Neil Gaiman

short-haired-rapunzel:

So I’ve read Neverwhere by Neil Gaiman far too many times. I can quote you half of it, recall at a moment’s notice the name of Jessica Bertram’s assistant (Clarence) and the reasons she hates him (he can put a phone into his Armani suit pocket without creasing the line, and is openly gay and, just as openly, black, but also the best assistant she’s ever had), remember the names of the competitors to be Door’s bodyguard, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera. I’m not saying this to boast (being this horribly obsessed with a book is nothing to be proud of), but only to in some way qualify myself in your eyes before I say all the nonsense I’m about to say.

Recently, after a six-month break from the book, I reread Neverwhere once more, and passages (some I’d noticed before, and others I hadn’t) sprung more and more to my attention. These passages were about Hunter, and they all seemed to lead up to one thing, which, while fairly believable and not something to make a fuss over (someone’s sexuality never is), felt like something I felt I wanted recognised more widely. Hunter is a poster-child for the diverse character: the strong women, a woman of colour, a woman unattached and unashamed, and I feel like this is an unsurprising addition to her character but kind of…important nonetheless, for reasons of representation, and being able to identify with a character more as a reader.

So what I did, having made a conclusion that Hunter was attracted to the same sex, from all the tit-bits in the text, was to dog-ear the pages of my already-battered copy of Neverwhere* that held passages relating to the issue, and write it all up at a later date. Now the later date has come, so here are my points.

1. The Most Obvious. The Great Weasel Under Bangkok And The Girl She Gave Its Pelt To.
In the city beneath Bangkok, Hunter slew the Great Weasel. The first thing to note is the description of the city, notably the sensory parts of it. “The world smells”, we’re told, “of spice and dried mango, and it also smells, not unpleasantly, of sex.” This is Hunter’s dream, and the description seems to be from her perspective, so one assumes that this is her attitude to the scents around her. Therefore, I would say that we see here that Hunter is not averse to sex; she’s probably not asexual. We also know that the city is associated with sex.
“She had given the Great Weasel’s pelt to a girl who had caught her eye, who had been appropriately grateful.” This is the most important part. Here we see that girls catch Hunter’s eye. We’re not told in what way - the first few times I read it I thought the girl was shaping up to be a hunter herself - but sexual/romantic attractiveness is clearly the most obvious answer. We also have to consider what, in this undercity, counts as “being appropriately grateful”. This is a phrase that, at first sight, doesn’t give much away, but we know the city is associated with sex, and also that it’s one of those things you don’t always want to write out in explicit terms; therefore, it seems likely that the gratefulness took the form of sexual intimacy.

2. Not Actually Related to Hunter’s Sexuality Exactly, But Still Interesting: Hunter and Serpentine.
We know that Hunter worked for Serpentine, and all of the seven sisters, so this bit is probably complete and utter nonsense. But still, I can’t help feeling like there are hints at some kind of past relationship between Serpentine and Hunter that goes beyond business or friendship (neither, to me, seem the type to make friends as such, either).
It’s all in the way Serpentine acts towards Hunter. “’Hunter…’ She paused, and ran one claw-like finger along the line of Hunter’s jaw. ‘Hunter, you are always welcome here.’” This seems oddly sensuous, and certainly they’re very close to one another. It seems like more than business, definitely.
“She (Serpentine) reached out a white finger, and gently stroked Hunter’s cheek with it, a gesture of affection and possession. And then, ‘You’ve kept your looks better than I, Hunter.’” This quote is compelling (actually much more so than I realised before). We see affection, possession, and discussion of looks. This doesn’t seem like a business relationship (there’s no affection in that), nor a friendship (what friends possess each other?). No, this seems like the greeting of two former lovers, at least to me.
“Serpentine knelt in the wet mire, and ran one finger down Hunter’s cold cheek, until it reached her blood-blackened lips, where she let it linger for some moments.” This passage, too, speaks of a deeper relationship between the two. Again the sensual gestures towards Hunter, and Serpentine even after the woman is dead looking after her and caring for her, something someone as cold as Serpentine wouldn’t, I think, do for many people at all. Also note the emphasis on the lips, which are of course associated with love, because of kissing and all the rest.

3. What Neil Gaiman Himself Says
I had been pondering all this, but I felt awful jumping to conclusions without actually consulting the author himself, so I dropped a question on Hunter’s sexuality into his ask box, not expecting a reply. Surprisingly, a reply came. neil-gaiman, the author himself, says there’s nothing to wonder about: “it’s all there in the book”. I took this to mean that my conclusions were founded. All these things, they feel less like hits now and more like…more like merely things that have happened, things Hunter’s done, that happen to demonstrate her sexuality but aren’t particularly important, or anything. 

Anyway, I feel horribly silly now, writing down all this stuff and acting like I’ve pieced together all the puzzle pieces to come to the right conclusion. It’s always been there, I think, more or less, and it isn’t hugely important, it’s just something I’d like to point out. It’s like saying…oh, I don’t know. Like saying Alexander The Great was bisexual. It’s all there, but you wonder if everyone is acknowledging it, and you want to quietly point it out. 

*If anyone is particularly bothered by me dog-earing the pages, I will point out to you that my copy of Neverwhere is missing its front and back covers, and in fact all of the pages before the introduction, that its pages are stained and worn and its broken spine is held together with sellotape. I consider it well-loved. I’ve had it for about two years, and have gone through lengthy periods of reading it once a fortnight. It’s come to school with me, gone abroad with me, gone to Wales and out in the rain and lain around in the garden. It’s a companion.

For the record, I love that your copy of Neverwhere is that battered and read and stained and loved.

(via short-haired-rapunzel-deactivat)