M is for magic

Neil Gaiman

Book - 2007

Eleven stories that involve strange and fantastical events.

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YOUNG ADULT FICTION/Gaiman, Neil
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Subjects
Published
New York : HarperCollins c2007.
Language
English
Main Author
Neil Gaiman (-)
Other Authors
Teddy H. Kristiansen (-)
Edition
1st ed
Physical Description
260 p. : ill. ; 22 cm
ISBN
9780061186424
9780061186455
  • Introduction
  • The Case of the Four and Twenty Blackbirds
  • Troll Bridge
  • Don't Ask Jack
  • How to Sell the Ponti Bridge
  • October in the Chair
  • Chivalry
  • The Price
  • How to Talk to Girls at Parties
  • Sunbird
  • The Witch's Headstone
  • Instructions
Review by Booklist Review

A modern master of fantasy has selected nine of his short stories and a poem and added a segment from an upcoming children's title for this volume, appropriately titled in homage to a past master, Ray Bradbury. Leading off with a classic detective story involving nursery rhyme characters, Gaiman continues down familiar but twisted paths. There's a scary jack-in-the-box and a troll under a bridge. A rogue describes a perfect scam. A black cat fends off the devil; the eaters of a phoenix discover that it burns. There are stories about talking with girls, with ghosts, with knights in armor, and with aliens. Finally, Gaiman concludes with instructions for proper behavior in fairy-tale land. Although all but The Witch's Headstone have appeared elsewhere, this well-chosen collection is sure to create a new generation of Gaiman fans who will not need to understand all the allusions to enjoy the stories. Danish comic-book artist Kristiansen, no stranger to Gaiman material, will be providing the illustrations. --Kathleen Isaacs Copyright 2007 Booklist

From Booklist, Copyright (c) American Library Association. Used with permission.
Review by Publisher's Weekly Review

Taking both inspiration and naming convention from Ray Bradbury's R Is for Rocket and S Is for Space, Gaiman's first YA anthology is a fine collection of previously published short stories. Although Gaiman's prose skill has improved markedly since the earliest stories included here, one constant is his stellar imagination, not to mention his knack for finding unexpected room for exploration in conventional story motifs. Jill Dumpty, sister of the late Humpty, hires a hard-boiled detective to look into her brother's tragic fall; the 12 months of the year sit around in a circle, telling each other stories about the things they've seen; an elderly woman finds the Holy Grail in a flea market and takes it home because of how nice it will look on her mantelpiece. Collectors will be pleased to note the inclusion of several stories that were previously published in the now-hard-to-find collection Angels & Visitations. Also of note is fan favorite "How to Talk to Girls at Parties," which has been nominated for a Hugo Award for 2007. Though Gaiman is still best known for his groundbreaking Sandman comic book epic, this volume is an excellent reminder of his considerable talent for short-form prose. Ages 10-up. (July) (c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved

(c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved
Review by School Library Journal Review

Gr 9 Up-This chilling collection contains 10 short stories and a poem. In one, a teenaged boy is at a party with a group of beautiful girls and, as usual, he has such a hard time talking to them that it seems like they're from another planet-except this time they really are. In another, a man discovers that his newly adopted stray cat is taking a beating every night to protect his family from the devil. "The Witch's Headstone" introduces a boy who lives in a graveyard and has ghosts for foster parents. While the book's packaging will appeal to middle graders who embraced Gaiman's Coraline (HarperCollins, 2002), M Is for Magic features mostly adult protagonists and situations that make it best suited to older teens. These readers will also better appreciate the author's use of disparate sources and styles to enhance the humor and depth of the pieces. Little Jack Horner is a private detective in a tale that reads like a collaboration between Mickey Spillane and Mother Goose; Sir Galahad of King Arthur's court is no match for a modern-day English widow who bought the Holy Grail at a thrift shop and doesn't plan to relinquish it. Although the stories are creepy, funny, and clever on the page, they are even better when read aloud, and Gaiman's expert storytelling and rhythmic use of language will make the book popular with teachers and librarians looking for new and engrossing read-alouds to share with their classes.-Beth Wright, Fletcher Free Library, Burlington, VT (c) Copyright 2010. Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.

(c) Copyright Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.
Review by Kirkus Book Review

Ten short stories and one poem, some presented here for the first time, allow one of the modern masters of fantasy to strut his stuff, particularly that of the deliciously creepy variety. A man who has put off the troll under the bridge in his youth yields to ennui at last and gives over his life; a sinister Jack-in-the-box plants madness in the minds of children; a living boy is raised in a graveyard by the dead. There's some lighthearted material as well, though. A hardboiled detective tries to solve the murder of Humpty-Dumpty; a master con artist spins the yarn of his greatest swindle; a little old lady very nearly thwarts the quest for the Holy Grail when she buys it in a junk shop. The variety and pacing makes every transition a surprise, though it's clear that many of the stories were not written with a child reader in mind: These tales are a definite step up in sophistication from Coraline (2002), and will repay older readers handsomely. (Short stories. YA) Copyright ©Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.

