Wait, Neil Gaiman, wait, wait...

2013? Are you serious?

Here I was thinking I was finally jumping on the Neil Gaiman bandwagon. I went back to Budapest and visited the Budapest Book Fair where, right next to Zadie Smith's Swing Time was this gorgeous-looking book by the much-reputed Neil Gaiman. 'Ha', I thought, 'it's time' and all that and I bought it, proud of myself, thinking I was picking up his latest and greatest.

Never mind though, because boy, this book is good.

Take an unnamed narrator who takes a visit to his old (now demolished) family home, then visits the neighbouring Hempstock farm where, as a seven-year-old, he made a friend for life. We fade into a recounting of the events of the time - and because I am trying not to spoil anything, let us say that magical, scary and scarring events ensue, mixing realism with fantasy in the most masterful way I've ever seen. Let's see.

What did I like about it?

What did I not? I couldn't tell you why, but from page three, I knew I would devour this book as fast as humanly possible.

One of the things I loved is this mix of realism and magical realism. We follow our narrator as he enters a world so far unknown to him, with his new friend, Lettie Hempstock - and images such as opals, a lake that is an ocean, purring cats and fresh milk are swimming in our heads already. I think Gaiman is an expert at waking up our inner child, and that's why the setting appealed to me so much. I used to be just like our narrator, engrossed in books and in love with exploring nature, dreaming of nothing more than a farm with a massive garden and my secret spots and my secret adventures. (Bit of a loner, really.) That's exactly what we get.

Similarly, the feelings that Gaiman wakes up in us are incredibly powerful. Within a few pages, I was surprised to see how upset I was. And there's no magic involved: this is because of very human experiences our narrator goes through, and the types that all of us know and remember deep down. There's an especially powerful scene towards the end between our narrator - sitting in a fairy circle - and his father which genuinely made me weep. That's how memories of feelings surface.

And finally, there are just small touches that are open to interpretation - regarding the Hempstocks, regarding our narrator's cat, regarding the opal miner, regarding Ursula Monkton (of course she's evil! No good character has ever been named Ursula. C'mon.) Even regarding the entire story itself. It is, quite simply, a pleasure.

(Plus all the beautiful imagery and language and cats.)

What was I not massively fond of?

Well... my version of the book cover had one of those awards stickers on it, and I think that deducted from the beauty of the cover.

...

Overall...

I have failed you, I know. But try as I might I really can't pick up on anything that I didn't like in this book.

Younger ones could read it (in daylight - it's scary!) and see a beautiful, sad fairy tale. Adults can read it and see layer upon layer upon layer. And beauty. In either case, you will devour it, I promise.

“Adults should not weep, I knew. They did not have mothers who would comfort them.”

Does this not make you want to cry already?...

10/10 (there I said it)