New York: William Morrow; 2013; $25.99 hc; 181 pages
Have you noticed how inimitable Neil Gaiman seems to be? He is one of the biggest names in publishing now. I have heard it suggested that we have passed from the Age of Stephen King to the Age of Gaiman. But, whereas King rapidly spawned whole shelves of readily recognizable kinglets, and J.K. Rowling certainly inspired the publication of other series books about juvenile wizards, there does not seem to be any actual Neil Gaiman imitator despite the amount of money that could conceivably be made by one. Could it be that his talent is just too diverse, too protean, for the active ingredient to be synthesized in repeatable units of book-product?