The Graveyard Book - A review.

I just finished reading The Graveyard Book, Yes. Yes. I know I should have gotten my hands on a Neil Gaiman book sooner. That man is awesome. But moving on from my inadequacies, I would just like to say that I simply loved the book, both from a reader and a critique's point of view.

First of all, let's talk about the imagery. It was amazing. The fantastical elements in the book blend in with reality just about perfectly. I loved the fact that it was not put in like a fairytale, where anything can happen. The book had just the right amount of reality mixed in with the dead, hounds of god and the Honor guard. The fact that a little boy walked to the cemetery and was adopted by ghosts was in itself so radical, that I was hooked from the word graveyard.

The suspense was intense. I was glued to the book in an extremely noisy bus where personal space is a myth. I was in that world, with Nobody Owens and Silas and the world of people and the dead. I loved the fact that I could not tell what was coming next. The book did not take any of the turns I thought it would. That, my friends, is what I love about books in the first place; the unknown. 

The characters in the book were so perfectly in sync. I could relate to some, and not to others. Human emotions and fantastical creations co-existed in perfect harmony. I also loved the fact that Gaiman wrote as easily about the child as the adult. With Bod growing, we also saw his emotions expanding and taking stock of life. The relation between a child and a role model was subtly implied and understood. There was satire in relationships and start truthfulness too. It was a journey. 

The most wonderful thing about the book was the name Nobody Owens. I applaud the fact that it did not change to an ordinary name at the end of the book. I am okay with Bod being Nobody Owens. I can relate to Bod. It really puts forth the idea that it's not what your name says about you but what you are that matters. 

The book also put forth the idea that everyone has something to teach, something to add to your life. The education Bod receives from the dead, some of them centuries old, all shape his life, no matter how outdated the information. 

If you haven't already read the book, I'd say please do. If you are anything like me, you will love and accept the graveyard family along with the living boy and the honor guard. 

Sometimes I think we only live because we can't die. Do we?

Ban

Ban dresses they show too much
Ban jeans they show too little
Ban burqas for eyes do talk
Ban eyes. How dare they look
Ban walking. We're getting somewhere
Ban transport. Bring them back one at a time.
Ban working late. It teases the night.
Ban working. Do we really need to?
Ban questions. You ask too much.
Ban reports. You said too much.
Ban excesses. We have too much.
Too much freedom. Too much influence. Too much reading. Too much soul.
Shut that mouth I said!
Ban talking. It brings up questions.
Ban societies. What good is learning things?

Ban entertainment. Just because.
Ban television. They put things in your mind.
Ban alcohol. Ban drugs. Ban escapes.
Ban sex. We come from Gods.

Ban dark alleyways. Ban abandoned buses. Ban the living room with the curious third cousin in it.  Ban the playground with the touchy neighbor. Ban crowds.
Ban hands.
Ban looks.
Ban elbows and knees and penises.
Ban breasts. Vaginas. Women.
Shove it all under the rug.
We will keep mum. We wont tell.
We wont point. We wont dwell.

Ban the darkness
Ban the light.
Ban excuses and ban the fight.

A thought

I was thinking that all our fight for choice and free will is ironic because our very existence is because of someone else's choice or lack there of. Some of us are planned babies, some are accidental and some a mistake. In any case our very being is the result if a choice and action we had no part in. Did I choose to park my ass on this land? No.

Thoughts?

The dark mouth of agony made a promise

A promise to keep the pain going

The branches that had grown inside the heart slowly set forth

It encompassed the mind and laid eggs in the skull

The numbness was never but just a rumour by then.

All the skies were grey and black was setting in

Lights were broken and the glass scattered everywhere

It was as it always was

Agony revelled in the brokenness of the horizon

It had fallen to bits.

As it was meant to. 

 I have some nights of sleep leftover

From the times when walls closed in on me

And sleep being the bitch it is jumped right out of my eyes.

I carry these nights in my pockets, turning them around like loose change

They don’t make the same noises

But they feel like a cat’s underbelly.

I take them out sometimes

Look at them with paranoid intensity

And put them back in my pocket with chagrin

And a little bit of possessive energy

I whistle to myself

And think however it is,

That bitch is mine. 

I pinch myself to understand that I occupy space in this world.

I look into the mirror

And take a hard look

I exist. I am.

I have my shadow tugging at my feet trying to take me forward.

My heart pumps out blood and I get Goosebumps when I am scared

But I feel like I am floating

And no one can really see me

That If I just duck, I can see the darkness beneath this world

And all the gooey dingy corners of the emptiness are just waiting to embrace me

Where then do I belong?

In the emptiness that exceeds and supersedes life

Or the world where every day is a fight I get tired of?

My body aches and my subconscious cries in agony

I look towards the wall and my shadow is still tugging

With all the will I could muster

I take a step

It’s still the same

But I think I have a promise of tomorrow.