I must confess that it took me a while to sink into the novel's realm. My rule of thumb when it comes to deciding whether to finish a piece of literature or not is that I generally go by how the first few pages make me feel and then decide from there. These initial pages will make--or break--the book for me. If they appeal to me, I go on, and if they don't, back to the shelf the book goes. It was different for Neverwhere.
I gave it a chance. I curbed the urge to slam the book shut, what with the unappealing--almost trite--prose the novel began with. I told myself, hey, this is my first Gaiman novel and maybe his works do take some getting used to. Just because I absolutely adored his Smoke and Mirrors (which is a collection of his short fiction), I plodded on.
And I'm glad I did.
To the Gaiman greenhorn, Gaiman's works, I surmise (I say "surmise" because I have yet to read enough of his works to use any other verb), call for suspension of disbelief to be appreciated. As opposed to the magical realistic work, which assumes the "magic" in the fiction to be part of the "real", Gaiman's kind of fantasy employs "magic" that is more protuberant and intruding, and therefore, more difficult to swallow. I know Gaiman fans will probably protest; and that is why I started this paragraph with "to the Gaiman greenhorn."
It was all just part of the "how d'ya do" stage, though. Or, to be more exact, of the first thirty pages, thereabouts. Eventually, in this case, I gave in to the pull of the succeedingly superb, visual turn the prose took. The descriptions were something else, a quality that is most probably consequential of Gaiman's expertise as a graphic novelist. Needless to say, I found myself engrossed in the sea of words and worlds and possibilities given to me by the author. Richard Mayhew's journey(s) with The Lady Door became journeys that I wanted to follow.
I am in the book's final pages.
I'll be reading American Gods next.
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