The Ocean at the End of the Lane

Not tying myself up in silly rules like 'I can only read novels I haven't read before', like I did in my 2015 book challenge, gives me the peace of mind to reread novels I loved when I'm in between reading new things. When I finished The Sense of an Ending, I wasn't ready to dive into another new novel just yet. Some novels tend to stick in my mind, leaving no room for a new novel to take up enough space to really get into it. If I then do start reading a new novel, I unavoidably get lost somewhere around page 50 because I wasn't paying enough attention in the beginning, which can ruin an entire book for me.
So, rereads are a Good Thing. In this case, I wanted something short, but not too light; just a couple of days worth of reading before I could dive into the next novel on my list (The Blind Assassin by Margaret Atwood, in case you're wondering). After digging around in my bookcases I came up with Neil Gaiman's last proper novel, which I was sure I'd written something about on this blog, but which turns out to be only a passing mention in my 'holiday reads' of 2013. Funny, how you can remember something as having a profound impact on you, but then cannot find any evidence of said impact when looking back.
Anyway, the novel in question is The Ocean at the End of the Lane. It is about a young boy in England, about forty years ago, who has a falling in with magic and otherworldly stuff and doesn't come out all that well. The story is told through the same character (now an adult), remembering things as he sits next to the ocean of the title. This framework sets us at some distance from the story, which works very well in this case, because we the readers at some point realise we know something the protagonist doesn't (I won't spoil the ending for you). However, the 'and then this happened, and then that happened, and then I said...' structure isn't the easiest read, and upon rereading I felt further removed from the action and emotional impact on the main character than I did on the first read. Maybe because I already knew what was going to happen, breaking the suspense I felt the first time around.
The great thing about Neil Gaiman novels, though, is that they are not starry-eyed, happy ending, the-hero-saves-the-day kinds of novels. His style is magic realism, and the magic and the realism are present in equal proportions. People do stupid things. People do not say important things because of legitimate reasons (and not as a plot device). People hurt one another and do not make up, or forgive, or forget. People are generally as real as they can be. The magic, on the other hand, is also as real as it can be. It is accepted as something that simply exists; not everything is logical, or explained, or analysed. Magical things happen, with a semblance of realism, and life goes on. They can be dark things, dark magic, performed not only by the 'evil characters' but also by the 'good guys'. This is also a fact of life; good guys do not only do good things. And magic cannot save everything. It is not the deus ex machina solution found in so many fantasy novels, but a means to an end that sometimes fails.
In short, you can disappear into a Neil Gaiman novel, finding yourself in a world that is connected to our own, but with some elements added that you can simply take for granted, without having to know every little thing about them. And this was exactly what I needed, going from one novel to another. Nice as this is, it somehow feels as if this isn't enough appreciation for a book I read with such anticipation and joy the first time around. Maybe the Julian Barnes novel was still roving around in my mind, or maybe knowing the ending somehow takes away the biggest emotional tension. In which case I envy all who haven't read it yet, as they will still have that experience upon the first read. As I will have with many other books to come.