Product Description
Subterranean Press is proud to announce a special edition of Coraline, Neil Gaiman’s modern day children’s classic.
In addition to the text and illustrations from the original edition, the SubPress edition will also:
1. Include a brand new wraparound dust jacket and endsheets by Dave McKean;
2. Be printed on 80# Finch paper for a lifetime of enjoyment;
3. Feature the original cover art as a tipped in plate;
4. Include several full color photos from an Irish puppet production of the novel.
Amazon.com Review
Coraline lives with her preoccupied parents in part of a huge old house–a house so huge that other people live in it, too… round, old former actresses Miss Spink and Miss Forcible and their aging Highland terriers (“We trod the boards, luvvy”) and the mustachioed old man under the roof (“‘The reason you cannot see the mouse circus,’ said the man upstairs, ‘is that the mice are not yet ready and rehearsed.’”) Coraline contents herself for weeks with exploring the vast garden and grounds. But with a little rain she becomes bored–so bored that she begins to count everything blue (153), the windows (21), and the doors (14). And it is the 14th door that–sometimes blocked with a wall of bricks–opens up for Coraline into an entirely alternate universe. Now, if you’re thinking fondly of The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe or Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, you’re on the wrong track. Neil Gaiman’s Coraline is far darker, far stranger, playing on our deepest fears. And, like Roald Dahl’s work, it is delicious.
What’s on the other side of the door? A distorted-mirror world, containing presumably everything Coraline has ever dreamed of… people who pronounce her name correctly (not “Caroline”), delicious meals (not like her father’s overblown “recipes”), an unusually pink and green bedroom (not like her dull one), and plenty of horrible (very un-boring) marvels, like a man made out of live rats. The creepiest part, however, is her mirrored parents, her “other mother” and her “other father”–people who look just like her own parents, but with big, shiny, black button eyes, paper-white skin… and a keen desire to keep her on their side of the door. To make creepy creepier, Coraline has been illustrated masterfully in scritchy, terrifying ink drawings by British mixed-media artist and Sandman cover illustrator Dave McKean. This delightful, funny, haunting, scary as heck, fairy-tale novel is about as fine as they come. Highly recommended. (Ages 11 and older) –Karin Snelson
Marc Ruby™ @ 9:49 pm
Neil Gaiman has shown as admirable knack for fiction for young adults and children as he has shown in adult fiction. I am tempted to attribute this to his experience writing graphic stories, but it is really something more than that. It is an ability to touch the sources of wonder and fear without the necessity of excessive gore and grimness. Not that bad things don’t happen in Gaiman’s tales, but they tend to go right to the heart, instead of the stomach.
This tale is about a remarkable young woman named Coraline (who remains polite, even when you call her Caroline). Recently she and her parents have moved into one of those wondrous old houses that are sometimes converted into flats. Both Coraline’s parents work at home, and sometimes she feels a bit ignored and bored. Nevertheless, she is encouraged to explore and so she does. First her neighbors. The Misses Spink and Forcible are two retired thespians who live together in the bottom flat, and up above is Mr. Bobo, who is an avid trainer of mice. Having run out of people, Coraline investigates the premises. Her flat is most unusual; it has 21 windows and 14 doors. Only one door is locked, and that only leads to a brick wall.
Well, most of the time it does. On some occasions, it opens up on a world just like this one, where Coraline finds her other mother, other father, and even other neighbors. At first it seems quite nice, people pay more attention to one there, the toys are better, and, of all things, the cat talks. Soon Coraline finds all is not quite as it seems. Everyone has buttons for eyes, her other mother has strange hands that seem to have a life of their own, and there are a remarkable number of rats. In fact, if you dig deep enough, things are really most horrible. Coraline has much to do to make things come around right.
With young people’s fiction, adults are often driven to worry about what the stories teach and if they will have ill effects on their child. Coraline’s plight, being stranded away from her parents amidst a world full of thinly veiled threats may be uncomfortable for a sensitive child. Yet things work out well in the end, and Coraline is an excellent role model, who understands what courage truly is and is in touch with what is really important to her. Equally, this is a work of art and it is never too early to encourage children to develop a sense of what good writing really is.
