In Which We Learn about “The Gates” and the Subjective Nature of Humor, None of Which Is Entirely Helpful
The Gates opens with Samuel Johnson, an eleven-year-old boy from Biddlecombe, England, also looking to get a jump on the season by trick-or-treating, with his beloved dachshund, Boswell, a full three days early. His initiative, however, is met with disbelief and scorn by a rather rude chap at 666 Crowley Road, and, while he regroups in the alley behind the grump’s house to think up other ways to avoid his babysitter,¹ Samuel comes to witness some strange goings-on in the basement.
In a foolhardy attempt to liven up their lives, the Abernathys and another couple have chosen an extremely unfortunate time to dabble in the occult. Because at the same moment that they’re attempting to summon a demon, a couple of scientists at CERN notice a problem with the Large Hadron Collider when –
“A bit just whizzed off,” said Ed. “And it went beep.”
“A bit? said Victor. “It’s not a bicycle. Bits don’t just whiz off.”
“Right then,” said Ed, looking miffed. “A particle of some kind appears to have disengaged itself from the whole and exited the accelerator. Is that better?”
“You mean that a bit just whizzed off?” said Victor, thinking, who said we Germans don’t have a sense of humor?
The two events intertwine, on a cosmic level, to inadvertently open a portal to another dimension – Hell! 😶 Cue the ominous music . . .
This book was loads of fun with characters like Nurd, the Scourge of Five Deities, who couldn’t catch a break, or the shapeshifting monster under the bed, too inexperienced for the job. But, I was most impressed by the author’s ability to blend what, on the surface, would appear to be the polar opposite fields of physics and fantasy.
The narrative was broken up by a series of asides, in the form of humorous and often highly informative footnotes. I loved how the author was able to insert all those little science factoids and cheeky social commentary into a rather light-hearted young adult urban fantasy.
Here’s the thing though - humor is subjective. And, while I’m a longtime fan of American humorists like Mark Twain, Joseph Heller, Kurt Vonnegut, Christopher Moore, and Joe Lansdale, British humor often falls flat, for me. I find the comedy in books by Douglas Adam, Terry Pratchett, and P.G. Wodehouse often grows wearisome, but here I thought Connolly managed to walk that thin line between amusing and exhausting.
I can neither explain nor justify it because the main knock on this book is much the same as those others - it’s rather relentless in its routine. There’s no real ebb and flow to the quips because the author can’t resist the urge to toss one in at every opportunity. That may annoy some readers, but the saving grace for me was that I read the book in small doses, so it never felt excessive.
Bottom line: The humor outweighs the horror in this delightfully twisted tale of a precocious boy and his faithful dachshund battling it out with the Great Malevolence’s right hand [wo]man and her zany, and surprisingly sympathetic, demon hoard in an attempt to stave off the apocalypse! The story was not only highly amusing but surprisingly educational. In other words, it’s fun for the whole family, so you may want to consider adding it to your library as well.
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1: “It is a curious fact that small boys are more terrified of their babysitters than small girls are. In part, this is because small girls and babysitters, who are usually slightly larger girls, belong to the same species, and therefore understand each other. Small boys, on the other hand, do not understand girls, and therefore being looked after by one is a little like a hamster being looked after by a shark. If you are a small boy, it may be some consolation to you to know that even large boys do not understand girls, and girls, by and large, do not understand boys. This makes adult life very interesting.”