I think that his books are secretly-eaten-snacks that I get to keep for myself, with a cloying darkness that I absorbed as a young adult but didn’t speak aloud to others. The stagecraft is stunning, the acting is heartbreaking and-ĭid I know it was going to be good from the opening scene, when all the cast came on with umbrellas under rain and moonlight? Or am I imagining that now?įor some reason I regularly forget that Neil Gaiman is one of the most loved (and best selling) fantasy authors. It’s about the close comfort of reality and fantasy, and the immeasurable distance between childhood and adulthood. So goes the central message of The Ocean at the End of the Lane, one of Neil Gaiman’s most celebrated books, adapted for stage by Joel Horwood. There’s enough difference between the memories of two people at the same event that you might as well have dreamed it up yourself. Remembering and imagining are almost the same thing. Is this as good as I’m remembering, or am I imagining it? ‘The Ocean at the End of the Lane’ at National Theatre.
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