I have been anticipating reading this book for a really long time. I had pretty much already decided that Neil Gaiman was my new favorite author. After reading The Graveyard and Anansi Boys (not realizing that was a sequel to this book), I was all in for Neil. Stephen King called him a treasure, for gods sake. A FREAKING TREASURE!

And then I started this book.

And I was like, I don’t love this.

And I kept thinking, maybe it will get better.

But a couple hundred pages in, I just wasn’t feeling it. I wanted to feel it. I really did.

This book was like Ambien on paper for me. I’d sit down to read and the next thing I knew, it would be hours later and I’d be contorted in some weird position on my couch. It took me two months to read 600 pages. This book single-handedly ruined my Goodreads goal for the year. I’m 8 books behind schedule. I’m never going to make up the difference!

So, it’s not the worst book I ever read, but it’s certainly not the best. And, months from now, if this book ever comes up in conversation, I will say something like, “Oh yeah, I read that. I couldn’t tell you a damn thing about it, but I read it.”

Sorry, Neil. I still love you. I’m not giving up on you. This just wasn’t my thing.