Neil Gaiman Introduction Competition: Runner-Up Entries Jonas Herriot, Richmond Lending Library "When you are young the stories you are told, and the books you read, are usually about magical adventures and fantastical worlds, all purposely designed to delight and ignite your imagination. As you get older the stories become more grounded, the lessons learnt become practical, and the fantastical becomes replaced with the realistic. These more 'grown up' stories serve a purpose though, that of allowing us to build our shared cultural reality, and allowing us to learn our place within it. Yet despite this, it is not these grey but informative stories which hold a place in your heart and mind, but the older stories we encountered when we were younger that continue to resound with us. The way that they were believable at a deeply profound level, the totems and icons which they signposted for us, and the magic that they created in us. It is the intertwining of what we know, and what we want to believe, which makes these sort of stories so special. An easy way for the young mind to imagine that beyond their little corner of the world these stories, and the lands they happen in, were true. As we grow we realise the boundaries which exist in the real world, and the edges of the map are sewn up tight. And yet there are still ways for these edges to unravel, and for hidden corners to start reappearing. One of the ways that these edges start to fray lies in the literary world of urban fantasy, books which can become doorways through which the older feelings of the unknown can creep back through. Some authors allow us to peek through the keyhole or letterbox, others open the door a crack for us to peek round or enough for you suck in your breath and squeeze through. But Neil does more than this, he opens the door wide, removes it from its hinges and takes a metaphorical sledgehammer to the doorframe… He cast you adrift into what is identifiable as our world, but which has suddenly become disturbingly different than you ever remember it being. His skill lies in taking that which we know, and twisting it to reveal that we could only dream off. Plucking totemic images, meta-narratives, and almost Freudian symbols from the mundane, he raises them up, shines a spotlight on them and highlights all that is otherworldly about the reality which we inhabit. A case in point here can be shown with groundbreaking series Sandman. Here he highlights the seven prototype feelings which we deal with on a daily basis, gives them faces and personalities, and sets them free upon our world. If in ten thousand years archaeologist discovered buried copies of this series it would be easy for them to interpret it as a pictorial representation of a quasi-mythological religious text, comparable to the legends of Ancient Greece. And this is what he does in every story he writes, taking core principles and subverting, rebuilding, and finally releasing them on us. His books are not just stories; they are also instruction manuals for learning. You come across a vague reference hidden in a story, or encounter one of the characters in his books, and then - certainly in my case at least – feel the need to go and find out more about them from other sources. For example, after finishing American Gods, I wanted to find out more about some of the lesser characters such as Czernbog, and promptly went of to do so. And here is where it gets really interesting, because by doing this he is dredging culture and history and forcing us to review and understand our past fables, traditions, and legends. And once we start doing this we start re- encountering the dark corners and strange landscapes which we had forgotten existed. There is a knowing smile which I have when a customer takes out a book by Neil, comparable to that of a person about to share a magnificent secret with another. You feel a connection exists, and often I find myself asking which other books they have read, leading into a conversation about which is our favourite. Sometimes though they are a virgin reader, and here you feel like a gatekeeper who is introducing them to their new favourite author. Personally I know that if I am going to pick up a new Gaiman book, I’m not going to be able to put it down until I’ve finished, and that even when I put it down, it certainly wont ever put me down. The escape into the liminal world he constructs is like the trances and spirit journeys shamans go on, you come back changed and with symbols which need interpretation, understanding and absorbing into your new life." Cathie Strover, Exeter College Library The Wonder of Writing Neil Gaiman is an author who understands the power and magic of words. The act of reading isn’t just there to convey information, it fulfils a deep human need to connect with the world around us, explore and re-energize, inspire and refresh our instincts, our emotions and our creativity. The stories that we read don’t need to be complex or life changing, but they do need to move you, lift the heart a little, or at least make you smile. If reality seems a little mundane, and you want to recreate that sense of mystery and excitement you once had as a child, he can help you. Yearning for some adventure and animation? He can provide it. Want to reconnect with the finest sentiments of the human heart? He can point the way. If you’re longing to streak miles across the starry night sky with a Babylon candle, Neil can take you there. The first book I read by Neil was ‘Good Omens’ a collaboration with Terry Pratchett, whose complete reworking of ‘The Omen’ story – a slight mistake with the raising of the child intended to bring death and destruction to humanity – had me transfixed, with a delightfully contemporary reworking of the Four Horseman of the Apocalypse and the desperate struggle of arch enemy devil and angel attempting to postpone Armageddon so they can continue to enjoy life on Earth. It’s a clever story, but the genius is in the detail – I was hooked by the Sisterhood of the Chattering Beryls (three in my family) – so from then on I had to read more from this talented writer. Since then I’ve collected all of his adult fiction, including short stories, and a good amount of the works written for children. It would be fair to say that he doesn’t present life in the most ordinary terms. He’s weird; he has a fascination for the dark side of things, the scary, the fears unspoken and best left alone. He’s the person who wants you to open the closet door and confront what’s in there, because maybe, just maybe, you might be up to the challenge. Even his child heroes have to face up to some seriously scary stuff. Coraline goes through the wrong door and is confronted by ‘mirror’ parents with buttons for eyes. As a toddler Bod escapes from the murderous ‘Jacks’ to be raised by the inhabitants of a graveyard, in a fabulous reworking of the Jungle Book. As for the horrors facing the 7 year old narrator of his latest book – well, you’ll just have to read it. The interest for me does not necessarily lie within the fears that he creates, although he writes with invention; it’s in the way his characters react and develop. They struggle. They fight. And they can overcome. The background for many of Neil’s stories may seem familiar, coming from nursery rhymes, fairy tales, popular myths and folklore, but the spin he puts of them is entirely his own. There is a delicious quirkiness to his adaptation of popular rhymes in Stardust which gives the traditional view of fairyland a good hefty shake, not to mention a bit of a shiver down the back. American Gods and Odd and the Frost Giants explores the world of Norse myths with pragmatic humour, and Anansi Boys is a modern reworking of traditional African folk hero, Anansi and the spider god, and his two sons Spider and Fat Charlie. They’re all genuinely unique. His stories are dark, with thrills and chills, but there’s something else as well; they have heart. His characters have fears and disasters, but they find courage. They may be alone, but they find friends and people who can help them, and there is a light touch of both wry humour and affection in their exchanges. The relationship between Bod and his guardian Silas is touching – he may be a vampire, but then nobody’s perfect, right? - and the fabulous Hempstock family in The Ocean at the End of the lane is there just when needed. Neil manages to get straight to the heart of human relationships and portray them so simply, so eloquently that you’ll long to be right there with them. I’ve saved my favourite till last,( though it’s a close run thing with The Graveyard Book); it’s Neverwhere. Maybe it’s because I’m a London girl, but his recreation of London Below – the dark world inhabited by the people who have fallen through the cracks in the pavement and gaps of the tube – has always enthralled me. His reinvention of the personalities of the London Underground are genius - catching the tube through Knightsbridge has never been the same since.