So, this is urban fantasy... hm.

Neil Gaiman is an author I've always felt ought to be right up my alley. A writer revered by geeks, with a sense of humour, who's written for Doctor Who – what's not to like? What's more, I'm a fan of his Who contributions. That is, "The Doctor's Wife" is a great deal better than "Nightmare in Silver", which (I agree with everyone else here) got the Cybermen wrong. Nevertheless, the latter episode has highlights too, such as an atmospheric setting, a surprisingly loyal punishment platoon and the character Porridge, whose story of how a whole galaxy was blown up just to halt the Cybermen's invasion has stuck in my mind: all those lives lost, and the person he pities most is the poor blighter who had to push the button.

Maybe, though, my appreciation of the great Gaiman has been marred by the expectation that he should be right up my alley. When a TV series he's involved in doesn't hook me right away, I'm more disappointed than if the same script had been written by some random, unknown fantasy writer. Consequently, I make fewer allowances, and give up more easily, maybe a bit too easily. I haven't seen more than two episodes of Good Omens, though I'm continually telling myself I will watch the rest some day. As for The Sandman, I gave up after four episodes and will probably not watch the rest as, unlike Good Omens, it was Very Serious throughout (also, the Sandman himself is annoying). In both TV series, Gaiman mines Christian lore with an insouciance that makes me fidget – especially when things get brimstone-related – and (a related source of discomfort, this), he can go very dark at times.

My track record with Gaiman's books is better. I read and enjoyed his Norse Mythology (why "Norse" though, this Swede has to ask?), which actually taught me a lot, and me a Scandinavian. And now, lately, I've read Neverwhere, which is where the urban fantasy comes in. I did get properly into it, eventually. But it took a while.

Now, don't get me wrong. Getting through the first part of the novel was not a hardship. Gaiman is a very good writer, and as a reader you feel you're in safe hands. His sense of humour shines through, even when things are serious; thankfully, there's none of the dourness of The Sandman about Neverwhere. Nevertheless, through a large part of the book I felt more attracted to the idea of a secret realm hidden under the streets of London than Gaiman's description of it.

The hero of the novel, Richard Mayhew, has his world turned upside down when he helps an injured girl called Door (to all appearances a down-and-out) and misses an important dinner with his fiancée and her boss in the process. His fiancée dumps him, but that is the least of his problems. Suddenly, without knowing why, he loses his foothold on reality, and he realises he has to find Door again if he is to have any chance of getting his life back. With a bit of luck, he manages to make his way into London Below – where Door comes from –, locate her and join her and her small band of associates in a quest to find out who killed her family.

Sounds exciting, right? Especially as in London Below, many London landmarks and underground stations have a more literal meaning, which is fun not only for Londoners but for enthusiastic London tourists like me. There is, for instance, a real Earl's Court, and an order of Black Friars plays an important part in the proceedings. The problem for me is that London Below, though a place of adventure, is also decidedly down-at-heel. Its inhabitants may be familiar with strange and magical things, but square meals and nice clothes are in short supply.

In Gaiman's Introduction, he talks about two goals he had with Neverwhere. He wanted "to write a book that would do for adults what the books I had loved when younger, books like Alice in Wonderland, or the Narnia books, or The Wizard of Oz, did for me as a kid." But he also wanted to "talk about the people who fall through the cracks". Now, it's a bit tricky to pull off both these goals at once. There's a limit to how Narnia-like a magic realm that's also a metaphor for homelessness can get. 

For the first half of the book, I actually thought that Gaiman managed his worthy talking-about-the dispossessed-goal better than the getting-away-to-a-magic-land goal. The description of how Richard helplessly watches as his old life disintegrates, while nobody pays any attention to him, was a clever way of showing what slipping through the cracks might feel like. But as for the magic wardrobe feeling, classic fantasy realms like Wonderland and Narnia – though filled with their own problems and danger – are actually places you would like to visit (albeit perhaps not for long). They are also distinctly separate from the everyday. I couldn't help thinking of the Epic Rap Battle on YouTube between George R.R. Martin and J.R.R. Tolkien where the latter points out: "News flash: the genre's called fantasy. It's meant to be unrealistic, you myopic manatee!"

For all that, Gaiman's style is captivating, his characters are colourful and the world building is impressive; it's amazing it was all done for a single book (and a TV series, admittedly). I was sufficiently swept away by the story to savour the "what?! Nooo" moments, and by the end I wanted Richard to stay put with Door. Mind you, more because I shipped them than because I suddenly found London Below entrancing. If urban fantasy is always this gritty, I might be better off sticking to the fairy-tale-based kind, for the most part at least. Mind you, if there's ever a sequel to Neverwhere, I'll read it.

