Neil Gaiman: Can We Separate the Art from the Artist?

So, I guess we need to talk about Neil Gaiman now . . . (sigh).

Unless you’ve been living under a rock or have zero interest in the literary world (and if that’s the case, why are you even here?), you’ve probably heard about the awful allegations directed at Neil Gaiman, author of some of my favorite books, including The Sandman, American Gods, Stardust, and Coraline. Lovers of fantasy worldwide were stunned by the news and the Vulture article detailing his atrocious actions, and I am no exception. As a longtime Gaiman fan (four of his books I’ve reviewed for this blog, more than most authors, I might add), I count myself among the aggrieved. Gaiman was my type of writer: imaginative, inspiring, and never prone to the formula-driven dreck polluting bookstore shelves these days. He was someone I genuinely admired and hoped to emulate. Heck, even my fourteen-year-old counts herself among his fans, proudly displaying her Coraline movie poster from her bedroom wall (for the sake of her innocence, I do not plan on telling her). Now, in case there’s any ambiguity, I am in no way endorsing this author or apologizing for his behavior in any way. What Gaiman did, if true, is nothing but reprehensible. But now we are faced with the age-old dilemma. Like with JK Rowling before him, we are forced to ask ourselves a difficult question: can we separate the art from the artist? And should we even try? Can readers, in good conscience, enjoy a work of literature knowing it was produced by an amoral monster?

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