Off to ‘Neverwhere’

Stephen King wrote about the power only a good story has: "to take us away to worlds that never existed, in the company of people we wish we were or thank God we aren’t."

I have read a lot of good stories since I picked up a book and discovered ogres, princesses, peas and frogs. Neverwhere tops my list. It emerged victorious after a few scuttles with a few other stories by Neil Gaiman. After all, if I would have a favorite story, it would inevitably be written by the brilliant Gaiman. But when I sat down to write, re-write, and re-re-write this essay, I was continually stumped by that infernal question: Why? Out of all the stories, from all the wonderful authors, why do I love this book so much? How does one dissect one’s affection for someone or something? And I was answered by the silent blinking of the tiny cursor. I was on my own.

So I took Stephen King’s lead and took a second look at life and a longer look at the story.

What if you had the kind of life you thought you wanted? In the frenetic rush of daily living, in the haste of getting somewhere, in this modern world of multi-tasking, and with our vocabulary involving words such as doable and pro-active, have you ever stopped and asked yourself, "Is this all there is?"

Richard Mayhew doesn’t bother. After all, Richard Mayhew has a job, a beautiful girlfriend, and an apartment. He has his own office cubicle, decorates it with neon-haired trolls, and rides the tube every day with a newspaper. On weekends, he trots after his girlfriend Jessica on her shopping sprees to Harrods, or on visits to the museum. One day, Richard – who has a good heart but is far from the proverbial buffed Hollywood hero, or the immortal noble knight on a white charger – helps a bleeding girl named Door. And since then, his world is turned upside down, quite literally.

Now this is where Neil Gaiman truly weaves his magic. This is the taking-away-to-worlds part. This is where I am taken in, sucked beneath so deeply I won’t even bother, figuratively, to breathe air until the last page. For beneath London lies Neverwhere, London Below, a place of tunnels and sewers, closed-up subway stations, ghost stations, and caverns; where things and persons long lost and forgotten reside, after seeping through the cracks of London Above through the centuries. Richard finds himself thrust into this world, Door’s world, where he must help her find out who had her family murdered before he can find his own way back home, back to where it is safe, and predictable, and familiar. Along the way, he meets an odd hodgepodge of characters. Anaesthesia, a rat-speaker, Hunter, a beautiful and lethal bodyguard, the Marquis de Carabas, a cheat and a deceiver, Islington, an angel. I could go on and on and on, but then, I would have to tell you the entire story, and that I leave to Gaiman. Of course, there is Mr. Croup and Mr. Vandemar, the most terrifying villainous duo I have ever had the pleasure to encounter. I say pleasure because you could actually like them if they weren’t so evil ("Croup and Vandemar...Eyes gouged, noses twisted, tongues pierced, chins cleft, throats slit."). There probably isn’t a city flourishing underneath wherever we are. No rat speakers, underground angels, and ancient assassins. Nor a floating market where they hawk "lovely, fresh dreams" and property "guaranteed properly lost." Neverwhere is dark and dangerous. Our world is lit by thousands of fluorescent lights and is, more often than not, quite safe. But the appeal, I believe, of a good story and the world of fantasy is not so much the escapism it provides as much as the common threads that inevitably bind it with reality: threads of pain, betrayal and loss; of the stubborn hope that a good heart, in the midst of cynicism and disillusionment, can still thrive; of the truth that great acts of valor and courage are made by flawed and very ordinary people; of facing the consequences of our choices; and of finding humor in spite of the fact that one is all wet, muddy, and completely lost in an unfamiliar world one will most likely never get out of.

It doesn’t hurt, if I might add, that Neverwhere also has adventure, mystery, heart, and droll wit. This is an indulgence, my favorite line: ‘"Can I help you?" said the footman. Richard had been told to f**k off and die with more warmth and good humor.’

So I should revise my question: Do you really want everything you have now? The job, the apartment, the love life – or the lack of it – the weekend gimmicks, the worries confined to beating the deadline of that darned financial report. Because if you find yourself plagued at odd hours by that niggling question, "Is this all there is?" No, it’s not a sign to jet off to the nearest underground city and go an adventure that you could sell to the highest reality TV bidder.

I’m about to graduate. In a few months, I’ll be looking for a job. I’ll find one, earn a living, and most likely try to figure out what I want to do with the rest of my life. And when I have that figured out, I’ll probably start thinking how I’m going to have enough courage and pluck to start living it. I’m terrified that one day I’ll wake up asking myself the questions I asked above. Or, whether or not I’m asking the right questions, and wanting the things that truly matter.

So I’ll take hope in Richard Mayhew. He thought, many times, that "Sometimes there is nothing you can do." But he also said, "I thought I wanted this…I thought I wanted a nice, normal life. I mean, maybe I am crazy. I mean, maybe. But if this is all there is, I don’t want to be sane. You know?" Maybe, sometimes, there is something you can do.

I may never get to Neverwhere. But I’ve been there in my mind. I’ve met Richard and Door, and the Marquis de Carabas. I’ve gone through a labyrinth, where a great beast waits. I’ve drunk wine with an angel. I’ve learned, sitting in a quiet corner, what everyone else in the book had to learn the long, circuitous way.

Which confirms Stephen King’s earlier statement. And if I might have the honor of adding to his words: Good stories may have the power to take us to worlds that never existed, in the company of people we wish we were or weren’t, but their greater power lies in making us sit up and confront the very nature of our own world, our own humanity.

"It starts with doors…I’d watch out for doors if I were you."