Wertung: 6 von 7 Düstere Geschichte von einem begnadeten Erzähler.
NIEMALSLAND war für mich das erfrischendste Buch, dass ich 2002 gelesen habe. Durch die schnellen Szenenwechsel erhält man teilweise den Eindruck, ein Drehbuch vor sich zu haben, allerdings schadet es der Atmosphäre nur wenig. Gaiman ist ein hervorragender Erzähler und versteht es, den Leser tief in seinen Bann zu ziehen.
Die Handlung ist ziemlich abgedreht. Neben dem normalen London gibt es noch eine Parallelwelt, die ziemlich düster ist und der man allerlei makabre Gestalten trifft. Für Richard Mayhew entpuppt sich dieser Tripp als Albtraum, insbesondere als er erkennt, dass es keinen Weg zurück in seine normale Welt gibt. Er begleitet das Mädchen Door auf ihren Weg durch die Unterwelt und erlebt gefährliche Abenteuer.
Wer genug hat von dem ewigen Heldenallerlei und sich nach Abwechslung sehnt, ist hier genau richtig. Diese Parallelwelt hat es in sich und bestraft seine unvorsichtigen Besucher ziemlich gnadenlos. Empfehlenswert!
The night before he went to London, Richard Mayhew was not enjoying himself.
He had begun the evening by enjoying himself: he had enjoyed reading the good-bye cards, and receiving the hugs from several not entirely unattractive young ladies of his acquaintance; he had enjoyed the warnings about the evils and dangers of London, and the gift of the white umbrella with the map of the London Underground on it that his friends had chipped in money to buy; he had enjoyed the first few pints of ale; but then, with each successive pint he found that he was enjoying himself significantly less; until now he was sitting and shivering on the sidewalk outside the pub in a small Scottish town, weighing the relative merits of being sick and not being sick, and not enjoying himself at all.
Inside the pub, Richard's friends continued to celebrate his forthcoming departure with an enthusiasm that, to Richard, was beginning to border on the sinister. He sat on the sidewalk and held on tightly to the rolled-up umbrella, and wondered whether going south to London was really a good idea.
"You want to keep a eye out," said a cracked old voice. "They'll be moving you on before you can say Jack Robinson. Or taking you in, I wouldn't be surprised." Two sharp eyes stared out from a beaky, grimy face. "You all right?"
"Yes, thank you," said Richard. He was a fresh-faced, boyish young man, with dark, slightly curly hair and large hazel eyes; he had a rumpled, just-woken-up look to him, which made him more attractive to the opposite sex than he would ever understand or believe.
The grimy face softened. "Here, poor thing," she said, and pushed a fifty-pence piece into Richard's hand. " 'Ow long you been on the streets, then?"
"I'm not homeless," explained Richard, embarrassed, attempting to give the old woman her coin back. "Please-take your money. I'm fine. I just came out here to get some air. I go to London tomorrow," he added.
She peered down at him suspiciously, then took back her fifty pence and made it vanish beneath the layers of coats and shawls in which she was enveloped. "I've been to London," she confided. "I was married in London. But he was a bad lot. Me mam told me not to go marrying outside, but I was young and beautiful, although you'd never credit it today, and I followed my heart."
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