Sandman and the Limits of Gaiman's Myth-Making

I recently finished reading all 10 Sandman graphic novels by Neil Gaiman. I’ve read much of his other work before, like American Gods. Something has always felt off with Gaiman, but I couldn’t pinpoint it until now: Neil Gaiman isn’t a myth maker—he’s a postmodernist.

The Sandman is Neil Gaiman’s sprawling graphic novel series that follows Morpheus, the Lord of Dreams, through a tapestry of myth, folklore, and contemporary themes. Often praised for its intertextual storytelling, the series blends ancient myths with a modern, ironic sensibility, deconstructing rather than embodying the mythic. Though it features gods, legends, and cosmic entities, it does so with a detached, self-aware edge, reflecting Gaiman’s characteristic style of subverting traditional narratives.

Many people recommended Sandman to me because they know my reading and writing are rooted in mythic material. So I bought and read all of it. The back covers are filled with extravagant claims like, “Shakespeare wishes he could write as good as Gaiman.” Really?

Here’s the thing: Gaiman is a talented storyteller. He weaves interesting plots and layers stories well, using intertextuality in ways that I appreciate. This isn’t an attack on his skills—writing is hard, and he’s good at it. He builds intriguing characters and creates compelling situations. But none of this has anything to do with myth. His characters and conflicts are fundamentally postmodern. Even though we’re supposedly dealing with cosmic beings like Morpheus, they feel more like characters from a tragic episode of Seinfeld than figures from the Poetic Edda.

Gaiman injects his work with 90s cultural concerns, pulling it further away from any kind of universal depth. At his core, Gaiman is a postmodernist deconstructing myths, not creating them. He loots the temples but never builds his own. Readers seem impressed by his retellings of ancient myths, but I suspect it’s because they’ve never read the originals. As is often the case, the originals are better.

Gaiman’s pastiche of myths and sacred tales comes with the smirk of the postmodernist. He doesn’t believe in the myths—they’re just stories to him, toys to play with. That’s the difference between a postmodernist and someone who operates from within the mythic. When Melville wrote Moby Dick, he wasn’t winking at the audience. He was dead serious, and you can feel it. Moby Dick is myth. It’s carved from the bones of the universe. It haunted me for weeks after reading it, filling my dreams with its depth. In comparison, Gaiman is like a child who finds a sacred sword and uses it to chop vegetables.

Those who call Gaiman a master of myth don’t understand myth at all. They don’t grasp how it aligns or what it’s meant to do. Gaiman is, in many ways, anti-mythic. Take his portrayal of Thor, for example. In mythology, Thor is the raw, exuberant masculine force—a beloved figure who fights the darkness with joy and rage. Gaiman had so much potential to work with here, but instead, he makes Thor a stupid jock, a complete idiot. It’s a lazy, cynical joke. Then there’s Odin, one of the most mystical figures in all of mythology, reduced to a cranky old man making deals. It’s profane.

Gaiman doesn’t understand myth. He’s not a myth maker. And maybe that’s not what he’s aiming for, which is fine. I’m not trashing the series. I don’t regret reading it. I’d give it a 3/5. It was fine—entertaining, like many good comic books. But in the end, it doesn’t haunt me or draw me into anything deeper. It’s candy, not meat.