The Ocean at the End of the Lane

On the very last day of my Sophomore year, Ms. Trujillo, an English teacher and our class sponsor, had five crates full of books. She was giving them away with the exception of a few that were going to storage. I asked her if I could have some, and she told me to help myself. As a sifted through the crates, I picked up a few books that seemed intriguing: American Psycho, Great Expectations, and a few books on writing and punctuation. As if by magic, I sorted through a box once more to make sure it was all organized, and my eye caught this book that was such poor condition that I had trouble picking it up out of fear that of tearing it. When I finally held it in my hands, I was entranced by the cover. The entire aesthetic of the book was powerful and I felt compelled to read it immediately. Naturally, I asked her for it and Ms. Trujillo’s eye lit up at the sight of it. “Take good care of it” she said raising her brows as she chuckled at the sight of the book and its brutally worn and ragged edges.

The Ocean at the End of the Lane is a novel that was entrancing from cover to cover. The mysterious title and ominous cover photo captivated me from the moment I saw it amongst the scattered works of literature. Neil Gaiman is one of those authors whose words just cascade as you read them. There is no sloppy or choppy writing, and it does not seem as though he is trying to impress the reader by using an exhausting amount of words. The words are stitched together neatly and precisely, and there are never any patches or absences in the genius of his words. The most magical thing about this book is not the story (which is about magic), but quite simply the words and how perfectly they have been orchestrated. Taking on the perspective of a young boy, Gaiman is able to capture the innocence and curiosity of a child, but still manages portray the treachery and instability of adulthood.