Finally, the final season of The Crown

It's shocking, I know, but I won't particularly miss The Crown. Even its best seasons (by common consent seasons one and two) didn't capture me as much as one could have expected, seeing that it's a historical drama stuffed to the gills with British quality actors. 

It's arguable whether the series has steadily declined, or whether it went through its roughest patch round about season four. I admit that the two last seasons have felt a little half-hearted, as if Peter Morgan was losing interest in the whole enterprise. On the other hand, I have personally appreciated the mellower tone towards the British Royal family compared to the disdain bordering on cold dislike shown during parts of the Olivia Colman seasons.

The gentle tone was the greatest positive for me in season six (that and the always stellar acting). It felt as if Morgan had decided, all of a sudden, that he had been too mean to everyone, and wanted to make amends. Imelda Staunton's Queen continues to be more likeable than Colman's, if perhaps a little dull. Princess Diana, who was depicted as a nervy and egocentric attention-seeker in season five, suddenly gains counsellor-like wisdom in her final episodes as she gives a sweet-natured Dodi good(ish) advice on how to stand up to his father. Morgan appears to have had a bit of a soft spot for Camilla throughout, and in season six he frankly ships her and Charles. Prince Philip, whose supposed failings as a father have played an important part during previous seasons, gets a chance to redeem himself by touchingly if implausibly brokering a peace between Charles and the bereaved William.

I also liked that the relationship between the Queen and Princess Margaret, which has been given a lot of screen time throughout the series, is permitted to end on a loving note. The episode where Margaret dies is actually the only one that made me tear up a bit. No more unnecessary recriminations over long-ago love affairs, thankfully. The season ends in a pretty dignified way, too, and the episode title "Sleep, Dearie, Sleep" brought a grin to the face of a Dearie (as in Rumple-loving Once Upon a Time fan) like myself. It's not supposed to, as it's named after a funeral dirge, but one takes one's pleasures where one can.

All in all, however, this season had considerable weaknesses. For one thing, it felt uncomfortably intrusive. For pity's sake, I don't have to be there during the whole last phone call between Princess Diana and her boys, or when their father tells them of her death (even if the sound was drowned out during the latter scene). I don't have to see Margaret's scalding of her feet during a stroke, or her painful rehabilitation efforts, in such detail. I don't have to stand vigil with the Queen at her mother's deathbed for what feels like real time. 

Oddly enough, this intrusiveness could be an effect of Morgan trying to show due respect for tragedies that actually happened. I caught myself thinking, in the first of two episodes dealing with the time just after Diana's death, "Why can't they just show 'six months later' or something?". In a wholly fictional drama like Downton Abbey, there probably would have been a "six months later", but Morgan may have wanted to give a real-life tragedy its due weight by dwelling on it a lot. It's not entirely successful; instead, it highlights the problems of "Downton-ising" real-life dramas from not so long ago at all.

For my part, I didn't mind the controversial "ghost" scenes where first Charles and then the Queen have a talk with the already-dead Diana, and the corresponding scene between Mohamed Al-Fayed and his dead son. To me, it was clear that there were no actual ghosts, and that the three characters were simply working through their grief and uncertainties by having an imaginary conversation – much as the Queen talks with her younger selves in "Sleep, Dearie, Sleep". To me, the sheer drawing-out of every event before and after the fatal car crash felt in more questionable taste.

Then there was the tedium of the two William episodes. Another thing I really don't need to see is Charles munching muesli while trying to make conversation with a glowering William. Man, that episode was boring. I had high hopes that the romance between William and Kate would add some well-needed fun, but even that managed to be dull, as it consisted mainly of William staring longingly after Kate.

But then, I've always had problem with The Crown's slow pace. I think it's because of all the silences. I'm not really one for a lot of action scenes; mostly, I sit through action films hoping for the car chases to end and the "talky bits" with zingy dialogue to begin. But there has to be talk. I can only take so many scenes of Royals staring silently into the middle distance. Just... do something. Say something.

This under-appreciation of dramatic pauses and silences has made me less appreciative of The Crown than I could have been and maybe should have been. Anyway, it's over now. What next for Peter Morgan, I wonder? I'm half hoping for Mohamed Al-Fayed, the Movie, naturally with Salim Daw in the leading role. He can even make dramatic silences work.