Dream
To prove my utter geekiness I share with you my latest read, Neil Gaiman's "The Sandman: Endless Nights." Its a soft bound collection of fantasy tales that depict a cross section of seven beings/deities/states of existence within their long lives, if they could be classified as such. They are by age of creation Destiny, Death, Dream, Destruction, Desire, Despair, and Delirium who was once Delight. According to Sandman mythos these seven aspects contain all human and universal existence. I know, it all sounds rather cornball but this was the stuff my adolescence and young adulthood was based in. Sandman was originally a series that ran from 1988 to 1996 and followed the waning days of Morpheus, former incarnate of Dreams. While other kids were watching poorly drawn Saturday morning cartoons I delved into a world that was packed with stories of faded gods, the only Emperor of America, horror, Shakespeare, fairies, tales of woe, and the Kindly Ones amongst many others. The comic was one of the most imaginative to date (followed closely by Alan Moore's recent Promethia series). It introduced me to a host of mythological figures, all of whom I researched and told strange morality tales and an interesting mix of beliefs. Just ask, I can tell you the Greek god of dreams for all animal life. No shit, my brain is a vast repository of otherwise useless information.
The new book came out last year as a follow up by its author, a promised return to the land of ethereal. Seven illustrators accompanied Gaiman's words through seven distinct impressions of each of the Endless. The art was breathtaking and imaginative throughout. I got lost in the book for hours, reading and re-reading its glossy pages. The book took me back to a time before everyday life crept in, before I started worrying about bills and the mundane material world. It also reminded me just how much of my world is based on this outlandish viewpoint presented, of a belief in underlying cause and effect. This, along with an interview with an artist who extolled the power and need for art flared an imagination that I thought had been long smashed. Maybe its time to write poorly written fictional prose again or to try and script a funny book, more pretensiously known as a "graphic novel." Who knows, maybe it will all be richer: the bittersweet pretend balanced with the harsh reality of personal experience. Hell, is that not my life right now anyway?
posted by Joe Blow @ 12/13/2004 10:53:00 PM
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