At Nerve.com, Ada Calhoun recalls the joys of coming of age reading Neil Gaiman’s The Sandman:
Written by Neil Gaiman and illustrated by various people, including the regally named Malcolm Jones III, Sandman was one of the smart-people comics, bought by twenty-one-year-old former art students with good haircuts and cool shoes and by thirty-eight-year-old guys in bands that were actually good. It was common to see Sandman in a stack with back issues of Hate and Love & Rockets. Every Sandman had a zillion references, from Greek mythology to Shakespeare. When you got the obscure ones, it made you feel smart, like you’d just finished the Friday crossword puzzle.
And the stories were real stories. They were all about humans getting tangled up with gods — the gods in this case being the Endless, six brothers and sisters named Dream (the title character, and star), Desire, Despair, Destiny, Delirium and Death (portrayed as a hot, funny, casually goth-y girl). One or the other of the Endless would get his or her (or in androgynous Desire’s case, his/her) claws in a person, and page after page of dramatic dialogue and artsy illustration would ensue. There was a lot of dealmaking, and violence and wistfulness. I ate it up.
In related, but less happy, news, director Joel Schumacher says he’d like to tackle a Sandman movie.
(Nerve link via Bookslut)