The Neverending Story by Michael Ende
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

Re-Read, 5/19/20:

Read with my girl!

I had to share this gem. Or rather, GEM. :) All real stories are never-ending, after all, and now she's caught in the tale... forever. :)

Her favorite parts? Atreyu meeting Falcor for the first time. All the beautiful pictures at the head of each chapter, each one following the alphabet. And the idea that she, too, is going to be caught in AURIN. And she is. As I am.

Classics remain classics. :)


Re-Read, 4/10/20:

After yet another re-read, I've come to a simple conclusion: I decided to write fiction because I loved this story so much. I figured it out as a kid when I saw this movie for the first time.

So, why is that?

Because every work of fiction is a collaboration between the writer and the reader. In this case, it's between a reader and the written word and the actual reader of both... and the uber-reader, all of whom include each one of us, create this world anew.

We are the Neverending Story.


So what does this mean when it comes to the second half of the tale, where wishes remove memories? Is it a magic-consequence rule? Or is it just another metaphor for growing old, forgetting about our youth and creativity?

I tend to think it is the hard-rule of death. Generations pass and stories pass out of memory. Sometimes they don't, but most of the time, they do.

And this is why it's all the more important to keep the dream alive. Keep the STORIES alive.



Original Review:

Like many people of my generation, I loved the film adaptation (the first, not the second, thank you) and never realized that it had come from a book until a number of years later. In fact, I read it the first time in '07 and not only was I delighted at how imaginative it was, but I was also flabbergasted (joyfully so) that it lived up to its name.

It's quick reading by any standard, but so deliciously dense in imagery, mythology, and an engrossing plot that I swore that if I had any children, this would be a staple of their diet.

Now that I have a little girl, I'm just too anxious to start reading it to her. I really can't sit still. I keep picking up the book and going, "Is she old enough, yet? Is she? Is she?" Then I set down the book and tear out my metaphorical hair and let out a forlorn cry. Then I get a fantastic idea:

I could just read it again, for myself!

Then everything is right with the world again and I'm able to write a new review.

This is easily one of my favorite tales, ever.

An extra goodie: April had a great review that forced me to think and respond in (I hope) a comprehensible way. Check it out. April's Review

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