Neil Gaiman has always been a big part of my love story. My husband, Lars, loves Gaiman’s work so, to fatally snare Lars in my trap soon after we’d met, I lined up at a Gaiman book event for three hours to get a book signed for him. At the time, I was in my early thirties and scooting around Wellington in floaty floral dresses (ill advised, if you know anything of Wellington’s weather) and working hard to take my holiday romance with a bearded Norwegian to the next level. I probably didn’t really fit in with the crowd of Gaiman devotees, but I waited happily, swishing like I was at Woodstock rather than a fantasy author talk, surrounded by the black leather and studded denim of the true fans and patiently clasping a copy of Odd and the Frost Giants.
When my turn came, I raced up to a bemused looking Neil Gaiman and breathlessly garbled out that this was for my ‘boyfriend’ (probably an exaggeration at that point) who lived in Norway, and who I was going to go and visit shortly. Gaiman smiled and made some quiet comments about the book’s Scandinavian roots and signed it ‘Sweet Dreams, Neil Gaiman.’
I was beyond thrilled. I managed to keep it a surprise until I arrived in Oslo and presented it to Lars. Although he is a man of few emotional outbursts, he was tickled that I’d gone to such an effort.
Time passed in our shared life; we got a dog, had a kid, tied the knot, dog number two, kid number two, dogs number three and four – things were tracking as they should for people in love with both each other and most dogs they meet. And whilst we’ve sadly had to farewell three of our four beautiful dogs, there has been a constant that has been with us longer than the dogs, the kids, and all the other comings and goings of grown up life and that constant is the wildly successful fantasy writer and now allegedly abusive, Neil Gaiman.
Now, I have to say that the allegations against Gaiman are, as far as I know, unproven and firmly denied by Gaiman – but if a woman tells a story of abuse by a man who has a clear position of power over her, I tend to listen. And even if the allegations are proven untrue, Gaiman himself has admitted to elements of the assaults, even though he claims everything was consensual.
I’m not here to argue whether I think he’s guilty or not, I don’t know. I’m certainly not here to belittle anyone’s experience of assault nor to question the cancel culture that has seen Gaiman’s contracts, Good Omens series and commercial partnerships fall apart over the past few weeks. What I want to question is what is the effect on the consumer when an artist is found to have misrepresented their true self. How do we, as readers, redefine our relationship with Gaiman’s work when we are now questioning his basic decency as a human being?
Personally, I don’t love all of his work – I struggled through American Gods and Norse Mythology. I enjoyed his writing for younger readers though, like The Graveyard Book, Coraline and the Sleeper and the Spindle. I have taught his story Jack in the Box to Year 9s and the film Stardust to Year 10s. I had his quotes up on my classroom walls. He was famous for creating strong female characters and retelling fairytales so the princess saved herself. When I saw him speak in Wellington he was charming, self-deprecating and down to earth.
I feel like my support of him, my buying into what I thought was his value system, makes me complicit somehow. I feel guilty for exposing my students to the work of someone who might actually be an absolute monster. I feel stupid for retelling my own love story with my husband and weaving an alleged abuser’s name through our fairytale.
But does his personal life discredit his work? I recently read this fantastic article by Hera Lindsay Bird on The Spinoff about the general dodginess of so many loved children’s book authors. Is a little bit of immorality and self-importance just part of the creative make-up of our most successful writers? (Obviously not here in Aotearoa, where our kids’ book writers seem to generally be somewhere between fave aunty/uncle, or clever and possibly magical being types).
I read something in a comment about the Gaiman allegations; a former fan felt that the joy that his books had given them was a lie. Someone responded to offer support and say that what wasn’t a lie was the world that the reader’s own imagination had created in response to Gaiman’s words. A writer can give the gift of words but the reader is the one who brings those words to life in their own minds.
I thought that was quite beautiful. I also thought, yes, I feel let down by Neil Gaiman, but it wasn’t Gaiman’s books who brought my husband and I together, nor are they what will keep us together. (That’s probably dogs, to be fair).
I guess what I’m trying to say is this: writers need readers. Words don’t have weight if they’re dropped into an empty void. It’s the readers who pick them up and paint them into reality in their own minds. And that’s where the real power is.
So my personal response is this – I’ll pack up the dozens of Gaiman books that are scattered around the house, because seeing them makes me angry and if Gaiman really did misuse his power, then I’ll take the power I have to reject his words as my action. And I’ll give power to the writers I want to support. I’ve made a commitment to celebrate our amazing New Zealand writers by reading all of the Ockham Longlisted Fiction books this year. I’m also committing to reading more books by queer authors, given the current American political climate that is working to silence queer and diverse voices. I have the power to listen to the voices I want to hear.
And so do you.
