I’ve started reading Neverwhere, a hallmark Victorian fantasy. It is actually a lot of fun. (I know I am writing somehow below my standards for literary criticism, but forgive me, I went to the movies yesterday to see David Lynch’s INLAND EMPIRE, and spent quite some time afterwards trying to figure it out, so allow me to be somewhat less intellectually rigorous here). Back to Gaiman: while his writing isn’t generally sexy, I find his gems to be where there actually is some erotic tension, like in “Somewhere in America”, the story about the ifrit taxi driver in American Gods, or in the second half of “Keepsakes and Treasures”, a story in Fragile Things where he imagines a whole population of ugly old women supporting themselves by periodically raising a male child to become the most beautiful boy in the world and selling him into prostitution, to keep the tribe going for the next century or so on the proceeds of the sale. Imagination is a wonderful thing, and Gaiman has so much of it that it’s (again, apologies to critical standards) a treat to read him.