The Ocean at the End of the Lane

The Ocean at the End of the Lane, by Neil Gaiman, 181 pages

There's this special category of book- the kind that is short and seemingly simple; if you read it just for the surface story, you may think "Well, wasn't that a weird little tale," and report back to the book club group that you just don't "get" fantasy.  But... if you let yourself spend some time in it, you realize that it's far richer than that.  In this simple tale, a man returns to his childhood town for a funeral, and reflects on fantastic memories of his youth.  But if you spend a little longer in the story, you'll read about loss of innocence, the question of whether we'll think our lives were worth it when we reach the end of them, and what it means to be lonely.  And despite how that sounds... you leave the story with a sense of hope.  I thought this was simply beautiful.

In conclusion: I just can't quit you, Neil.  You pulled me in with Sandman, and lost me with American Gods.  You won me again with Marvel, 1602, but made me say "meh," with The Sleeper and the Spindle.  Do I just like your graphic novels?  No, because I loved Good Omens.  Was that primarily Terry Pratchett?  I just don't know!  Reveal your mystery to me- what is it about you that I like alot when I like it and dislike alot when I don't?  You beautiful, silent enigma, you!