A Wild Ride Through the Night : suggested by twenty-one illustrations by Gustave Doré / Walter Moers ; translated from the German by John Brownjohn ; with illustrations by Gustave Doré. Woodstock & New York : The Overlook Press, 2008, 197 pp. ISBN 978-1-58567-873-0. $23.95.

A Wild Ride Through the Night is, like Paul Revere’s ride, hardly that; like his, it is actually several rides, though unlike his it involves but one rider. What this book really is, is a romp, featuring as protagonist its own illustrator—or rather, the childhood incarnation of the same. Twelve-year-old Gustave Doré would very much like to be a famous artist someday, a dream that would appear to be ruled out by his present profession as an intrepid sea captain (bear with me, here) facing certain death as his ship is beset by the dreaded Siamese Twins Tornadoes. While unstated (and later on in the narrative, denied), we seem to be in dream-adventure territory. An indication that maybe we shouldn’t take any of this too seriously, even though some serious issues are dealt with, like love and ambition and the fleeting nature of existence. The final word on the reality of the situation will come at the end of the book.

With such an improbable beginning to the novel, is it, then, a children’s book? An episode a little further on in the narrative, in which our young protagonist visits an island inhabited by extremely unclothed and graphically illustrated maidens, effectively rules out this supposition. Young adult, then. Maybe.

Gustave Doré, the real one, was indeed a famous artist back in the day, his day being the nineteenth century. He was one of the excessively busy Frenchmen of that era, the precarious uncertainties of which, at least in that nation, evidently inspired excessive industriousness. He was renowned especially for illustrating pretty much every then-existing literary classic, from Rabelais’s Gargantua and Pantagruel to Ariosto’s Orlando Furioso. He did not, however, survive long enough to illustrate this book, much less star in it. Rather, his dual roles therein are the contrivances of present-day fantasy writer Walter Moers, who is obviously a fan, and who selected several of the more extravagant pieces from Doré’s artistic oeuvre and around them wrote the novel under current consideration. It’s a nice idea, with nice potential, and, of course, very nice pictures.

The conceit succeeds surprisingly well. In his inevitable encounter with death, young Gustave does indeed literally encounter Death, in the traditional personification of an animated skeleton. Death's more fetching sister Dementia appears as well. Disinclined to accept his fate gracefully, our hero is offered the alternative of a fulfilling a quest comprising a series of tasks rather than have his soul summarily consigned to obliteration in the Sun (the customary procedure for processing the deceased). If he fails, an outcome projected as a near certainty, he dies anyway; if he succeeds, he gets to live, at least until he eventually perishes of something else, and perhaps even achieve his life’s ambition. (Spoiler alert: the real-life Doré lived into his fifties. Just saying.) Gustave, naturally, protests the alternatives presented—whereupon Death promptly starts adding more tasks to the quest until our hero wises up. Fortunately, Gustave’s a quick study, or this could have ended up as a very long novel.

And so, we’re off on our romp, and our several steeds. Gustave finds himself in a succession of settings, almost always as a knight in ornate armor, starting with an island on which he is charged with rescuing a damsel from a dragon. Neither this nor many of his later tasks are entirely as they appear. For one thing, the dragons turn out to be the victims here, even prior to one being designated for Gustave’s lance. The impossibility of fulfilling the tasks is regularly finessed, thanks to helpfulness from both loquacious steeds and redoubtable adversaries, a general slowness of wit in the latter, and the precocious cleverness and sporadic good sense of our protagonist. He even gets to meet his older self at one point (has to, in fact; it’s one of his tasks), and if old man Doré happens to more closely resemble a certain Hidalgo of La Mancha than the actual artist, well, who are we to quibble? And in due course, Gustave achieves—but that would be telling, wouldn’t it? And don’t you want to read through this book for yourself?

But after the illustrated finis there are more goodies. Source notes for the illustrations, with a weblink to How This Book Came To Be. A chronology of the life of Gustave Doré. A chronological list of Doré's illustrated works. Yeah. Moers is definitely a fan. Being himself an illustrator, painter and sculptor, like his subject, he plainly found in Doré a kindred soul.

In conclusion, let me just leave you with twelve main take-aways from this story. Okay, maybe more random than major, but if they whet your appetite, my purpose is served.

1. When confronted with Siamese Twins Tornadoes, steer between them, or your story will either be very short or very interesting.

2. Quibbling with or questioning Death can be counter-productive, even if he doesn’t tell you everything you need to know.

3. In the course of a quest, those you encounter will likely be garrulous, querulous, and let slip more than they probably ought to.

4. Pretty much everyone is a servant of Death.

5. Naked women are dangerous to dragons and other living things. Hearts of twelve-year-old boys in particular.

6. Mounts are ephemeral but also replaceable. And resurrectable. Hippogriffs and flying time-pigs can apply, but a good horse is most common. Even if he does talk back. His name isn’t nearly as funny as Moers seems to suppose it is.

7. Equipment provided by Death can be trusted, as he quality-tests everything. Extensively. (Except the wings. They’re like, a total do-over.)

8. Beware of titans with scrambled names. Also, very large crocodiles.

9. The Most Monstrous of All Monsters may in fact be fairly agreeable, at least in the short term. Lesser ones also. Determining which of them is actually the Most Monstrous can be difficult, as many are both egotistical and vain. However, if a monster is afraid of something else, it’s likely not the Most Monstrous.

10. It’s the wrong tooth.

11. Death is not a good art critic, because he can’t see. (Empty eye-sockets. Hence, no eyes.) He will pretend otherwise, so pointing this out could be impolite. And dangerous.

12. Also, ants are everywhere. It’s not terribly important to the plot. They just are. Oh, and on at least one planet, they have three heads as well. That’s not terribly important either, though interesting to know.

There you go. So what are you waiting for? Go out and buy this thing, and read it! Seriously, you owe yourself the fun!

Four out of five stars.

—Brian.