There are enough clues to point to the murderer, but little agency available to bring him to justice, legal or otherwise. Instead, there’s just a big scary floating wizard head in a house full of Egyptian artifacts. Or Bhutanese. Not that it matters.

Like most people, I have queued to get Neil Gaiman’s autograph. I have also followed his advice to writers for the first time, which naturally entitles me to dispense advice of my own.