Gaimanesque Droplets of Truth

The Ocean at the End of the Lane by Neil Gaiman is the best book I’ve read in quite a while. Gaiman’s understanding of what it means to be human runs so deep. His stories are sprinkled with small droplets of truth. (I know, truth is a difficult concept, but it feels like truth, it really does.)

She stopped talking, rubbed her freckled nose with a finger. Then, “I’m going to tell you something important. Grown-ups don’t look like grown-ups on the inside either. Outside, they’re big and thoughtless and they always know what they’re doing. Inside, they look just like they always have. Like they did when they were your age [7!]. The truth is, there aren’t any grown-ups. Not one, in the whole wide world.”

I would not be surprised if Gaiman receives the Nobel Prize for The Ocean at the End of the Lane. And the story has movie written all over it, although movies based upon books has a tendency to disappoint when one has already read the book. (And watching the movie first usually ruins any chance of experiencing the book afterwards.)

The Ocean at the End of the Lane by Neil Gaiman


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