Stardust by Neil Gaiman
My rating: 3 of 5 stars
So here’s epic fantasy—the kind that takes up several fat volumes—crammed into a thinnish tome. What, a “tome” can’t be thin? Read Stardust, and come back to me; you’ll see what I mean.
The thing is, I say crammed, but maybe you will want to use a different word. I say crammed, but respectfully, because I really don’t have patience for several fat volumes anymore. I did as a kid. As I kid, I devoured Lloyd Alexander’s Chronicles of Prydain. A few years later, I couldn’t get enough of Roger Zelazney’s Chronicles of Amber. By the time I got to Tolkien, well, I had lost that wonderlust.
And yes, I fully realize that my not having read all of Tolkien makes any fantasy review I write illegitimate.
My point is, I was glad to have Gaiman gloss over for me all the parts I would have glossed over if he had spread this out over thousands of pages. Actually, Stardust reads like an abridged version of something else. For me, that’s a plus.
For others, I’m guessing, a minus. If there are two types of people, those who love to read fantasy and those who don’t, I’m guessing the fantasy people read more non-fantasy than the non-fantasy people read fantasy. This is my confusing way of saying this book will attract fantasy-lovers and then utterly disappoint them.
I’ve seen some refer to Stardust as “a fairy-tale for adults.” If so, then that’s just an insulting way of saying that fantasy readers are not fully mature and this book is for actual grown-ups. But I disagree. Yeah, there’s a graphic sex scene and some graphic violence, so it’s not for kids. But fantasy isn’t for kids either, these days.
Stardust is, though, for people like me who maybe want to dip their toes in some fantasy but don’t want the year-long commitment. Does that make it shallow? Well, yes—but all fantasy is shallow to non-fantasy people.
The problem’s not the book, though; the problem is the act of being judgmental. Toss away adult cynicism, and Stardust is a fun little ride.