Giving this three stars because I prefer most of Gaiman's other books to this one. It's still brilliant. It just made me sad in an uncomfortable way, so I'm taking my frustration out on the rating system, I suppose.

This book sits with you. Maybe it's because the "quintessential British childhood" is full of weird not-quite-trauma for so many of us, and we only realise it once a book like this sheds a kind of gloomy light on it. It's 1am, what do I know.

A guilty pleasure of mine is an unreliable narrator, and this book is practically built around the concept. It's bleak, but not in a way that's boring, and it's thrilling, but not in a way that's safe. The vagueness of the nature of things, and plot, and setting, has been frustrating in some aspects, but I found that I minded less as time went on. My questions went almost entirely unanswered, but, thinking about it, I can't imagine an ending for this book that's satisfying. It's just not that kind of read, and it would almost ruin it.

I didn't think I'd enjoy a protagonist that does very little, but here I am. It hilights how helpless you feel as a child, in a way I found I didn't mind either. It's a book that makes you reminisce, for sure.