Back in 2000, I spent seven months living, studying, and interning in St. Petersburg, Russia. It was my junior year as a student at Sewanee: The University of the South – a great school, but unrelentingly pretentious, and stifling in many ways. I’d needed to get out, figure some things out about myself, recover from a broken heart, and master the Russian language. Not sure that I was entirely successful at any of those endeavors, although those seven months were wonderful.
St. Petersburg has a remarkable subway system – on average, the deepest in the world – serving not only as an efficient means of transportation but as a monument to the glory of the former Soviet Union. Oh, and as potential bomb shelters, should the need arise. One enters the St. Petersburg Metro via incredibly fast and deep escalators, which whisk passengers into the bowels of the city. At the base of the escalators, one crosses a metal strip, about a foot in width, which extends across the entire entryway, and is mirrored by a similar strip on the roof above. I was once told that in the event of nuclear war, a gate would burst free of these metal constraints and slam shut, sealing the lucky ones in safety below the city. Not sure if this is actually true, although I like to believe that it is.
One day, while riding the metro, I found myself staring not at those around me (or blankly off into space or what have you), but staring out the window. This, of course, poses one of those inane questions along the lines of Why do 7-11s have locks on their doors, if they’re open 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, 365 days a year? So yeah. Why *are* there windows on trains which barrel through dark, underground tunnels? But I digress. There I was, staring out the window, not expecting to see anything other than dark tunnel wall, when I caught a glimpse of something else: another tunnel, complete with train tracks, branching off the main line. I kept watching (I had a long metro ride ahead of me, not much else to do) and discovered more tunnels – some with tracks, others without – and numerous doors. I found it fascinating.
From that point on, whenever I rode the metro, I did my best to get in a spot where I could look out and observe the secret world below St. Petersburg. I became a little obsessed with it. I started making notes of what I saw and where, and began sketching my observations onto a metro map.
I was particularly fascinated by the idea of what life would be like underground for those sealed into the metro system, should nuclear war decimate the world above. What would life be like in this vast, underground city? I started writing a post-apocalyptic novel based on such a notion. I didn’t get very far, as I was more obsessed with drawing maps of my underground world than with writing about it.
I returned to the US in August 2000, and had my upper wisdom teeth pulled. I spent several days on my mom’s couch, doped up on darvocet and watching pledge week on PBS. At some point, I surfaced from a darvocet and pain induced haze to discover that I was halfway through some incredibly bizarre British drama, set in an alternate reality – one which was located in, on, and around the London Underground. I watched, entranced. I was probably drooling, although in that case, let's blame it on the tooth-extraction. The show was something I could so easily transplant my fantasies about the underside of St. Petersburg onto that later, once the darvocet had cleared my system, I wondered if I’d really seen it.
Jump forward six years. Here I am in South Korea, in desperate need of books in English. While perusing the ‘things for sale/trade’ section of Dave’s Café, I discovered someone selling books by Thomas Pynchon and Neil Gaiman. Score! At that point, all I knew of Neil Gaiman was that he’d written those wonderful Sandman graphic novels; I didn’t know he dealt in regular novels as well. I bought.
Imagine my incredible pleasure and surprise when I began reading Gaiman’s Neverwhere, only to discover that it was the book-version of the bizarre British drama I’d seen while high on darvocet with my head swollen up like a chipmunk.
The book was wonderful. I don’t want to give anything away. Just read it. Now. Then go hop on your nearest subway and look out the window.
St. Petersburg has a remarkable subway system – on average, the deepest in the world – serving not only as an efficient means of transportation but as a monument to the glory of the former Soviet Union. Oh, and as potential bomb shelters, should the need arise. One enters the St. Petersburg Metro via incredibly fast and deep escalators, which whisk passengers into the bowels of the city. At the base of the escalators, one crosses a metal strip, about a foot in width, which extends across the entire entryway, and is mirrored by a similar strip on the roof above. I was once told that in the event of nuclear war, a gate would burst free of these metal constraints and slam shut, sealing the lucky ones in safety below the city. Not sure if this is actually true, although I like to believe that it is.
One day, while riding the metro, I found myself staring not at those around me (or blankly off into space or what have you), but staring out the window. This, of course, poses one of those inane questions along the lines of Why do 7-11s have locks on their doors, if they’re open 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, 365 days a year? So yeah. Why *are* there windows on trains which barrel through dark, underground tunnels? But I digress. There I was, staring out the window, not expecting to see anything other than dark tunnel wall, when I caught a glimpse of something else: another tunnel, complete with train tracks, branching off the main line. I kept watching (I had a long metro ride ahead of me, not much else to do) and discovered more tunnels – some with tracks, others without – and numerous doors. I found it fascinating.
From that point on, whenever I rode the metro, I did my best to get in a spot where I could look out and observe the secret world below St. Petersburg. I became a little obsessed with it. I started making notes of what I saw and where, and began sketching my observations onto a metro map.
I was particularly fascinated by the idea of what life would be like underground for those sealed into the metro system, should nuclear war decimate the world above. What would life be like in this vast, underground city? I started writing a post-apocalyptic novel based on such a notion. I didn’t get very far, as I was more obsessed with drawing maps of my underground world than with writing about it.
I returned to the US in August 2000, and had my upper wisdom teeth pulled. I spent several days on my mom’s couch, doped up on darvocet and watching pledge week on PBS. At some point, I surfaced from a darvocet and pain induced haze to discover that I was halfway through some incredibly bizarre British drama, set in an alternate reality – one which was located in, on, and around the London Underground. I watched, entranced. I was probably drooling, although in that case, let's blame it on the tooth-extraction. The show was something I could so easily transplant my fantasies about the underside of St. Petersburg onto that later, once the darvocet had cleared my system, I wondered if I’d really seen it.
Jump forward six years. Here I am in South Korea, in desperate need of books in English. While perusing the ‘things for sale/trade’ section of Dave’s Café, I discovered someone selling books by Thomas Pynchon and Neil Gaiman. Score! At that point, all I knew of Neil Gaiman was that he’d written those wonderful Sandman graphic novels; I didn’t know he dealt in regular novels as well. I bought.
Imagine my incredible pleasure and surprise when I began reading Gaiman’s Neverwhere, only to discover that it was the book-version of the bizarre British drama I’d seen while high on darvocet with my head swollen up like a chipmunk.
The book was wonderful. I don’t want to give anything away. Just read it. Now. Then go hop on your nearest subway and look out the window.
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