The Ocean at the End of the Lane

I am a big Neil Gaiman fan. I have gotten to meet him at book signings three times and have cosplayed as Death double that. I've read all of his novels and children's books as well as most of his graphic novels. I read Coraline aloud to every class I teach. I've watched every movie he's ever been a part of (except Beowulf... didn't think I could handle that). I've force-fed Gaiman to skeptical friends. I own “American Gods” in four different formats right now. I am a serious Neil Gaiman fan.

I say this because I'm biased. I knew I was going to enjoy “The Ocean at the End of the Lane” before I read it. I was not wrong, but I thought I should warn you that you are about to read the account of a very biased fan.

Ocean is a very different book from any of Gaiman's other novels. I was much more reminded of his short stories (it's less than 200 pages), and at the end I felt like I'd just read a very well-crafted short story. The pacing was a lot different and I'd say about half of the action is internal. It is not your typical Gaiman fare by any means.

Having been lucky enough to hear him speak at my local bookstore last night (sprawled on the floor of the wildlife section outside the reading all listening to him on speaker like we were in some weird SFF fan love-in), I learned some of the reasons for these differences. First of all, this was intended to be a short story that he was writing for his wife while she was away recording an album. She doesn't like fantasy much, but she does like Neil and she likes feelings. Therefore, this book was initially written with a lot of personal details and feelings which any healthy British male avoids on penalty of asthmatic attacks. Neil said he was surprised that so many people liked this book of feelings. It made him want to run back to England and tell all the men.

The childhood details are so intimate and perfect. I don't know which ones are real and which ones are added to suit the story, but they form a very believable young narrator with one of the most natural voices I've ever read. I strongly respect an author who can accurately write a child's point of view. Gaiman does it again and again in a way that makes me seethe with jealousy.

This is not to say the book is straight-up emotional fiction. There is a fantastic story here where Gaiman fans will recognize his more familiar style. He builds terrifying monsters and incomprehensible allies and cats, lots of cats. At the reading someone asked him why his books always feature a mesh of the natural and supernatural. He responded that was because his life was a mesh of natural and supernatural. Someone else asked why cats figured so heavily and he answered that cats are a part of that mesh. They are humans' way of bringing the supernatural into their lives. I'd agree if I wasn't so upset at my jerkcat right now who isn't so much supernatural as merely petulant.

Still, it's a quiet book even at its most dramatic points. It is filtered through an adult's retelling, and the fog of memory leaves much to be doubted and questioned. It isn't my favorite in the Gaiman collection (I prefer either the epicness of American Gods or the wit of Neverwhere), but it's certainly deserving of its place on the shelf. I tried to stretch the reading out (because I'm terrified there'll be another eight year wait for the next adult book), but it still only took me a couple of hours. It is probably not the best starting point in his works, but if you're looking for a fantasy book for a friend who's hesitant about genre fiction, this would be a great gateway drug. If you're already a Gaiman fan, this will not disappoint except in that it is over far too quickly.