Sometimes Magic Is Complicated
After a week where I barely read a thing, this past stretch of reading has taken me in a lot of different, complicated directions.
I’ve moved from the whimsical chaos of Rozakis’s The Grimoire Grammar School Parent Teacher Association, to the quiet, aching stillness of Ogawa’s The Memory Police. Now I’m about three-quarters of the way through Gaiman’s Neverwhere.
All three books are doing very different things. Each proposes a distinct flavor of magic.
But Neverwhere has also brought up something I’m wrestling with as a reader.
I’m enjoying the story. I admire the imagination behind it; the strange corners, the ideas, the sense of wonder tucked into overlooked places.
I’m also uncomfortable. This book has forced me to grapple with the complicated feelings that come with appreciating a work while struggling with the behavior or beliefs of the person who created it.
On reading stories I love while holding uncomfortable truths
It’s complicated. However, I’ve felt this before with other books too. (Hello Harry Potter?)
Here I recognize the impact of the world the author built, while also knowing I can’t admire the creator herself. Particularly because her words and actions actively harm others.
It’s a strange place to stand as a reader: to hold admiration and refusal at the same time.
I don’t have a clean answer for how to resolve that tension. I only know that reading, for me, has become less about blind devotion and more about awareness — about asking myself not just what a story gives me, but how I want to carry it forward.
Some magic is complicated. And maybe it’s okay to sit with that discomfort instead of trying to smooth it away.
Right now, that feels like part of being a thoughtful reader. Letting stories move me, while still choosing compassion for the real people who exist beyond the page.
I’d love to know if you’ve ever felt this way about a book you enjoyed?
The header photo is a composite image. Base image by Sixteen Miles Out on Unsplash
I know others have written about this tension — about acknowledging the power and value of stories (especially books you’ve already purchased and owned for YEARS) while decrying the behavior of the people who wrote them — but I appreciate that you wrote this, and I agree with you. It’s a challenging tension to navigate, and I do so by trying to separate my appreciation for the work and the fictional world from my anger at the author for who they are in the real world. Will I still read and enjoy these stories, these books that I already own? Yes. Will they also bring me a touch of sadness now that I know more about the authors behind them? Also yes. Will I ever support these authors again or buy any more of their work? Hell no.
Roger! How nice to hear from you. Thank you for sharing this; I appreciate your perspective. I agree with you. That mix of enjoyment, sadness, and refusal to support these authors going forward feels very real to me too.
For me it’s both possible and impossible to separate the art from the artist. Maybe because we’re readers and writers, we know how powerful stories can be. But that also makes the tension harder, not easier! I’m grateful you added your voice to this conversation.