Graveyards

When I was born my family lived across the street from a graveyard. There was our house, a brown brick Tudor building with a high isosceles roof and lead set windows. Then the black flattop of the street dividing us from St. Alphonsus church with its roof twice as high and slender as ours and stained panes of glass and flat steps in front of a shallow church yard. And then there was the graveyard full of faded and new tombstones and great big carvings of christ in the midst of his crucifixion.

There were days when my brother and I would play between the stones and others when we would slink past them to the corner store. And other times when I'd go there by myself, crossing the street and squeezing through the fence to wander dumbfounded to the far side of the yard like wading out into the deep end of swimming pool. I'd pick up pieces of trash or crunch dry leaves and grass in my little hands before rushing home again, too scared to stay too long, evading any horrible thoughts I could like trying to escape a Band-Aid caught in my wake.

Before I knew what a calendar was I was easy pray for Friday the 13th tricks by my brother. It didn't matter that I didn't know who Jason was, or what a Friday or a 13 was- I understood bad luck and fright as well as anyone did. When I got older my mother's stories about how at the 'old house' (that house) ouija boards would never work right and tarot readings always seemed congested only fueled my fearful memories. Memories which even today, when graveyards do little to scare or thrill me, are made electric again with the static rustle of Halloween over the street drains.

A feeling I also got when reading the first few pages of Neil Gaiman’s new work The Graveyard Book as I leafed through it at the bookstore the other day. It's a delightful collection of stories (8 to be precise) which together tell the story of Nobody Owens, a child raised by ghosts. As Gaiman describes the thing it's The Jungle Book, with ghosts instead of animals and graves rather than trees.


All and all it's a enjoyable book intended for young readers but accessible by anyone but what I've been enjoying most about the book is the continued coolness it's booktour is allowing Gaiman to cultivate. Over the summer I read Gaiman's first true novel, American Gods, after hearing he had released the full text onto the internet free of charge. I loved the book but even more I think I enjoyed what Gaiman had accomplished- he grew his readership. Months after releasing the book on the web Gaiman's book sales saw huge growth. But what is even more impressive than that is that Gaiman recognized what many good authors today have also seen, that even though the author owns the copyright it's the readers who own the book. And the more interactive and giving an author can be the more receptive and gracious their readership will become.

With The Graveyard Book Gaiman decided to deal with the graciousness of his readers before the demand for him flooded his readings and elongated his signings. Instead of releasing The Graveyard Book online as he did before with American Gods, Gaiman did what with a book like this could be considered one better.  He read it aloud.  In nine nights at nine different book readings Gaiman read through his book, each night linking a video of the reading on his website for anyone to enjoy.  And, with a children's story like The Graveyard Book it's hard not to enjoy having it read to you the way so many other books had been so long ago. 

I recommend you take a look through the book if you get the chance, if only to experience the great artwork of Dave McKean.  McKean also did the artwork for another Halloween book, a personal favorite of mine, by a favorite of BSD's- Ray Bradbury's The Homecoming.  The Homecoming is another amazing autumnal story perfect for Halloween time.

You can find Neil Gaiman's The Graveyard Book here. If you have the time it is an easy and fun listen, especially this time of year. Happy Halloween everybody.

CML