Lady Danielle

“…reaching for something in the distance, so close you can almost taste it…”

Yup, pretty much what I’m feeling for Neil Gaiman’s writing and novel, The Ocean at the End of the Lane. God, how I wanted to love this book. How I wanted to clutch this book tightly to my chest once I’ve finished. How I wanted to cry and rate it five stars and praise this book…. Oh! How I can’t .

I think it’s time for me to be honest; time for me to open up my closet door, grab my jar full of secrets, pluck out the paper with ‘Neil Gaiman’ written on it, and tell you how I really feel about this most talked about author: I have never gotten into his works. I’ve tried readingThe Graveyard Book - the book seemed to have had a nostalgic feeling… but I can’t be sure because, every time the “feels” aroused, they would quickly vanish and the story would become a rather boring read. 

Also, God (and you guys) forgive me, I couldn’t finish Coraline…. Coraline! That damned book is a little over a hundred pages; yet, I couldn’t finish that, and it’s so unfortunate because I simply adore the film. also Wybie wasn’t in the book wtf he’s my fave ok

I picked up The Ocean at the End of the Lane because I wanted – needed – to add Neil in my “favourite authors” list: I mean, the premises of his stories are so amazing. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying Neil’s writing is horrible; I’m saying I can’t get into his stories. Neil’s an awesome guy – I’ve watched some videos of him a few times and his voice is that of a storyteller. 

I dunno. Maybe I’m reading his books all wrong…
You guys hate me. I know.

Sorry, Neil. :/

I do, however, love how Neil weaves magical elements that are realistic in here, giving it a dazelike atmosphere. This book almost had me -- so much p o t i e n t i a l. 

I'll try to read his other works.

***I really liked some quotes/passages in here, though.***

● “I lived in books more than I lived anywhere else.”

● The ocean was back in the pond, and the only knowledge I was left with, as if I had woken from a dream on a summer's day, was that it had not been long ago since I had known everything.
I looked at Lettie in the moonlight. "Is that how it is for you? I asked.
"Is what how it is for me?"
"Do you still know everything, all the time?"
...She wrinkled her nose. "Everybody did. I told you. It's nothing special, knowing how things work. And you really do have to give it all up if you want to play."
"To play what?"
"This," she said. She waved at the house and the sky and the impossible full moon and the skeins and the shawls and clusters of bright stars.

● “How do you know?" 
She shrugged. "Once you’ve been around for a bit, you get to know stuff." 
I kicked a stone. "By 'a bit' do you mean 'a really long time'?" 
She nodded. 
"How old are you, really?" I asked. 
"Eleven." 
I thought for a bit. Then I asked, "How long have you been eleven for?" 
She smiled at me.