Fortunately, this really is a book that an adult can enjoy as well. And I can’t help but think that it might stimulate some interesting family discussions. I would recommend it to anyone who believes that children can benefit from new and unusual reading experiences. I also should mention the delightful illustrations from the pen of Dave McKean, a long time designer and illustrator for Neil Gaiman’s graphic work.
Nadyne Mielke @ 11:28 pm
Neil Gaiman is a master storyteller. His diction is perfect. He does not waste words, but is not miserly with them either. His descriptions never fail to rouse a knowing nod and smile from the reader. Even when writing a quick throwaway piece in his journal…his style is impeccable.
For this novel, Neil sets his eyes on another audience: young adults. He gives children (or, as he has said, ’strange little girls of all ages and genders’ – a nod to his friend Tori Amos and her 2001 “Strange Little Girls” album) a deliciously creepy novel about a girl, a new flat, and her other mother.
Coraline (not Caroline, even though all of the adults who live in the other flats keep on saying it that way and ignoring her corrections) and her parents move into a new home. One day, she pesters her father one too many times, so he sends her off on an expedition: find the water heater, count everything blue, count all the doors and windows. She does so, and is shocked to find that there are 13 doors that open and one that doesn’t. She asks her mother what is behind the 14th door, and is told that it was bricked over when the house was broken up into flats. Her mother unlocks the door to show her this, but doesn’t lock it again.
Later, Coraline creeps back, and finds that the door opens into another flat. It is just like her own, but not quite. In her room (green and pink, not boring like her own), she finds the sorts of clothing that she thinks she would have if she could pick out her own wardrobe — not a grey school skirt, but costumes. In the kitchen, she finds her other parents — not her real parents who work and don’t play with her, but other parents who cook real food (not something from a “recipe” involving tarragon and butter beans) and dote upon her. Coraline knows that this is not right, and returns to her own flat.
Thus begins Coraline’s adventure. The other mother steals Coraline’s parents. Coraline returns to the other flat to get them back. Along the way, she makes friends with the most sarcastic of cats and finds the ghosts of other children who were stolen away by the other mother.
Gaiman’s mastery of timing has never been shown so well than in this novel. Just when things are getting really scary, he breaks in with a droll and dry line that makes the reader laugh. This is a novel that is just begging to be read aloud — as Neil Gaiman himself did on 02 July 2002 in Berkeley, California. His audience, around 500 people, hung on his every word. The adults in the audience were just as delighted as the children to have someone read such a delicious story to them. If you dislike reading aloud, you can always buy the audio CD (complete, unabridged) version of this story.
Maure Luke @ 12:11 am
I received the audio CD of Coraline in the mail yesterday in the early afternoon. I’d read the book, and heard parts of it read by the author here and there, so I put it on for background, while I did other things. The “other things” didn’t even get started for roughly three hours.
The recording begins with a verse from a quirky Gothic Archies tune in which Stephin Merritt sing-songs, “You are not my mother, and I want to go home,” over layers of atmospheric dings and bonga-bongas. The song echoes the story’s cohesion of humor and spookiness, and is split into three parts, playing a bit before each of the three CDs.
The story itself is a delight. Coraline is a typical child-explorer, examining the house and grounds to which she recently moved, uncovering the strange personalities that inhabit her world, and discovering that a door in her home which was previously bricked-up actually leads to a misty echo-world where old, hungry, button-eyed creatures masquerade as her other parents, having parent-napped her real parents, while trying to convince her to stay there forever so that they can keep her soul . . . Well. Perhaps her story is not so typical. Not typical, also, are the fantastic characters who pop in and out of the story, such as the Slavic mustached man who lives in the upper flat and is training a mouse circus, and his other-self, or the pair of dotty, but kind, retired theater mavens who read tea leaves and worry about their dogs’ tummies, and their less-benevolent, other-world counterparts. Like any true exploration story, Coraline has an assistant for the more dangerous times, in the form of a condescending, snarkily witty black cat. And like every true exploration story, there are acts of great courage and startling discoveries made along the way.
Neil Gaiman is an engaging and expressive reader, as well as writer. He infuses the characters with a spark all their own, changing cadences and even accents, always to the benefit of the story. The pacing is smooth and quick, with minute dips and well-placed pauses that give the shivers a chance to manifest before the story is once again plunging on to the good stuff.
Coraline is a story that begs — no, demands — to be read aloud. Usually the problem is that someone has to be the reader, while the listeners get to experience the full effect and thrill of the story. Let the author be the reader, and indulge yourself in the sheer delight of hearing a wonderful story told well.
