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

Some things change, and some remain the same. Perhaps it’s the power of memories that help keep these things the same. It’s a similar feeling when the protagonist of this novel returns to the farm which changed things when he was a child. He finds himself walking back to the back of the farm, to a pond that the girl there had once called an ocean.

And then, we go into flashback. To the day he had turned seven but no one attended his birthday party. To the strong dislike he felt for the man who had not just taken his room, but also accidentally killed his cat. To the things he had to compromise with his sister. And to that day, when going along with his dad to find that man dead, he met a most remarkable girl, Lettie Hempstock, who took him to see her ocean. But the Hempstocks aren’t what they seem. To escape from the new “housekeeper”, he goes back to the hempstocks, and another adventure unravels.

Gripping; I don’t think any other word suits this story better. From the start, till the end, it engaged me and made me hold on to every word. Trust me, imagining some part of this novel wasn’t easy at all; actually it was creepy, given that the description was quite vivid. The characterization is amazing. You feel what a seven year old feels. The resentment toward the people who seem to be suddenly entering his world; thinking who can be trusted and who cannot, his fears and his innocence; every little detail was quite spot on. In a way, could relate to the nameless boy too. It took me a couple of reads to understand the ending though.

This is a book to savor! That’s certain!

Book Details
*Title:* The Ocean at the End of the Lane
*Author(s):* Neil Gaiman	*Genre:* Fiction
*ISBN/ASIN:* 9781472208668	*Publisher:* Headline / Hachette India
*No. of Pages:* 260	*Price:* INR 299

I own a copy of the book. The views expressed here are my own, frank and uninfluenced.

Author: Vinay Leo R.

Poetry and writing are to me, a breath of fresh air in a life that is sometimes covered by the smoke of sorrow or self doubt. They also become the sweets I share to celebrate when life offers me a reason to. But most of all, they are to me, my life. For each word I write is a piece of my heart, a thought that just had to find its way into the world. View All Posts