“You found freedom, if only for a moment, and when you lost it, you came here, hoping it could be found again.”
This story started out grand and sprawling, a majestic, epic tale of finding out what happens when you come back to an unwanted reality after living in a magical place.
And yet somewhere along the way, it didn’t work for me.
This book read more like a short story than a full novel and I liked that. But there were a lot of dull moments here and there, especially when tragedy struck. And I couldn’t really seem to care about it because I wasn’t attached to the world.
That’s not to say that the storyline isn’t incredibly intriguing, I just cared more about the stories of their journeys into the other world than what was going on in the aftermath of coming back. The stories they told in group therapy of finding the door and what happened when they went through it interested me so much.
“What about, like, Narnia?” asked Christopher. “Those kids went through all sorts of different doors, and they always wound up back with the big talking lion.”
“That’s because Narnia was a Christian allegory pretending to be a fantasy series, you asshole,” said one of the other boys. “C. S. Lewis never went through any doors. He didn’t know how it worked. He wanted to tell a story, and he’d probably heard about kids like us, and he made shit up. That’s what all those authors did. They made shit up, and people made them famous. We tell the truth, and our parents throw us into this glorified loony bin.”
What I missed from this novel was something more.
Halfway through the book I started to lose interest and I couldn’t understand why. There would be a chapter where I would feel fully invested in the story, only to turn to the next and get distracted by almost everything.
The premise of this story is so different and intriguing, yet the execution of it did not work in my favor.