Wonderful modern fairy tale, that hits all the bases, and does it beautifully: for younger readers, a dark adventure, in which two friends take on the timeless evil lurking behind the curtain of ordinary life. For us adults, a reminder of the magical landscape we had to leave behind ...
So, when you were growing up, you didn't have an ocean at the end of your lane? No, me neither: growing up in Queens, New York, "lanes" were at a premium. BUT that's not to say there wasn't magic in our lives -- magic is the default response of childhood, and we work with what we're given. The cranky old lady, in the slightly neglected house on the corner? Witch. Possibly a Good Witch (every year, her Halloween candies are beyond awesome), but DEFINITELY, witch. The big tree in the park , with a knot shaped like a face? Its "eyes" are following you, and if you have any sense, you always hurry your steps as you go past. For the rag-tag bunch of kids on 32nd Avenue in Bayside, New York, our hero's journey was the secret route to each other houses, cutting though gaps in fences, and creeping though neighbours' flowerbeds. Oh, the terrible frisson at the thought we might be caught! (I was caught, once. My dad -- the kindest, most mild-mannered man in the world -- was not amused ...)
Anyway, what I love about this novel is the way that it works on all of these different levels. On the literal level -- a child's adventure, full of dangers and evils reshaped from stories, and half-overheard adult worries, and deep childish fears. On the level of memory -- the memories restored to the nameless narrator, who has "written over" what actually happened in those thrilling few days in order to allow him to live in the adult world of "ordinary." And on the level of metaphor: the narrator was an ordinarily troubled little boy with an ordinarily troubled family -- parents who have money troubles, and are working on (and sometimes failing) to hold their relationship together. A bossy big sister. (Confession: I was the Bossy Big Sister ...) Bullies at school, and no friends to speak of. Dodgy lodgers and unqualified au pairs (see above, "money troubles") who come and go, taking over your bedroom, with its tiny sink that is just the perfect size for you, and wreaking havoc on the family dynamic, whether they are kind or cruel ....
The default position of childhood, as I recall it, is that no one explains anything. Your parents are tired, worried, angry -- and they don't explain why. People appear in your life (or, worse, disappear) and no one explains why. You have to move house, and lose all that's familiar to you ... You're not allowed to cut through neighbours gardens ...
Gaiman has marvelously captures the way that, in the "explanation vacuum," the child (and the adult who grows up from that child) creates their own explanations -- and that sometimes, those magical explanations can be much closer to the truth.
So, when you were growing up, you didn't have an ocean at the end of your lane? No, me neither: growing up in Queens, New York, "lanes" were at a premium. BUT that's not to say there wasn't magic in our lives -- magic is the default response of childhood, and we work with what we're given. The cranky old lady, in the slightly neglected house on the corner? Witch. Possibly a Good Witch (every year, her Halloween candies are beyond awesome), but DEFINITELY, witch. The big tree in the park , with a knot shaped like a face? Its "eyes" are following you, and if you have any sense, you always hurry your steps as you go past. For the rag-tag bunch of kids on 32nd Avenue in Bayside, New York, our hero's journey was the secret route to each other houses, cutting though gaps in fences, and creeping though neighbours' flowerbeds. Oh, the terrible frisson at the thought we might be caught! (I was caught, once. My dad -- the kindest, most mild-mannered man in the world -- was not amused ...)
Anyway, what I love about this novel is the way that it works on all of these different levels. On the literal level -- a child's adventure, full of dangers and evils reshaped from stories, and half-overheard adult worries, and deep childish fears. On the level of memory -- the memories restored to the nameless narrator, who has "written over" what actually happened in those thrilling few days in order to allow him to live in the adult world of "ordinary." And on the level of metaphor: the narrator was an ordinarily troubled little boy with an ordinarily troubled family -- parents who have money troubles, and are working on (and sometimes failing) to hold their relationship together. A bossy big sister. (Confession: I was the Bossy Big Sister ...) Bullies at school, and no friends to speak of. Dodgy lodgers and unqualified au pairs (see above, "money troubles") who come and go, taking over your bedroom, with its tiny sink that is just the perfect size for you, and wreaking havoc on the family dynamic, whether they are kind or cruel ....
The default position of childhood, as I recall it, is that no one explains anything. Your parents are tired, worried, angry -- and they don't explain why. People appear in your life (or, worse, disappear) and no one explains why. You have to move house, and lose all that's familiar to you ... You're not allowed to cut through neighbours gardens ...
Gaiman has marvelously captures the way that, in the "explanation vacuum," the child (and the adult who grows up from that child) creates their own explanations -- and that sometimes, those magical explanations can be much closer to the truth.
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