Such is the way with Gaiman’s latest.
John Green, author of Looking for Alaska, said of TOatEotL, “I still find myself thinking about that story, all these months later. It’s like a dream you can’t shake.”
I know exactly what he means.
(minor thematic spoilers below. No plot stuff though, so take off your tinfoil hat and read on.)
The Ocean at the End of the Lane is a fairy tale; a children’s book for adults. It’s a sad and sweet story about family, about a boy and his imagination, about growing up and letting go, about how difficult it is to be a child in the world… and the best part is that Gaiman is so subtle with his thematic statements. You never feel like you’re being hit over the head with a message.
Early on, a line stuck out to me. The narrator, aged seven, recounts tales from some of his favorite books, and asks, “why don’t grownups like to read about Narnia?” For me, that is the essence of this book. How as adults, we forget all of the magic and beauty of childhood.
When I reviewed American Gods, my only criticism was that I sometimes felt as if the prose sounded dry and simplistic. In The Ocean at the End of the Lane, Gaiman maintains his simple prose, but it feels much more elegant and fitting for the subject matter.
In this book, there’s a minimum of plot. Not a lot actually happens in its scant 192 pages, but everything that happens is meaningful. He does more with less.