intelligent and witty and deliciously descriptive; the plot is tight and neat and winds at the perfect pace to a fully satisfying resolution. It's punky and ethereal and postmodern and easily-accessible and wondrously entertaining.
If you like great stories, read this book.
* A few days later, I acquired the 1996 TV-miniseries that Neil Gaiman originally wrote Neverwhere as (the novel was an extended in-depth adaptation of his previous work), only to be thoroughly disappointed. DO NOT WATCH THE MINISERIES. Almost everything about it is horrendous, except the writing (obviously) and the fact that Johnson from Peep Show plays the Marquis de Carabas and Malcolm Tucker plays the Angel Islington.
** Other than arguably a slight comment about individualism leading to antisociality, isolation and lack of interpersonal compassion in modern urban culture; the contrasts between London Below and London portrayed paint a picture of our normal world as one in which it becomes supremely easy to ignore everything and everyone outside one's own neat little life, which makes us both boring and complacent to others' ills. This isn't a central theme, though it is interesting and well-put (if somewhat socioeconomicoculturally (is that a word? I'm having that as a word) outdated, as a post-2008-recession reader).
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