Steven Moffat is a God

I’ve said it before, but I’m going to say it again and again until people start parroting it in the streets. If they aren’t already.

I’ve always been a little cautious about what I say about real people on here—especially real people that I don’t actually know—because even though this little corner of the Internet is largely unexplored, I don’t want it to contain anything potentially offensive or derogatory (except where it concerns the movie adaptation of The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen).

But I don’t think there’s anything too offensive in this, so I’ll say it again: Steven Moffat is a god.

I’ve just seen “Silence in the Library”—and I’ll say no more.

Except I’m still shaking and exhilarated.

There’s nothing quite like seeing beautifully directed, cleverly written, absolutely terrifying real science fiction on your television.

But I’ll say no more.

Apparently, some parts of the fandom—if I can conceive of fandom as being, in this case, a corporeal state, like a kingdom—claim that Steven Moffat sacrifices emotional depth and development to a desire for clever narrative structures.

I don’t see that.

And, anyway, I’m a fan of clever narrative structures.

But I’ll say no more about it.

I mean it this time.

Most of you can wait for the next Doctor Who night, or perhaps the one after.

It’ll be worth the wait, I can promise that.