Review: "The Ocean at the End of the Lane" by Neil Gaiman

In the back of Joe Hill’s new book Strange Weather, he talks about his love for the short novel and name-dropped Neil Gaiman’s most recent novel The Ocean at the End of the Lane. He called it Gaiman’s most perfect novel, and after finishing it, I think he is absolutely positively correct. I read American Gods years ago and found it to be a bit of a boring mess. This book solves all of that. At only 178 pages, it is a lean story that quickly establishes, builds on and pays offs its fictional world in swift way that leaves you breathless and heartbroken. I will get into what other book (one in particular) that it reminded me of, but what I liked most about this book was its humanity, which I felt American Gods and fantasy stories in general tend to lack. The worlds created are very hard for me to buy into and therefore never feel the full effect of whatever emotion the writer wants me to feel, whether that be humor or tragedy. This short book focuses solely on the humanity of its characters, and greatly contrasts real world issues in magical, terrifying and satisfying ways. For that reason, I can see a lot of Gaiman’s fan base considering this to be one of his weaker books. It is just an assumption, but it would not surprise me if I were correct. At the heart of this novel is an unnamed man who comes back to his childhood home after attending a funeral. He is compelled to move past where his childhood home rested (since demolished and replaced with elegant high rises) to a pond at the end of the road. He arrives and is greeted by an old woman he can only vaguely remember. It is only once he makes his way down to the pond itself does he remember that a girl he knew long ago referred to it as an ocean. This one thought takes him back to the time when he was 7 years old, where the suicide of one of his family’s boarders leads him on a path to that very girl named Lettie and a world filled with magic, danger and the memories lost down in the gulf between childhood and adulthood. The book this immediately reminded me of was David Mitchell’s Slade House, with Ursula Monkton cutting a disturbing and haunting visage very similar to the Grayer siblings. The fantastical elements here act only as window dressing to the human drama, and it was easy to feel suspense, happiness and finally sadness once the story wraps itself up. The last few pages are brilliant, packed with layers upon layers of interpretations and implications, ones I will not spoil here, but will be happy to talk about in person with those who have read the book. This is a work of quiet and humble beauty from a writer I have mistakenly cast off years ago. I will try not to make that same mistake heading into 2018.

Rating: 5/5