Taking the reader back to the English countryside through the eyes of a seven year old boy, Neil Gaiman’s The Ocean At the End of the Lane is an intriguing short novel that I’ve heard such strong opinions and feelings about. Part pseudo Grimm fairy tale, part dark fantasy escapism, Gaiman’s story reads almost like a fictional memoir as its unnamed adult narrator recalls a dark and strained period of his childhood. Much like how time bends and distorts events based on how they’re remembered, so too does the story as the narrator is faced with magical and otherworldly beings in the quiet English countryside. Perhaps the hype set too high an expectation or my impression of the book’s direction was misguided from the get-go (the plot was not what I was expecting), but I found myself wanting to like this book a lot more than I actually did. Despite finding the ambition respectable, I often felt mildly frustrated with the plot not connecting and was left feeling like it ultimately didn’t amount to much in the end. The presentation and writing was great but the actual content felt too abstract and random to leave much of an impression for…