M. Jacobsen @ 12:52 am
Young Coraline isn’t all that happy with her life. Her parents work too much and, as young children are wont to be, she’s bored. But when she discovers her alternate life behind a hidden door, she begins to think that her real life isn’t so bad. Evil lurks behind every corner as Coraline tries desperately to regain her “old” life.
Advertised for ages eight and up, Coraline is, for all intents and purposes, a horror book for kids. Scary, but without the gore.
And although I haven’t interviewed any eight year olds on the matter, I suspect Gaiman largely succeeds in scaring the pee out of them. The alternate world Coraline stumbles into strangely mirrors her own, containing another set of parents who, despite their outward declarations of love and devotion, don’t seem quite right. (Black buttons instead of eyes are a pretty big clue here.)
The alternate world Gaiman creates is quite well thought-out. And while the themes of the novella may not be original, the conveyance of it certainly is.
As rich as the plot is, however, there is something lacking in Coraline. We know she is a kind girl and even quite a smart girl. But that’s about all we ever get to know. Ultimately, she’s rather one-dimensional in a cardboard cutout sort of way. Perhaps this was by design, but I missed getting to know Coraline.
Hmmmmm. Here’s the brutal truth: the thrill just wasn’t happening for me. By no means is this an awful book. It won a Hugo Award, a Nebula Award, and the Bram Stroker Award.
I read it. I didn’t hate it. But neither am I running out and buying copies for every kid I know. Maybe I missed something. It’s been known to happen.
I do, however, have high hopes for the forthcoming film version.
E. A Solinas @ 12:59 am
Nobody can drench a book in creepy, dank atmosphere like Neil Gaiman — and it doesn’t matter if it’s a kid’s book.
And “Coraline” — now being released as a movie — is no exception to Gaiman’s track record. It’s a haunting little dark fairy tale full of decayed apartments, dancing rats and eerie soulless doppelgangers, as well as a gutsy heroine who finds herself in this ominous “other” world.
Newly moved into an aged apartment, Coraline (not “Caroline” is bored. Her parents are too busy to do anything with her, and her neighbors are either insane or boring.
It’s the sort of relentlessly dull world that any little girl would want to escape from — until Coraline does. She encounters a formerly bricked-up door that leads into an apartment in another world, which looks eerily like her own. In fact, it’s so similar that she has a taloned, button-eyed “other mother” and matching “other father,” as well as a chorus of singing, dancing rats and magical toys.
At first Coraline is fascinated by the other world, especially since her other parents are very attentive. Then she finds her real parents sealed inside a mirror. With the help of a sarcastic cat, Coraline ventures back into the other world. But with her parents and a trio of dead children held hostage, Coraline’s only hope is to gamble with her own freedom — and she’ll be trapped forever if she fails.
Without Neil Gaiman’s touch, “Coraline” would just be another story about a kid who learns to appreciate her parents. But he infuses this story with a dark fairy-tale vibe — decayed apartments, dead children in a mirror, beetles, disembodied hands, monsters that cling to the wall with souls in their grip, and rats that sing about how “we were here before you rose, we will be here when you fall.”
That dark, cobwebby atmosphere clings to the increasingly nightmarish plot, as Coraline navigates a world where the other mother has every advantage. And Gaiman’s wordcraft is exquisitely horrible — the other mother’s hands are compared to spiders, her hair to undersea tentacles. And the fate of the other father is a magnificently ghastly thing.
He even infuses poetry into the horror (“A husk you’ll be, a wisp you’ll be, and a thing no more than a dream on waking, or a memory of something forgotten”), and a fair amount of macabre humour (“I swear it on my own mother’s grave.” “Does she have a grave?” “Oh yes. I put her in there myself. And when I found her trying to crawl out, I put her back”).
Coraline herself is a wonderful little heroine — strong, sensible, self-sufficient but still fairly freaked out about what is happening around her. The sarcastic cat is a wonderful counterpoint. And the other mother is the stuff of nightmares — she’s utterly inhuman and merciless — who “wants something to love. Something that isn’t her. She might want something to eat as well.”
Neil Gaiman creates eerie, slightly warped worlds like nobody else, and he does an exquisitely horrible job in “Coraline.” Just never go through the door.