A disenchanted fan arguably writes more haunting prose than fantasy’s grand poseur himself about the inevitable end of the subreddit devoted to all things Neil Gaiman:
It tried to survive. At the start of all this, the mods tried to make a megathread and exile all the gossip and podcast news to that. They tried to keep the main sub about the books.
It was a valiant effort, but as more and more came out, the wave of morbid curiosity brought a new subscriber. There were people here who barely knew who Gaiman was before his victims started talking. They kept the wound open, and so did Neil, as the accusations got more detailed and horrifying.
The true fans were using the sub for therapy. Trying to talk through their feelings about it. Plenty of harpies calling them parasocial, but when an artist creates something, they put a bit of their soul in it. When the audience consumes the art, they connect with it.There is nowhere that is more true than prose. We can’t help but feel like we thought we knew him. But, time passes. He isn’t making new art and even the adaptations have ground to a halt.
What is there to talk about? What is left to say?
The party is over and this sub is just a bunch of shellshocked fans wandering around the bombed out ruins of their hobby. It’s a tomb. A few ghouls here and there. A few still weeping inconsolably. Most just wondering when it is appropriate to leave a funeral.
The sub might not be done, but I am.
I’m impressed. That one line: “a bunch of shellshocked fans wandering around the bombed out ruins of their hobby” is, despite its lack of a much-needed dash, arguably better than any line Mr. Gaiman himself has ever penned, with or without the help of Tanith Lee.