The premise of The World House, along with my lust to find a mind-blowing debut novelist to get behind, made ordering this book an easy decision (the glowing reviews didn't hurt none either), so I was expecting good things from Mr Adams.
The plot did not disappoint. The paradox motif is a well trodden path, but one that still interests, and Adams serves it up with great imagination and craftsmanship. What at first appears to be an organically grown pathway soon reveals itself to be a carefully constructed labyrinth, weaved through a bizarre and other-worldly house with the Prisoner the prize at its centre. But with all this going for it, The World House falls a long way short of that mind-blowing debut.
I expected the quality of the writing to be a given considering Adams' CV, but failed in the most basic areas: The narrative viewpoint is clumsy and inconsistent, floating between many different modes and shifting from page to page. The multi-character narrative is a strict discipline and demands a deft touch; Adams' grasp of it is amateurish at best, and is probably the catalyst for the novel's biggest flaw: the characters.
There are a couple of howling clichés occupying the House (Carruthers, the pith-helmet-wearing explorer most notably conforming to type), but it's the rest of the ensemble cast that will leave you wondering why you ever followed such a dull bunch around for 413 pages. There is not a sympathetic character among them, and that's not to say they are unlikeable, just dreary and monotonous. Samey. Take away their different clothes, eras and accents, there is nothing to characterise any of them, through speech or action. Every character is witty (a default setting it seems for Adams' dialogue), and accepts their teleportation into another dimension as if it were an everyday occurrence. Every deadly supernatural/alien encounter thereafter is met with more wit and an incredulous apathy. Even the Prisoner, by far the most one-dimensional and underwhelming of them all, speaks with the same wit and flippancy as everyone else.
It's the lack of depth and credibility in the characters' emotions and thought processes that set the tone of the novel, turning something that could have been dark and delicious into something cartoon-like. With no fears, goals or plausible motivations for the cast, the anticlimactic ending is understandably rushed, and plays out like a comedy, and I found myself indifferent to the outcome, no matter how clever. A bloody shame.
The World House could have been superb, but Adams has failed to inject any tension or atmosphere into his story via his characters: if a woman sees a group of mammoth woodlice emerge from the dark and has absolutely no reaction, why should I? Even Shaggy and Scooby had the good sense to be scared, and their monsters were just old guys in costumes.
A fun YA novel but a disappointing adult fantasy.
Ps. Does anyone know what happened to Carruthers' rifle?