A Non-Review: The Ocean at the End of the Lane

I have been waiting for The Ocean at the End of the Lane for a very long time. 

Last Summer I went to An Evening With Amanda Palmer and Neil Gaiman in Edinburgh, there Neil read us a bit of his new book. I listened, I thought about it, I enjoyed it and more than anything, I wanted to know what happened. 

I waited. 

and waited. 

and waited some more. 

Then stupidly booked a research trip to Edinburgh the day of release. (It's okay, my pre-order arrived late anyway.)

But the following day it was mine!

I was hoping to write a review for you.

I can't. 

I know that sounds ridiculous, but I really can't. I don't have the words for it. The book is beautiful, as always. It draws you in and you read and you read. You experience the conflict of wanting to skip greedily ahead, scanning the end of paragraphs (to make sure things go the way you expect), while also wanting to prolong the experience as much as possible. Once you reach the three quarters mark you start to panic. You know that it'll be ending soon, you want to know how, but you want the words to keep coming. 

I've started it again already, going back through more slowly, picking up on the things I missed. Enjoying the words and the images more. 

I wholly recommend you buy it. I'd recommend all of Neil's work, especially the short story compilations. Sometimes I like to sit and savour the poems, reading the words over and over again. I would hope you'd like that too.

P.S.

Here's  picture of Neil with Dribbles (taken the night of the first reading).