2023 EDIT: Part of my 2023 clear-up, of books I no longer like, or am no longer interested in, or remember well as standing out, or find as special anymore, or I otherwise will not miss.
Final Score: 3.5/5
Original Review:
When I read so many glowing reviews of this - a new Neil Gaiman book - I knew that sooner or later I was going to read it.
I was anxious to, because I'd heard it was an adult book. Now, in the past I didn't much care for what Mr Gaiman has written for adults, such as 'American Gods' and 'Stardust', because I found them to be trying too hard to be "adult", by which I mean the inclusion of lots of explicit, gratuitous sex and strong language without reaching the full, magical potential of their story's concept. They were surprisingly anti-climactic for books so heavy on so-called "mature" content, in my opinion. I've been more of a fan of Mr Gaiman's works for children. 'The Graveyard Book' and 'Coraline' are two of my all-time favourite books, because they are each full of life and real stardust, and reach their full storytelling potential.
But with 'The Ocean at the End of the Lane', I needn't have worried. Here is - again, in my opinion - where Mr Gaiman has got the balance between childhood fancy and scary adult situations just right in his writing witchcraft. There is one sex scene in the book and it doesn't feel out of place or too arbitrary. I felt it had to be there, in fact, in the context of the story and for the purpose of its themes. What the sex scene is about I won't say, due to spoilers. But it is brief and meaningful.
'The Ocean at the End of the Lane' is a beautifully-crafted tale that weaves its structure and various plot points together like a quilt. Or like an old coat, in its mystifying context. The writing is near-outstanding and the atmosphere has the effect of making me feel like I'm there with the adult-to-child-again first-person narrator. His fears and sadness and innocence are conveyed to the reader wonderfully, and they ripple and swirl in the pages like a dark and murky pond (a metaphorical memory), without distracting from the already-strange story.
'The Ocean at the End of the Lane' is one of the strangest, scariest and most poignant fantasy - or magical realism - books I have ever read, which is ultimately about childhood and childhood anxieties. And unlike all other magical realism stories I have read, it is effective! It is bizarre without alienating the reader; I could read a passage from the unnamed narrator's stream-of-consciousness and say out-loud, "Wow yes, that is my childhood right there".
It might even raise up some old memories in the reader, and remind us of the importance of memories of times past, no matter how ugly they are. For all memories are precious. They shape us, and help us to understand how they have shaped us into the individuals we've become in the present.
One thing is for sure, Neil Gaiman understands children and what it's like to be an adult profoundly thinking back to the weirdness and confusion of naïve, innocent youth.
Indeed, 'The Ocean at the End of the Lane' does read like the author's personal experience. I could imagine Mr Gaiman as the narrator who's discovering and patching up long forgotten memories of being seven-years-old, when adulthood becomes too depressing (the book starts off with him leaving a funeral; we're never told whose it is).
This book reminded me of just how freaking strange and unnerving childhood is - when the events actually happened, and when we remember them later. Those faded memories can be magical and exciting, but mostly (from my experience personally) the memories are embarrassing, unpleasant, uncomprehending, and scary as all hell. No wonder many adults seem to have forgotten most of their experiences - big or little - as kids. And why many memories get repressed or moulded and merged into other, safer memories.
Throughout reading 'The Ocean at the End of the Lane', I was constantly left wandering what was real. What memory is accurate or exaggerated? Are the supernatural elements real or just how the narrator remembers them? After all, he tells the reader from the beginning that he was an imaginative child who loved books (of course he did) and had a fascination with the macabre; being both afraid of and tempted by dark and scary stories.
I found the book's fantasy elements to be too solid and well-integrated into the story to be considered magical realism. They are written in so vividly they could have actually happened. Maybe that's just the power of memory and of how real the imagination and psychological fears of children can be.
I am still unsure of whether the Hempstocks are witches or not (the name Hempstock appears in Neil Gaiman's other books, such as 'The Graveyard Book' and 'Stardust'). They are a lovely farming family in possession of a lovely kitchen I wish I could eat from (one of the joys of childhood Mr Gaiman reminds us of is how some food is heavenly on first taste). But Child Lettie, Mother Ginnie and Old Grandmother Hempstock seem to be skilled manipulators, and the symbols of warped memories, not just childhood ones... Either way, they are really interesting characters and I'll watch out for them in Mr Gaiman's future novels.
Aside from the theme of how powerful childhood memories are once conjured from a childhood place, there is also the theme of sacrifice and of how helpless little children are. Our narrator may have tried to be good as a child - and was in fact very impressive when defending himself and knowing which adult to trust - but his actions inevitably led to disastrous consequences regardless of the intent. His reactions to seeing horrible things are realistic; such as a dead body in a car, an adult made of thunder and lightning, and shadowy birds from another plane of existence. All of this is too much for any child to take in at once.
I sympathized with the narrator, admired his bravery in the face of the bizarre, and felt with him a great loss whenever things failed to go how he wanted them to. I even felt scared for him - when it is implied that he might have come from an abusive family.
Whenever the narrator as a child and Lettie Hempstock confront an alien being and Lettie shouts at it, her dialect alters and her dialogue reads more like a country girl's. This could be the narrator accurately remembering Lettie; anger and shouting make children learn better, because they remember being afraid more than anything else. It is also worth noting that Lettie is eleven to the narrator's seven, so she's an adult in his eyes, and because she is like an authority figure, naturally she would speak intelligently and in riddles, as the narrator recalls her character.
Things being significantly bigger in childhood and then much smaller in adulthood is another major theme in this book; as shown when Lettie calls the pond in her garden an ocean. A cosmic ocean with the secrets of the whole universe in it.
The narrator remembers how Lettie was once an important person in his life - a friend long forgotten, but one who may have saved his life and gotten him to be the person he is today, as a middle-aged man. This is another relatable aspect in 'The Ocean at the End of the Lane', and as a result it is quite beautifully melancholy.
Or maybe Lettie never existed to begin with, and the narrator is either mad or has been brainwashed. The book is weird like that.
And ironically, the people he doesn't know very well in his story are named, and yet he doesn't name his own sister. He doesn't even know the genders of his pets.
Throughout this review I've used the phrase "stream-of-consciousness", and words such as "mystifying", "precious", "cosmic", "murky" and "poignant"; and they all describe this novel very well. It is highly imaginative and confusing, and even at the very end the reader doesn't get a lot of answers in terms of what's real and what's imagined or dreamt. Not a lot is resolved.
But on the other hand, in life hardly anything is resolved, especially where memories of more innocent and naïve times are concerned. "Scary", "vague" and "confusing" pretty much sum up my own childhood, and in this book Neil Gaiman points out that not a lot of childhoods are happy or satisfactory anyway.
So much to understand in 'The Ocean at the End of the Lane'. So much to get lost in. Perhaps understanding childhood and remembering being a kid can lead to us understanding how the universe works and how we each play into it. It can be as big and unfathomable as the ocean, or as small and insignificant as a pond in a little English farm.
Ties, kittens, ponds, needles and threads, an evil canvas, and a sole(soul?)-digging worm - such is the majesty and childlike dreaminess that is 'The Ocean at the End of the Lane'.
I might write a better review than this soon, once I'm out of dreamland and not merely remembering this book from the sludge of memory. Even adult memories can be deceiving from time to time.
Final Score: 4/5
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