Love In The Asylum

While I was flying home, I read Neil Gaiman's book Neverwhere. And okay, it had a few flaws - the climax with Islington was a little too pat, for one - I still loved it like crazy. Possibly because I have a huge giant kink for abandoned subway stations and secret tunnels and people living hidden right under our eyes with their own whole world. It's urban fantasy in a very specific sense, and it really does it for me, and Neil Gaiman did it beautifully.

Also, I am a horrible person. I am so ashamed to admit this, but, um...I totally ship the Marquis de Carabas/Richard. Actually, I kinda ship de Carabas with everyone, because he's one of those characters, but yeah, mostly Richard. Someone stop me.




De Carabas smiles like a cat and licks the corners of his lips like he's gotten into the cream.

And Richard is used to feeling like the Marquis is a dozen steps ahead of him and laughing as he scrambles to keep up - but this. Richard sees, as if for the first time, de Carabas' eyes, gleaming knife-bright in his dark face, the broad press of his shoulders in his leather coat, his long-fingered quick hands, and his stomach twists, because he is doomed.

De Carabas is very, very good at getting what he wants.