Against His Immense and Terrible Flesh

The publisher’s description of the next Neil Gaiman novel is exactly the same thing that we’d write if we were writing a parody of Neil Gaiman.  ”As pure as a dream, as delicate as a butterfly’s wing.”  Oooh-la-la.  Does every copy come with an ascot?  ”It’s a book about the power of stories, that’s as bittersweet as gossamer teardrops.”   “It’s a book about the power of stories that’s as ephemeral as a stolen wedding cake.”  ”It’s a book about the power of stories, that’s as comforting as a unicorn’s vagina.” (via twiststreet)

It occurred to me a while ago that whatever my appraisal of his body of work, I don’t think I like Neil Gaiman simply because of PR like this (which, let’s be fair, even though the above is a product of the public relations department at his publisher, it’s kissin’ cousin to the way Gaiman describes his own work of his own volition).

Whenever Gaiman talks about writing, he doesn’t talk about writing - in lieu of the technical components and process, he lobs vague sentiments about dreams, and ideas, and how stories can change the world and, in short, that’s for the rubes. That’s not the language of a craftsman, that’s the language of a carnival barker trying to get one over on the crowd. It’s precisely the same kind of language you hear come over the loudspeakers at Disneyland just before the fireworks show…“And now BELIEVE in the POWER of IMAGINATION and DREAMS and WONDER” ::colorful explosions::