Monday, June 17, 2013

Ocean at the End of the Lane

This book arrived in the mail – I don’t know why, it’s not an ARC, not from Amazon or Chapters so I’m going to put it out there that the universe for whatever reason thought fondly of me and decided to cut me a break. 

There are some books that are quietly humbling. They’re quiet, and they’re calm and they have a presence that’s almost other worldly. Ocean at the End of the Lane was one of them. It was truth and hope and the most touching sadness that was sweet in how it moved through you – as my grandpa used to say, I could feel it in my bones. 

American Gods changed how I thought about books. To this day I haven’t written a review of it because I don’t know how to explain to people why it means so much to me. In Ocean at the End of the Lane Gaiman writes for hope, and that’s the reason I don’t want to tell you about how brilliant a writer he is, and how he weaves the story because, quite simply I loved it. I’m not going to tell you what it’s about, I’m not going to describe how amazingly wonderful it is, because the truth is you need to find that out for yourself. I will buy multiple copies, and I will give them to people for birthdays, weddings and just because it’s a Tuesday. 

This book made me remember why I dream, and wish, and hope. It made me remember why it’s ok to be off-centre, not quite right and a little bit odd. It reminded me of when you’re a kid, sitting around a fire telling ghost stories that aren’t scary at all, but damn it you can’t sleep at night because you can’t help but to remember the what ifs.

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