@n_dimension I don't see much to criticize in this attitude (& even if I did, that wouldn't matter as much as YOU finding it helpful in your own relationship w/ problematic creators!) but I would suggest that just as terrible people can make fantastic art, good people can make terrible art. Our art is not inevitably the best of us. Nevertheless, sometimes terrible people make art that demonstrates a moral compass superior to their own, and we aren't wrong when we find inspiration in it.
Anyway, to wrap up a long and somewhat self-involved thread:
My heart goes out to Gaiman's victims.
My heart goes out to those who considered him a friend, who knew nothing, who feel betrayed, who are now grieving the friend they thought they had now that they knew he never existed except as the mask a monster wore.
(And for those who knew, & turned a blind eye, & stayed silent, & knowingly preserved the monster's mask: I have no words strong enough to express my disgust and horror.)
The next generation of fandom is doing fine. They will discover their own artistic heroes. And, the world being as cruel a place as ever it was, they'll discover some of those heroes were monsters all along, and then they'll have to grapple with the problem of problematic artist vs. resonating art all over again.
We can only hope that each generation tolerates the monsters less than did the generation before, I guess.
When I think about it generously, I imagine that people who advocate for the enduring importance of such artists are, at heart, in mourning that their formative experiences will be shared by a decreasing portion of each ensuing generation.
They're fans! They want to geek out with other fans about Ender's Game, Repent Harlequin, Harry effin' Potter! And their disappointment with the situation translates to disappointment with the next generation of fandom for not finding joy where they did.
Art by monsters is not indispensable. There are so many artists who AREN'T serial rapists (or raging homophobes, or unrepentant transmisogynists, or men who sexually assaulted their colleagues on the goddamn Hugo Award stage, take your pick), that those of us who decide to eschew a monsters' work are not missing out on nearly as much as one might think.
And nostalgia for stories whose author turned out to be a monster wouldn't justify insisting on those stories' essential literary canonicity.
My relationship and history with those stories is now relegated to an intensely private sphere, and Gods forfend I ever use that relationship as justification for defending the man and his works to anyone else.
"Oh, you gotta separate the art and the artist--" Bullshit. No one is obliged to do anything of the sort.
"What a shame you'll miss out on so much great art, then." What a shame you consider his victims to be mere collateral damage in the pursuit of Great Art.
That said... my appreciation for those creative teams, and my acknowledgement of what Gaiman's stories meant to me as a reader and an aspiring writer, are - to reference Radcliffe again - _between me and the book._
And those books now live on the bottom shelf of a bookshelf in the bedroom. They are no longer, as they used to be, displayed prominently through the public parts of the house.
I won't be recommending them to people. I won't be blindsiding guests with the sight of them.
Plus I want to continue to celebrate the work of the Sandman colorists, artists, letterers and editors; of Terry Pratchett's co-authoring of Good Omens; of Dave McKean's amazing artwork, Charles Vess's illustrations, Rachel Pollack's _everything_. The phenomenal work by the actors in the Sandman TV show and the narrators in the audiobooks.
There are very few things Gaiman is famous for that did not include the hard work and creative effort of many, many other people.
I was heartbroken when I first heard about the podcast in which Neil Gaiman was revealed to be a serial rapist and abuser.
Vulture's in-depth coverage is 1. even more heartbreaking, and 2. exceedingly difficult to read. I honestly have not braved the text. I already believe the women. I already believe everyone who has read it and reports that it is horrific. "As bad as you think it is, it's worse," is the warning that goes with the link.
If I was never personally in danger, it was only because I wasn't close enough. My "relationship" with Gaiman was: Huge fan since Sandman #50. Aspiring writer who found everything he said on the subject inspirational. For a very long time he was known for responding to every single fan letter; I had a postcard from him tacked up next to my desk, reiterating his most trite yet important piece of advice: Write. Finish what you write. Write the next thing. It's that easy, and that difficult.
So how do I respond to the news that yet another mentor figure and admired creator in my life has turned out to be so far beyond merely "problematic," so very greatly monstrous, that one imagines lesser monsters shrinking from his shadow?
(And no, how I respond to it isn't the greatest point - this is not about me - but this Fediverse account is mine so I'm going to witter on a bit about it, and you are not obliged to read on, I totally get that.)
On the one hand, I take to heart Daniel Radcliffe's words regarding the issue of beloved art by creators who turn out to be monsters:
"if you found anything in these stories that resonated with you and helped you at any time in your life — then that is between you and the book that you read, and it is sacred. And in my opinion nobody can touch that."
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A New Orleans writer of short SFF who is currently living in Boulder CO. Married, w/ bunn. @SFWA member, Codexian. Knits, crochets, tats, spins. Has piloted on occasion. Skates roller derby on every occasion (Fleur de Beast). Pagan/Wiccan/witch.