Andi Miller

Any new release of Neil Gaiman’s garners great excitement in the publishing world at large. It is an event accompanied by promotional videos, celebration on his official website, and overwhelming buzz among book bloggers. There was no way I could have missed this latest release. I often rebel against “it” books, and I cannot claim to be an avid Gaiman fan based on my hit-and-miss relationship with his work. I gave American Gods a thumbs down but Coraline is one of my favorite children’s books. I decided to give The Graveyard Book its fair shake based on friends’ reviews and suggestions, always the first and best reason to pick up any book.

It is a rare occurrence that I drag the reading of a book out any longer than absolutely necessary. I feel the pressure of review deadlines, get antsy with one book, or get caught up in wanderlust as I stare over at my shelves of unread darlings. The Graveyard Book proved to be an extraordinary exception to that tendency of mine.

The nameless protagonist’s family is murdered when he’s just a baby, but he miraculously escapes and toddles into a graveyard. The spirits there agree to give the boy sanctuary and raise him until he can brave the world on his own. They name him Nobody Owens, the surname of his spectral adoptive parents, and they call him Bod. He enjoys special powers inside the graveyard—the ability to fade away from sight, incite terror in his enemies, and walk through dreams. His guardian, Silas, is a mysterious character who walks a fine line between the living and the dead. Bod has only one human playmate, a girl named Scarlett who runs into him while playing in the graveyard. His is a normal boy’s upbringing insofar as he explores the hidden places of the graveyard, makes friends, and has adventures. Alas, his life in the graveyard is never entirely happy, as the man Jack who killed his family, is not done with young Bod.

In premise, The Graveyard Book reminds me superficially of Ray Bradbury’s novel, From the Dust Returned, or the short story more readers may be familiar with, “Homecoming.” In Bradbury’s novel and short story, a far-reaching family of supernatural beings—from mummies to vampires to ghouls and goblins, with a foundling human child named Timothy right in the middle—gather to discuss the fate of their lineage. The motif of a mortal child among the supernatural is where the comparison ends, though. Bradbury’s story is told in high-flown language and built around the stories of the individual family members. Gaiman’s book is all about Bod and the strange dead that love him endlessly without the restrictions of time or physical boundaries. Whether he is making friends with a deceased poet, a displaced Roman, or a spectral witch from the Potters Field, Bod is unconditionally nurtured by the dead.

Gaiman’s writing is whimsical, charming, and very funny, and Dave McKean’s illustrations greatly enhance the story. Drawn in tones of black and grey they represent the graveyard and its inhabitants as nearly weightless and veiled in darkness. The illustrations never make them look scary, only unusual, beautiful, and wispy—with soft lines that seem to flow across the pages. The whole novel seems to float along from one of Bod’s adventures to another as the boy grows into a young man. In one particularly stunning and buoyant chapter entitled “Danse Macabre,” the dead leave their home in the cemetery and march into the Old Town square to join hands with the living amidst music and frivolity to honor one of their timeless traditions.

They took hands, the living and the dead, and they began to dance. Bod saw Mother Slaughter dancing with the man in the turban, while the businessman was dancing with Louisa Bartleby. Mistress Owens smiled at Bod as she took the hand of the old newspaper seller, and Mr. Owens reached out and took the hand of a small girl, without condescension, and she took his hand as if she had been waiting to dance with him her whole life. Then Bod stopped looking because someone’s hand closed around his, and the dance began.

What makes Gaiman’s novel so successful is not just a great premise or an unusual set of adventures for his boy hero, but the sense of family he creates out of an odd lot of souls. The dead come from a multitude of times and places, backgrounds and beliefs, yet they all consent to raise Bod as best they can. He takes lessons in astronomy and history, sometimes from the people who were there to make the history, and his guardian, Silas, goes out into the world to gather food for him. The Graveyard Book is a new and delightful twist on the adage, “It takes a village to raise a child.” Bod’s upbringing was just sweet enough and unusual enough and complete enough that I felt a tangible sense of loss as the boy grew up. As I turned the last page and said goodbye to him and his family, I got pretty teary.

Of the many coming-of-age novels I’ve read, this one ranks very high. It is certainly one of the best books I have read this year. Bod’s is a realistic story amidst unrealistic circumstances, and it carried me away. I mentioned earlier that I spread this book out longer than I normally would. I dipped into the story for short periods of time, nibbling on a chapter here and there, and then laying it aside. Every time I came back to it, I savored the words, the storytelling, the personalities and plights of the living and the dead, the sweetness and the bittersweet moments inherent in a story about wonderful hellos and heartrending goodbyes. Despite the first impressions implied by its title, The Graveyard Book is a story far more about life than death.

Books Mentioned in This Column:
From the Dust Returned by Ray Bradbury (Avon, 2002)

The Graveyard Book by Neil Gaiman (HarperCollins, 2008)


Andi is a recovering university academic employed by the North Carolina community college system as an English instructor. While she decided to forego a Ph.D. and career as a professor, she fills in all the free time her current position affords her with editing literary publications, reviewing, freelancing, and blogging at Tripping Toward Lucidity: Estella’s Revenge. Her work can be found in the journal, Multi-Ethnic Literature of the United States (MELUS), and Altar magazine as well as online in various venues such as PopMatters.com. She is a member of the National Book Critics Circle (NBCC), and writes fiction. Her turn-ons include new books and gelato, while her turn-offs are reality television and washing dishes. Contact Andi.