The signed copy of Neil Gaiman’s book arrived on my doorstep yesterday. I didn’t get a ghost, scrawled around ink blots on the ivory page, but I wasn’t disappointed after all. There was just something about the shiny gold-ness of the sticker on the front proclaiming “Signed First Edition.” I opened up the front cover to see Neil’s scribble in blue, and I just felt warm gladness. It is a slimmer volume than I thought it would be from the pictures online.
I have nothing more to say about it, because I’m afraid to read it. It’s been lauded as his best book yet, and I don’t know what will happen to me if I don’t love it too. Loss of the title ‘Fervent Fan’ is probably one of the things. The other reason I’m afraid to read it is because I read so terribly fast. On average, I get through 100 pages an hour. The book is so slim. If I finish it, then it will all be over and done. It’s a terrible catch-22.
Brian said to me the other night, “you know, I really think I would like Neil Gaiman’s stuff, but I feel like you’re such a fan that it’s spoiled it for me. What if it turned out I didn’t like a book of his? You’d be so disappointed.”
Evidently, I’m even spoiling it for myself now. That’s me: Casey Hamilton, Ruiner of all things Neil Gaiman. I’m going to read it soon. Probably.