Copyright (c) Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.

M Is for Magic Chapter One The Case of the Four and Twenty Blackbirds I sat in my office, nursing a glass of hooch and idly cleaning my automatic. Outside the rain fell steadily, like it seems to do most of the time in our fair city, whatever the tourist board says. Heck, I didn't care. I'm not on the tourist board. I'm a private dick, and one of the best, although you wouldn't have known it; the office was crumbling, the rent was unpaid, and the hooch was my last. Things are tough all over. To cap it all the only client I'd had all week never showed up on the street corner where I'd waited for him. He said it was going to be a big job, but now I'd never know: he kept a prior appointment in the morgue. So when the dame walked into my office I was sure my luck had changed for the better. "What are you selling, lady?" She gave me a look that would have induced heavy breathing in a pumpkin, and which shot my heartbeat up to three figures. She had long blonde hair and a figure that would have made Thomas Aquinas forget his vows. I forgot all mine about never taking cases from dames. "What would you say to some of the green stuff?" she asked in a husky voice, getting straight to the point. "Continue, sister." I didn't want her to know how bad I needed the dough, so I held my hand in front of my mouth; it doesn't help if a client sees you salivate. She opened her purse and flipped out a photograph. Glossy eight by ten. "Do you recognize that man?" In my business you know who people are. "Yeah." "He's dead." "I know that too, sweetheart. It's old news. It was an accident." Her gaze went so icy you could have chipped it into cubes and cooled a cocktail with it. "My brother's death was no accident." I raised an eyebrow--you need a lot of arcane skills in my business--and said, "Your brother, eh?" Funny, she hadn't struck me as the type that had brothers. "I'm Jill Dumpty." "So your brother was Humpty Dumpty?" "And he didn't fall off that wall, Mr. Horner. He was pushed." Interesting, if true. Dumpty had his finger in most of the crooked pies in town; I could think of five guys who would have preferred to see him dead than alive without trying. Without trying too hard, anyway. "You seen the cops about this?" "Nah. The King's Men aren't interested in anything to do with his death. They say they did all they could do in trying to put him together again after the fall." I leaned back in my chair. "So what's it to you. Why do you need me?" "I want you to find the killer, Mr. Horner. I want him brought to justice. I want him to fry like an egg. Oh--and one other little thing," she added lightly. "Before he died Humpty had a small manila envelope full of photographs he was meant to be sending me. Medical photos. I'm a trainee nurse, and I need them to pass my finals." I inspected my nails, then looked up at her face, taking in a handful of waist and several curves on the way up. She was a looker, although her cute nose was a little on the shiny side. "I'll take the case. Seventy-five a day and two hundred bonus for results." She smiled; my stomach twisted around once and went into orbit. "You get another two hundred if you get me those photographs. I want to be a nurse real bad." Then she dropped three fifties on my desktop. I let a devil-may-care grin play across my rugged face. "Say, sister, how about letting me take you out for dinner? I just came into some money." She gave an involuntary shiver of anticipation and muttered something about having a thing about midgets, so I knew I was onto a good thing. Then she gave me a lopsided smile that would have made Albert Einstein drop a decimal point. "First find my brother's killer, Mr. Horner. And my photographs. Then we can play." She closed the door behind her. Maybe it was still raining but I didn't notice. I didn't care. There are parts of town the tourist board doesn't mention. Parts of town where the police travel in threes if they travel at all. In my line of work you get to visit them more than is healthy. Healthy is never. He was waiting for me outside Luigi's. I slid up behind him, my rubber-soled shoes soundless on the shiny wet sidewalk. "Hiya, Cock." He jumped and spun around; I found myself gazing up into the muzzle of a .45. "Oh, Horner." He put the gun away. "Don't call me Cock. I'm Bernie Robin to you, short-stuff, and don't you forget it." "Cock Robin is good enough for me, Cock. Who killed Humpty Dumpty?" He was a strange-looking bird, but you can't be choosy in my profession. He was the best underworld lead I had. "Let's see the color of your money." I showed him a fifty. "Hell," he muttered. "It's green. Why can't they make puce or mauve money for a change?" He took it though. "All I know is that the Fat Man had his finger in a lot of pies." "So?" "One of those pies had four and twenty blackbirds in it." "Huh?" "Do I hafta spell it out for you? I . . . ughh--" He crumpled to the sidewalk, an arrow protruding from his back. Cock Robin wasn't going to be doing any more chirping. Sergeant O'Grady looked down at the body, then he looked down at me. "Faith and begorrah, to be sure," he said. "If it isn't Little Jack Horner himself." "I didn't kill Cock Robin, Sarge." "And I suppose that the call we got down at the station telling us you were going to be rubbing the late Mr. Robin out--here, tonight--was just a hoax?" M Is for Magic . Copyright © by Neil Gaiman. Reprinted by permission of HarperCollins Publishers, Inc. All rights reserved. Available now wherever books are sold. Excerpted from M Is for Magic by Neil Gaiman All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.