A large part of the problem is that I is for Incomplete, as in, ideas are half-developed (if that). In How to Talk to Girls at Parties, Gaiman offers a nifty spin on a reason why young boys are afraid of talking to girls: the nagging suspicion that girls are really aliens and simply beyond understanding. Unfortunately, while he teases and taunts, he never explores. A lack of depth is mistaken for mystery, and the frustration is topped off by an ambiguously horrifying event that ends the story but is – intentionally – never meaningfully explained or revealed.

This is a pattern in other stories as well. In October in the Chair, a story-within-a-story, Gaiman paints a charming portrait of the year’s months gathering around the campfire to share stories. There is no charm, however, in October’s initially promising story of a boy on the run that simply stops without clarifying the character’s fate.

Or how about The Price, in which a mysterious black cat for mysterious reasons defends a family from mysterious monster attacks that occur for equally mysterious reasons. Replace “mysterious” with “unexplained” or “unknown” and The Price illustrates Gaiman’s insistent unwillingness to do anything with the core ideas from which the stories spring. When the story ends on an ambiguous note that would break a cat lover’s heart, not only is it fair to wonder whether Gaiman actually had an end in mind, but whether he actually had a story in mind as well.

In a few cases, I for Incomplete comes in the form of inexplicable character motivations. Sunbird, for example, is a rather interesting story about a group of ravenous epicureans in a perpetual search for new delicacies to eat. When a seemingly immortal member of the club suggests a journey to find and consume the rare Sunbird, the epicureans readily agree unaware of what really awaits them. But given the inevitable twist, a question arises as to why the immortal member felt the need to lead his fellow gourmands to the fate he knew they would suffer. Malice? Revenge? Something else? Only Gaiman knows, and he’s not telling.

There is, at least, an E for Exception – however, the cynical might think it’s just a teaser for Gaiman’s upcoming children’s novel, The Graveyard Book. Called The Witch’s Headstone, this tale – about a living boy named Nobody Owens (Bod, for short) who is raised by the dead in a cemetery and enjoys well-meaning but ill-advised adventures – certainly showcases the imagination Gaiman is justly famous for. Along with a few other fun and whimsical stories, like a whodunit based on that old bumper sticker “Humpty Dumpty Was Pushed” and the story of a great con (How to Sell the Ponti Bridge), The Witch’s Headstone might actually be part of a few Es for Exception. But is it worth shelling out seventeen bucks for a tease and reprints?

Perhaps there’s something unfair in applying adult literary standards – rich characterizations, developed plots, etc. – to stories intended for children. Yet it’s hard to imagine that any young reader with an inquisitive mind would not also ask why, why, why, until parents grab pitchforks and torches to storm Gaiman’s castle. Granted, the joy of a good story lies in assembling puzzle pieces and forming one’s own interpretation. Unfortunately, like abstract art, it is all too easy to lack pieces.

M is for Magic? D is for Disappointment.