Neil Gaiman is an understated genius. That much is clear to the readers who have followed his dry wit and dark imaginings from Sandman to Stardust, from American Gods to The Graveyard Book. “Prolific” and “award-winning” doesn’t even begin to describe his output over the past 25 years.
And yet there doesn’t ever seem to be a trace of the ego one might associate with a writer of his caliber. It’s not even false modesty. “Is it true,” Gaiman said on stage to his wife, the performance artist and musician Amanda Palmer, at the Boston Book Festival last year, “that your husband, being English, is easily embarrassed?” He prefers to share the stage with Palmer these days, when he isn’t ceding it to her altogether. Read more…
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