The Ocean at the End of the Lane - Neil Gaimen

I couldn't wait for my day off... because i was going to spend it in a sunny spot on the couch with Neil Gaimen's new book and a sleepy kitty. I don't think there could have been a better way to read The Ocean at the End of the Lane than with my feet up, kitten in my lap, and the sun on my face. I felt like I was sitting right next to the man on the bench in the sun as he recalled and relayed in detail the strange incidents that occurred to him as a boy.

Coming back home, seeing the house, and then the water made him remember, one word at a time... as if a curtain was being slowly lifted from his eyes. And in remembering, came wonder.

I listened to him speak as I pet the kitten. His story was humorous and heartfelt, and woven with anecdotes from his childhood. The seven-year-old triumphs and heartaches were familiar to me. Then came the magic. It happened slowly at first, and then flooded the story. Sometimes disbelief flashed in my mind, but it always softened into awe at the impossibly marvelous accounts he revealed. Without judgement, I listened, the way I would listen to a child. I accepted what I knew to be illogical bending of reality, simply because, even if it didn't quite make sense, I want to hear more. Captivated by danger, tragedy and wonder, this book held me to the end. The world I was immersed in so closely resembled this one that most people would not notice the way the cat winked or her dress flapped like an empty canvas even though there was no wind. Something a child would point out and an adult would disregard. But if you look closer and chose to question appearances, a door might open. And that door may be a tunnel that lets you out into a new, fantastic world.

The Ocean at the End of the Lane deserves all five stars, for being an honest account of the way marvelous things would happen if they did. Gaimen's imagination is so believable that his story simply slips into our memory of the past during reminiscence. As the narrative began winding down, and I was closing in on the last few pages, the thin film of reality began to splinter and bleed through with magic of every color. Red warning flags flew before my eyes and I wanted to shake this man to wake him up to the truth. THE END had me wide-eyed and open-mouthed with wow. Gaimen owns his personal genre of fiction, known as magical realism.