SANDMAN
Created by Neil Gaiman and Mike Dringenberg
DC Comics/Vertigo
Almost 1500 pages long. A stack of books the height of a medium-sized dog. Hailed the best comic book ever made, and feted to all and sundry as empirical proof that comics are more than just superheroes.
But is it any good?
Let’s find out.
Sandman was, for a long time, the flagship series for DC Comics mature readers imprint, Vertigo, although it predates the line by a couple of months. Vertigo, which celebrates its tenth anniversary this year, was and is a place for intelligent, mature comics to grow and thrive. We have already seen, in Fists passim, some of the best that Vertigo has to offer, in the form of Preacher, The Invisibles, Shade and 100 Bullets.
Sandman is of a comparable standard to all three series, in that is both pleasantly finite, and exquisitely well made. However, Sandman was groundbreaking for its time in the way that it reached out to an audience beyond the comics faithful, being adopted by the cool and not-so-cool alike as The comicbook of the 1990’s.
The comics geeks liked Sandman because it was rooted in the DC Comics fantasy universe, featuring characters from Alan Moore’s Swamp Thing, the superhero drama Infinity Inc., and several classic horror/suspense anthologies (such as House of Mystery and House of Secrets). The fantasy geeks loved Sandman because it did what so many other fantasy series set out to do – weave a world of faeries, elves, gods and demons into a cohesive whole – and did it well. The goths loved it because the lead character was pale and interesting (and most of the time, a bit moody), as was his big sister (the surprisingly well-balanced, top-hatted incarnation of Death). And the regular folks, who weren’t any of those other things, exactly or exclusively, liked Sandman because it was so damn good.
It didn’t hurt the sales of the book that celebrity geeks such as Tori Amos, Steven King, Clare Danes and Clive Barker (responsible, incidentally, for the line of comic books that gave the world The Wachowskis) lent their names, and their introductions, to the trade paperback collections of the series, and it’s many spin-offs.
But all that aside, the question remains: is it any good?
Well, yes it is. And I’ll tell you for why. Because it’s so well written, so deftly layered, so goddamn smart, that a five year-old could understand it.
You might think that with ten books in the series, plus the illustrated novel Dream Hunters, the new hardcover anthology comic Endless Nights, the spin-off comics, the mini-series and the manga filling the shelves like puppies in a window, Sandman might take some getting into. But you couldn’t be further from the truth.
The series starts with a terrible crime, and (depending on how you look at it) ends with one, too. But the overriding theme of the series is that A Change Is As Good As A Rest.
The Sandman of the title is referred to by many names, throughout the series. The one that is used most often is Morpheus, but the one that fits him best is Dream. Dream is one of a family of anthropomorphic beings called The Endless (i.e.: we see him as the ghost of Robert Smith, but Cats, Dogs, and Martians perceive him slightly differently). Each of the Endless is responsible for, or symbolises, one grand role within the living universe - Destiny, Death, Dream, Desire, Despair, Delight (latterly Delirium), and Destruction – and each has as many names as there are cultures to name them.
Dream spends much of the first book imprisoned by Shit Magicians, and when he finally breaks free, his various objects of power scattered to the four winds, he discovers that he isn’t quite what he was. It’s a feeling that persists throughout the series, even when, as is inevitable in these situations, Dream exacts his revenge.
Although tied into the DC comics universe in no uncertain terms (the book started out as a modern reimagning of the Joe Simon superhero of the same name), Sandman quickly shakes off most of the Hero Book dust, and by the end of the first book (Preludes and Nocturnes), becomes something quite different.
Gaiman explores a number of themes in Sandman, such as duty, family, the power of stories, and the patterns of life, death, and belief, but the one which resonates with me the most is that of self-determination. A number of times, during the course of the series, we meet people who, for one reason or another, rebel against the constraints placed upon them by circumstance, providence or family. These individuals decide, “nuts to everyone else: I’m going to be me, no matter the cost,” and go off and do it. Some do this more successfully than others, of course, but it’s a notion that wasn’t lost on this reader – or, indeed, the eponymous anthropomorph.
Gaiman juggles a huge cast of birds, lesbians, librarians, dancers, gods, monsters and nightmares – in fact, I have a feeling that it’s one of the biggest casts in modern comics – and rarely does he drop a ball. Each cast member, from The Amazing Herschel to Will Shakespeare, speaks with his, her or its own voice. Gaiman’s Dream is a stuffy, cold person, for the most part, with a history of treating others with less than the greatest of respect. It’s almost as if the terrible thing that happens to Dream at the start of Book One is Karmic payback from the Universe, giving Dream the chance to approach his life from the point of view of an outsider. It is clear, right from the start that Dream does not like what he sees. There’s a thread running through this series that warns the Sandman, “Your sins shall find you out.”
Gaiman’s cast is undeniably well-rounded, and it forms the cornerstone to this amazing magnum opus. He’s helped, of course, by a huge band of the industry’s finest artists, including Colleen Doran, Michael Zulli, Bryan Talbot, Charles Vess, Chris Bachalo, Mike Allred, Marc Hempel, P. Craig Russell and cover artist Dave McKean. From digitally coloured pencil art to ancient Chinese brushwork, Sandman explores and exploits a vast array of artistic styles, always managing to stay fresh, and using art to serve the story, rather than obscuring the storytelling with inappropriate art.
McKean is a supremely gifted filmmaker and storyteller in his own right, with the colossal Cages being one of the most amazing (and hernia-inducing) graphic novels I’ve ever had the privilege to read, and his covers for the individual issues, and the trade paperbacks themselves, are a marvellous melange of model making, photography, and other jiggery-pokery. Sandman leaps off the shelves by looking like nothing else you’ve ever seen. It gives a unifying visual identity to the series that’s worth its weight in gold.
Gaiman doesn’t just examine the Prince of Stories; he takes looks at The Story itself, examining it from the point of view of the writer/storyteller, the reader/listener, and the protagonists. Gaiman has much to say on the power of stories – dreams - to change the world, for better or worse, and on the tendency of stories to change, according to who tells them, and to whom. Fittingly, your experience of Sandman will depend on what you bring to it.
When you get past all the hype, the bag full of awards, and the endless (!) new printings of the trade paperbacks, Sandman is, at its core, a very straightforward story about a bloke who reaches a crossroads in his life, and isn’t sure which way to turn. This elegant simplicity means that, goth, geek or freak, Sandman is a book that can – and should – be read by all.
Is it the greatest comicbook ever made? That’s something you’re going to have to decide for yourself. I suggest that you sleep on it.
Review text (C) Matthew Craig
Originally published in the pop culture magazine Robot Fist