The Light Hand of God

One of the things I love about Neil Gaiman’s Stardust (there are more things than just the one, but this’ll do for now) is the lightness and ease with which he introduces his characters’ magical powers. Especially Tristram’s. When Tristram crosses over into Faerie, he gradually realizes that he has a complete mental map of the entire realm. He never knew he had this power; it manifests itself in his ability to give directions whenever someone asks him for help. Gaiman develops this skill without any explanation; without any weight; as readers, he allows us to marvel and laugh at Tristram’s ability. We aren’t ever exposited at.

Tristram just does it—he just opens his mouth and out come directions. Gaiman’s the same way: he just does it. He just writes it, and trusts that we’ll get it. But we forget how hard that is. It’s so much easier to tell too much; to not cut out the unnecessary words; to underestimate the intelligence of the reader, either deliberately or, much more likely, unawares.