Lucifer

If you’ve read The Sandman you’ll be familiar with Neil Gaiman’s fictional depiction of Lucifer Morningstar. Apparently somebody over at DC’s Vertigo offices read the series and was so impressed by this fairly minor character that they decided they wanted him to star in his own eponymous series.

And that’s how we got Lucifer.

Getting someone other than Gaiman to write the sequel series was a smart move. Gaiman clearly had little to see about or with the character of Lucifer otherwise he’d have featured far more prominently in Sandman. Giving the book to someone whom Gaiman approved of ensured that a similar authorial tone would be used but by somebody who actually had something of worth to say.

And this is the point at which I mention Mike Carey’s name.

It’s not that Carey’s a bad writer. I bought the first dozen or so issues of his Uwritten series before deciding that it was the sort of thing I’d rather own as trades (I’m shallow) and enjoyed the single Felix Castor novel I read well enough. No matter how friendly he is with Gaiman he wouldn’t be brought in to pen the follow up to such a massively successful series as Sandman if he was a bad writer. In fact his work here is of a higher standard than the Neverwhere adaption he did, because he’s allowed to use his own and build on Gaiman’s work rather than simply turn something that already exists into a comic script.

It’s just that… well, he’s not exactly a big name is he? And I think that’s part of the problem. Carey is viewed as a safe pair of hands brought in to do a competent job. He’s someone who’ll produce something that won’t get critics fired up into apoplectic rages, someone who’ll keep the money rolling in.

I’m sure that image is part of the reason more people haven’t read Lucifer and part of the reason it isn’t more regularly cited as a must-read. It’s not because of poor quality because actually Carey turned out a pretty good series.

Lucifer gets off to a shaky start, much like Sandman did before it, but once it’s underway it becomes something far more than just a hastily churned out cash-in. With Sandman Gaiman explored the nature of storytelling, dreams and reality. Carey picks his own themes, destiny and free will, and explores them in a similar fashion. With a central character who was created to be the antithesis of God, by God, this was a clever (or perhaps overly ambitious) decision. Surprisingly Carey pulls it off.

Lucifer also looks at religion more than Sandman did. Gaiman seemed to use iconography more than the actual religions themselves (look at the gods he chooses to use from the Egyptian pantheon and what he does with them) but Carey actually delves into the religions as systems of belief more. Carey makes great use of the Jewish and Christian religions and adopts Ragnarok as a running theme. He also dips into various other religions and mythologies in minor arcs too. It’s a far better researched approach than Gaiman used, and you get the feeling things aren’t just being used because they’ll be cool or impactful.

One thing that Lucifer lacks is a single standout artist. Sandman was lucky enough to cycle through a number of very impressive artists during its seven years on the shelves. Lucifer never gets an artist that provides any iconic images or does some career best work. Perhaps that’s another reason it’s not often cited as a must read.

Lucifer was never going to have the impact its parent comic did. Sandman, the book about dreams and reality, had a far cooler concept. It also had Neil Gaiman, a man who proved very talented at marketing himself. That wasn’t and isn’t a skill Mike Carey has. But with Unwritten shaping up to be the best Vertigo series in quite some time it’s possible people may be encouraged to delve into Carey’s proverbial back catalogues to see what else he’s produced over the years. If that happens then Lucifer may finally be viewed as the hit it deserves to be.

Just don’t expect it to get out of Sandman’s shadow anytime soon.

Neverwhere

In 1995 the BBC announced they'd hired an up and coming young writer named Neil Gaiman to write a television series for them. Of course in 1995 Gaiman was not up and coming and was fast losing his claim to young. He'd been writing Sandman for Vertigo for six years at this point (it would conclude the following year when Neverwhere aired). He was a natural guy for the BBC to hire, but he was not a complete unknown.

Sadly several important people thought he was. That's what led to the decidedly slight budget Neverwhere received. And it was that slight budget that led to Neverwhere failing to live up to the hopes of its writer and his fans. The production just didn't have enough cash to make all of Gaiman's elaborate ideas into reality, which led to him keeping a notebook for all of the ideas he had that the show couldn't afford, jokingly telling the producer and director that he'd put an idea in the novel when he was informed of its omission.

Which is exactly what he did. If you've come across Neverwhere before it will almost certainly have been as a book. It's far more available, affordable, and well-known than the DVD of the series, aided I'm sure by Gaiman's status as a novelist who writes some TV as opposed to a TV writer who has dabbled in novels.

Both the TV series and the novel tell the story of Richard Mayhew, an Arthur Dent substitute who gets sucked into an unseen version of London (known as London Below) when he meets Door, a young girl who has the power to “open things”. The story mostly revolves around Gaiman taking the city's odd place names and reworking them, often into something more literal. This approach delivers an Earls Court that's an actual medieval court on a tube train; a street that heads straight down into the centre of the Earth and has an odd relationship with gravity; a bridge where it’s alays night; and an angel called Islington. It's the sort of thing Gaiman does quite often but because the novel was arguably the point at which he became a bankable name for publishers to associate with Neverwhere holds a special spot in his bibliography.

The comic version of Neverwhere is an adaption of the novel and not the TV series. This is because Gaiman feels happier with the novel as it contains all of his ideas. It is notably not penned by Gaiman himself. Instead his pal Mile Carey was roped in for the job, with Glenn fabry providing pencils, and Tanya and Richard Horie on colours.

This is a terribly faithful adaption, so much so that I was a little disappointed with it. Things are obviously cut from the plot in order to get the story into the nine issues (a peculiar number I thought) but for the most part the story remains intact.

It feels like a wasted chance. It's unlikely Neverwhere will ever get the comics treatment again (why would it, after being done once?) which means this was the one and only chance to build on Gaiman's creation with striking images and ideas that couldn't be afforded for the TV show or, crucially, were too outlandish to be described in prose. Gaiman writing this himself could have made it a must-read, his final iteration of a sprawling mass of concept and idea. That it is instead an adaption means that the focus is on converting ideas that already exist, rather than joyously throwing out new ones to add to an impressive creation.

The adaption has its moments though. Most are attributable to Fabry's art. He brings a sense of bustling wonder to the Floating Market, for example. The Earl, of Earl’s Court fame, looks satisfyingly ravaged by an excess of good living. Speaking of the Earl, there’s a lovely moment where a character leaps through a stain glass window in his court and comes crashing through a train window. It’s a minor moment, but one that could easily have gone wrong. The Abbey, Down Street, Islington, and the Beast and striking images too. His work is what makes the comic worthwhile in the first place. It feels like the art team are working together to emulate the work of Brian Bolland. If they weren't that's a good thing. If they weren't then it’s a happy accident.

Taken on its own terms Neverwhere is an enjoyable enough read. The artwork is excellent, so much so that it’s a wonder Fabry’s not had more work since. Ultimately, as good a comic as it is there’s little point to looking at it unless you’re a big fan of Gaiman or comics (or, I suppose, tie-in comics). It has things to offer, but don’t skip the book in favour of this. Do both.