We have just returned from a lovely convention devoted to the Sandman comic series. The final event, in keeping with tradition, was a grand discussion panel with all the guests at once. In that discussion, Neil Gaiman raised the matter of how many stories had been left untold: from what great labor had Dream just come, that he could be so trapped in the first issue? What was the nature of Despair’s death and reincarnation? How did Delight become Delirium? In pointing out these untold stories, he was hinting that he might write them some day, and was, to some degree, fishing for what the fans would like to see.
The audience, being fans, showed all the interest you might expect. There was an excited murmur as each question was raised, a manifest desire to see these stories told, as well. Any true fan would want to read all of them. But interest was clearly strongest in Delirium, perhaps because a visible slice of Sandman’s fan base identifies with Delirium, perhaps because Gaiman was playing so coy. He had indeed decided why Delight had become Delirium, but refused to share the information.
This was Big Stuff. This was a Secret, something Gaiman wouldn’t even share with his collaborators, not even illustrator Jill Thompson, who was with him at the moment the reason for Delight’s transformation popped into his head, not even though Thompson pleaded him with a fangirl intensity that had not died in the familiarity of working alongside Gaiman. Of course the audience wanted to know. Right then, if not sooner. Tell us. Initiate us into the inner circle of worshippers. Share the secrets you have trusted to no one else. And in that expectant pause, I had a moment of clarity. It took the form of an image from Sandman itself.
In Fables and Reflections, Cain and Abel host an impromptu tea party, complete with an exchange of tales. Cain tells of parliaments of rooks, wherein the birds congregate around one member, listen to him, and either take flight or tear him apart…and no one knows why. Abel spoils the mystery: the lone rook is telling a story, and the parliament’s response is a judgment on the tale. For this affront, Cain slays Abel – again – savaging him with a fireplace poker and shoving the body head-first into the fireplace itself. And as he does so, Cain explains it’s all for his brother’s good, that murder may help Abel learn a lesson before spoiling a mystery really gets him into trouble. “It's the mystery that endures, not the explanation. A good mystery can last forever...Nobody really cares who-done-it. They'll peck you to pieces if you tell them, little brother.”
Knowledge preceded understanding; the unbidden image popped into my head before I asked myself any questions like, “Which of these stories should be written first?” or “Should they be written at all?” But once the image of Cain and Abel did appear, I considered, and agreed. The genesis of Delirium is a mystery, and should remain one.
Can I justify Gaiman keeping the mystery to himself, when I reached the conclusion through inspiration rather than reason?
It’s hard to imagine Gaiman admirers pecking him to death, literally or metaphorically, even if the origin of Delirium turns out to be a lousy story. (It could. Even Homer nods.) For one thing, they’re really a sweet bunch, taken as a group. More importantly, fans like to be told everything. All at once, please, just as soon as you can, even if it isn’t much good. I know many Tolkien lovers who disliked the Silmarillion, but none who regret that it was written at all, or even that they had read it. The origin of Delirium would obviously sell, so there would be no money lost. Gaiman’s reputation is strong enough to survive a weak story here and there.
Nor is Delirium’s origin likely to be a lousy story. It will probably be terrific. Not everything Gaiman writes is terrific, but most of it is. He’s very, very good. And he loves the art of storytelling far too much to sacrifice it to mere curiosity. No, not even for the fans to whom he gives so generously of himself. I would want to read it, too.
So why on earth shouldn’t he write a comic on Delirium’s origin? And, if he truly shouldn’t, why should I feel he could safely write more of Dream and Despair?
Well, two reasons, perhaps. One, I trust Gaiman to pick fertile ground for a story far more than I trust his adoring fans. Inspiration can come from anywhere, and it is kind of him to poll his readers, but appreciating the magic Gaiman works doesn’t mean you can do it yourself. Second, there’s that sense of identity. I saw a lot of red and orange hair dye in that crowd, and there were plenty of Deliria at the costume ball the night before, but nobody dressed after the fashion of Despair.
Everyman characters – Charlie Brown, for example, or Homer Simpson – are simple for a reason. Detail interferes with identity. We all feel distracted at times, confused by the world around us, part of a group whose members show more sense of direction and self-control than ourselves. Portraying Delirium as a wild-eyed young woman with flaming hair reinforces her attraction for young women who feel out of sorts with mainstream society, but simultaneously distances Her from everyone else. Every character trait we learn of Delight is a chance to feel, “Oh, I’m not much like her after all.” The more profound the trait, the more likely it is to break a sense of identity. And that which can change a god-like being must certainly be profound. I fear that giving readers who are deeply into Delirium’s character what they want will be a very different thing from giving them what they will like.