The life of the author

By Soncirey Mitchell
Reader Staff

There are three books by Neil Gaiman on my shelves: Good Omens, American Gods and The Ocean at the End of the Lane. The sight of them, which used to make me smile, now makes me gag; and, for the first time in my life, I have the desire to burn books.

Paul Caruana Galizia and Rachel Johnson broke the story of the numerous rape allegations made against Gaiman in the podcast Master. Shortly after, Lila Shapiro wrote an 11,000-word exposé for Vulture, recounting in nauseating detail the physical and psychological abuse perpetrated by Gaiman against multiple women over many years.

I have loved Gaiman’s work since I was a child, watching Stardust and Doctor Who. He has an undeniable talent for crafting impactful, whimsical stories — and that’s what gave him enough money, power and influence to brutalize a host of women, forcing them to commit degrading acts that stripped them of their humanity and permanently scarred them.

It’s been more than a month since the story broke, and I’ve come to accept the two conflicting images in my head: the beautiful stories full of love and the sadist who created them. I’ve yet to come to terms with what it means for me.

The internet and the power of the Me Too movement brought the idea of ethical consumption to pop culture and ushered in the age of “cancel culture,” where the public agrees to boycott celebrities for immoral and illegal behavior. This is the only punishment most of Hollywood’s elite will ever face for sexual harassment or racist/sexist/homophobic/bigoted actions.

The idea that we have a moral obligation to monitor the kind of media we consume isn’t new — John Milton was ruminating on the topic in the 1640s — but what is new is the scale on which we produce that media. Hundreds of people work on any given film, from actors to interns, each contributing to the final product. How much involvement must a person have before they irrevocably taint the art they helped create?

It was easy for critics and moviegoers to ignore Peter Five Eight in 2024 and deny its star (Kevin Spacey) the fame or money it might have garnered him. It’s equally as easy for me never to buy another of Gaiman’s books — that transaction is simple. To do so would be to give money to a monster who has driven women to the brink of suicide.

It’s not so simple when it comes to producers like Harvey Weinstein, who had a hand in films like The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring.

LOTR is the single most important piece of media in my life. Still, I can’t definitively say that financially supporting it — whether by buying DVDs or merchandise — and publicly talking about it isn’t playing into the culture that has turned a blind eye to sexual abusers for years. I also can’t say boycotting it would make any difference, aside from stripping me of a source of joy and comfort I’ve relied on for nearly 20 years.

The gut-wrenching truth is that if we boycotted every piece of media with a writer, editor, actor, producer or director accused of sexual assault or who was a known bigot, we’d have next to nothing left. There will always be influential people willing to abuse their power, and they will always be tied to pop culture because pop culture creates influential people and vice versa. So, though the philosophy of ethical consumption is sound, it will never truly align with practice because it asks too much of people.

The only practical solution is to leverage pop culture’s influence to discuss consent, mental health and recovery from abuse. It’s impossible to erase these creators or their works, which have lodged themselves in the public consciousness; and, regardless, doing so inadvertently erases the victims. 

Since these works cannot be ignored, their influence must be used to change the cultural narrative so that, in the future, creators can’t use their popularity as a shield to hide from the consequences of their actions. Making the pain mean something is the best way to honor the survivors and save generations from suffering the same fate.