In the literary world this week, a hackneyed writing genre got an unexpected revival: the stern-faced #MeToo callout. Fearlessly exposing a famous person’s sexual impropriety for the scandalised enjoyment of all, the long read in New York Magazine took as its subject the extremely successful “dark fantasy” writer Neil Gaiman. Sensible readers had already guessed the ending: that the overindulged manbaby in black, with his wild gothic imagination and propensity to hitch himself to splashy feminist causes, would turn out to be a priapic creep. Still, it was worth slogging through the piece for the inadvertent light it shed upon the strangeness of modern sexual mores.
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