Reopening A Long-Closed Door.

Hello! I don't imagine anyone was fretting hugely, but I have been absent from the Internet for the past week, and I'd like to apologise in case the lack of updates was, for some reason, making you weep and tear out your hair. I was in Brighton, sorting out As Yet Internetless New House Things, but now I am back in London for the holidays!

(If you've posted anything since Sunday that you think I should see or would appreciate, please feel free to point me in its direction, because I don't think I'll be able to catch up on everything I've missed.)

I owe ladybella so many thanks, because Pokémon Gold played a large part in keeping me from going completely mad from Internet-deprivation. (Why have I never trained a Geodude before? Geodude are amazing.)

The other thing that helped maintain my sanity, for which I have moogle62 to thank, was Neil Gaiman's Neverwhere, and now I am going to talk about it.

My edition of Neverwhere could have done with a better editor - the paragraphing errors are many and consistent - but I enjoyed it in a way in which I haven't enjoyed a book in a very long time. With both a full-time course and an occasional job that require reading, I haven't read many novels for pleasure in the past few years, and Neverwhere reminded me of what it is to love a book: being absorbed into the world, seeing events in one's head, caring about the fates of characters, having favourites, staying up too late at night to find out what happens next. I wept a bit when I finished the book, because I didn't want to leave London Below, and I can't begin reading anything else right now, because I need time to think about and talk about and generally digest Neverwhere. It was an absolutely delightful experience, and it reawakened something within me that I was afraid might have died years ago.

My journeys on the Tube are probably going to be much more enjoyable now that I have read it.

The Marquis de Carabas reminds me at points of Derren Brown, which probably isn't supposed to happen (I may already have a couple of Derren-in-London-Below snippets written, oh dear), and I sort of adore Mr Croup, which definitely isn't supposed to happen (I have a bit of a weakness for characters who take pleasure in using language, whether they're horrible murderers or not), and the whole subterranean world Gaiman has built up is absolutely fascinating. And it requires crossovers. It demands them.

(Is there much of a Neverwhere fandom? There really, really should be.)

The novel leaves many things unresolved; I won't be specific about them here, for fear of spoiling anyone, but, as a fan and a fanfiction writer, I appreciate that. It's good to have a writer present you with a world that not only doesn't lock you out when the canon is finished, but actively invites you in. That's something I liked about Avatar as well, and it's why I'm uncomfortable with Rowling telling us everything that happened to the characters of the Harry Potter series after the events of the final book. It's our world as well, Mrs Rowling! Leave some loose ends for us!


For those who haven't read Neverwhere, here is a terrible Death Note pun with which I came up whilst I was in Brighton (highlight the punchline to read):


Why is Light so behind on women's fashion?

Because he can't always read

Elle.

The moral of this story: don't deprive me of the Internet, because some truly horrific things may be born out of my efforts to amuse myself. (The other moral is 'read Neverwhere, because otherwise this entry can offer you only horrible puns'.)