Whether we want to or not, whether we try to disguise ourselves or not, the writer always tells the reader something about himself. This is a very astute observation from a member of the club that dare not talk about Neil Gaiman:
There was a writer whose books I loved–incidentally he is respected and talked about by NG. I had a chance to meet him at a multiple-day convention over a decade ago.
During that trip, this writer behaved sneakily and shittily toward my friend (much how NG’s behavior is being described now). At the time I was so disappointed but I figured that I loved his books and could separate the art from the artist.
Only I realized, reading his new work and trying to reread the books I’d loved, that I could see the tells in the writing. How the main characters behaved, how women were characterized, etc.–I could see him crafting justification for his characters’ behaviors that echoed his own. And that was the end of that for me.
I think the work usually reflects the creator behind it, but sometimes it takes clarity elsewhere to really see what is there.
“Sometimes it takes clarity elsewhere to really see what is there” is absolutely correct. Because what’s there is always there, but the reader is not necessarily seeing it in a relevant and meaningful context. Even when the writer explicitly warns you.
“Everybody has a secret world inside of them. All of the people of the world, I mean everybody. No matter how dull and boring they are on the outside, inside them they’ve all got unimaginable, magnificent, wonderful, stupid, amazing worlds.”
– Neil Gaiman
For distinctly different values of “unimaginable” and “amazing”, of course. On that note, it might be interesting to know what those of you who read my fiction believe you have gleaned from it concerning my own inadvertent literary confessions, as I’ve generally tried to avoid self-inserts since my earliest attempts at fiction.
Then again, some readers never see anything at all, no matter how loudly the writer trumpets his shortcomings and evildoings. Who wants to tell this poor woman the bad news?
I’m autistic, and for the longest time the collected works of Joss Whedon and Neil Gaiman were my special interest. That’s still true, but just feels different and complicated and ickier. GRRM had better not pull any shit because I can’t take any more of this!
Yeah, so, there’s a reason for those two Rs…