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Great writers never take the work of their predecessors with a grain of salt. And there is a very good reason for that. The worth of contemporary writers, those that genuinely deserve critical attention, is determined in relation to the standards of the canon. Neil Gaiman not only drives inspiration from ancient tales, legends, and lore for one of his most celebrated, now Netflix-adapted works, The Sandman, but also pays tribute to the pinnacle of literature, William Shakespeare, on various occasions.
Rich in symbolism and eloquently subtle in the exploration of its themes, The Sandman is not your average cup of fantasy fiction. With sufficient plotlines intermingled to keep the tension unbreakable, it indubitably keeps fans on the edge of their seats throughout the season. On top of the drama, or perhaps seamlessly interwoven into its fascinating folds, there is an invitation for a grab-a-cup-of-coffee-and-have-a-think moment. So it’s hardly surprising that such an original amalgamation of classical legends bears a remarkably subtle yet immensely thought-provoking allusion to Shakespeare, a playwright known for his genius understanding of human nature.
There are many references to the canonical playwright and his timeless works in The Sandman; for instance, Morpheus (Tom Sturridge) striking up a conversation, or perhaps a deal, with the aspiring version of the young artist at the bar where he and Hob Gadling (Ferdinand Kingsley) catch up on a century worth of proceedings. But the most subtle and remarkable allusion to Shakespeare is in the character of John Dee.
John is the unwanted child of Robert Burgess, or Magus (Charles Dance), a mystic arts practitioner who captured and trapped Dream, one of the Endless, in a snow globe for over a hundred years. John’s mother, Ethel Cripps (Niamh Walsh /Joely Richardson) flees from Magus when she finds out she has no say in her partner’s decision to abort the baby. In order to survive in a man’s world, Ethel Cripps also steals Dream’s tools from Burgess’ vault, a move that would irrevocably curse the child she so wants to protect.
The Dreamstone’s Effects
To make a life for herself in America, Ethel sells the pouch of Dream Sand and trades the helm with a demon from hell in exchange for an amulet that allows her to tear people apart, quite literally, should they attempt to hurt her. The Ruby, one of Dream’s most powerful tools, she keeps for herself, lending it to John on his birthdays as a gift. Young John, realizing that the Dreamstone could make any of his dreams come true, steals the jewel and alters its properties, so it would only ever respond to him. The Ruby of the Dream Lord, however, yields too much power for mere mortals to wield, and overcome by its capacity, John ends up murdering a number of people. As a consequence, John is kept in a mental asylum for 30 years, put there by Ethel herself.
Given this tragic backstory, it is clear that John is not inherently a bad person, although he does end up making some awful choices. In contrast, Macbeth, unlike John, didn’t grow up under the influence of supernatural forces, but once influenced, he becomes the very thing that brings forth his downfall.
As the Thane of Glamis, Macbeth is one of the most acknowledged Scottish generals in King Duncan’s army, and leads a relatively honorable life, staying loyal to both his country and king. His tyrannical reign begins when he hears the witches’ prophecy that he would be the next king of Scotland. From that moment onward, Macbeth becomes a ruthless murderer, killing people for his cause, and unwittingly bringing forth his own downfall.
Both Macbeth and John, therefore, seem to be, to a considerable degree, puppets of something larger at play, something beyond human capacity and control. As a child, all John does with the Dreamstone is make his childish fantasies come true. As an honored general in King Duncan’s army, all Macbeth does is bring glory to his nation. It is when the voice of the supernatural becomes a reverberating echo, a welcome invasion, an irresistible temptation that the two end up betraying every ounce of humanity in their blood, and in consequence, themselves.
A Reflection of Macbeth
In this way, among others, John is a remarkable reflection of Macbeth. Under the influence of inexplicable, otherworldly forces, he is engulfed by desire and ambition, losing sight of all that might hold him back from entering the realm of the extramundane — the only place where his untethered sanity finds a harbor of sorts.
Shakespeare’s tragic hero and Gaiman’s modern villain share a number of traits. That is not, however, where the allusion ends or even begins for that matter. It is the unexpected, baffling appearance of The Fates, better known as The Three, that draws a clear, unmistakable allusion to Shakespeare’s play.
In Macbeth, The Weird Sisters, witches with supernatural insight, who also happen to be three, foretell the prophecy that Macbeth would become the next king of Scotland. While the prophecy happens to be true, the witches very conveniently evade an elaboration — a classical witch thing to do. Macbeth, blinded by a newfound ambition, neither questions the witches nor allows any room for doubt. In his mind, he is already king, and in the pursuit of this realization, he ends up committing unspeakable crimes — crimes that he otherwise wouldn’t have dreamed of committing, an assumption supported by the fact that his descent into madness begins precisely because, under the influence of the witches, he becomes what he is not: a tyrant.
The allusion to this is simply impossible to miss in The Sandman. Before the appearance of The Three, all John wanted to do was bring his ideal world to life: a world where honesty would be prioritized over empathy, a flawed ideology rooted in unresolved past pain rather than an inborn thirst for bloodshed. After hearing the prophecy of The Three, John comes to a new realization: why settle for simply saving the world when he could instead become one of the Endless? It is at this moment that John practically becomes Macbeth. He does not question The Three, unaware that fortune-tellers are notorious for unveiling some truth while curtailing the rest. In the next few heart-stopping moments, John ends up doing exactly what Macbeth did in his ignorance of the witches’ connivery: Bring forth his own defeat by misinterpreting the prophecy. He crushes the Dream Lord in his hand via the Dreamstone, thereby making him all the more powerful and reducing himself to a mere mortal again.
What is remarkable about the connection between Shakespeare’s tragic hero and Gaiman’s delusional villain is that neither evokes hate, or even mild aversion. The most unanimous feeling toward Macbeth has always been that of pity, and Gaiman’s John, so full of pain and suffering despite being in possession of such a powerful tool, evokes a similar feeling.
Both Macbeth and John, in their pursuit of glory and ambition — a goal they clearly didn’t harbor since infancy — raise an important question: Did they, in their worst, act as free agents, or did the supernatural aspect of their journey take over long before they betrayed both their sanity and humanity?
Shakespeare’s stance on this, as most students of literature would agree (though, of course, there is no unanimous conclusion), has always been clear: No matter how strenuous a situation one may find themselves in, they are always in charge of their actions.
Gaiman’s John, however, was spared by the Dream Lord. There simply were no repercussions for him, a seemingly intentional diversion from Macbeth, making Gaiman’s stance on the aforementioned question a no-brainer: human beings are inherently flawed, but there is always room for compassion.
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