lydy | First Chapter, _The Ocean at the End of the Lane

(Determinedly avoiding spoiler details, but some emotional spoiler is inherent in this post.)

So, I just read the first chapter of Neil Gaiman's new book. And I...

Ok, I have a pretty high tolerance for tragedy in my fiction. I don't particularly demand happy endings. What I demand is good art. Very sad and or horrible things, when dealt with in terms that I find to be authentic, are fine by me. I cry easily, get involved easily, and am an easy mark. And I don't mind getting my heart wrung. I figure that's in the contract. Life has all sorts of bits, happy and sad bits, easy and uncomfortable bits, joy and sorrow. I want art to encompass that. I have very little patience for being manipulated, however. Which is why I really like Joss Whedon and really dislike Steven Spielberg. In general, I find that Joss earns his emotional responses, and Spielberg cheats.

And my response to the first chapter isn't either or my two usual responses. I don't feel like I've been put through the wringer in a good cause. I don't feel like I've been cynically manipulated. Maybe it's because it's the first fucking chapter. Maybe it's because I trust Neil enough to assume that he didn't just do this to wring sympathy from me to get me to care about his character more.

But, honestly, I spent an hour just wishing I hadn't read the first chapter, and that I could forget about it. It really, really upset me. I have now read the second chapter, and um, I'm not exactly feeling better. But that's mostly because it's been several hours and I've had time to metabolize it. I am certainly going to read the rest of the book. But seriously, that first chapter was way outside my comfort zone.