Book Review – Coraline

Coraline is the kind of book that burrows under your skin and stays there, like the quiet scratch of tiny rat claws behind the walls. Neil Gaiman has crafted a deliciously unsettling story that masters the art of being both deeply disturbing and utterly enchanting.

The story follows Coraline (not Caroline, as she repeatedly has to remind everyone), who moves into a peculiar old house divided into apartments. Behind a mysterious locked door, she discovers an “other” world – a twisted mirror version of her own life, complete with an Other Mother and Other Father who seem to be perfect versions of her real parents. But perfection, as we soon learn, comes with a terrifying price.

What makes this book truly brilliant is Gaiman’s ability to balance whimsy with horror. His prose is clean and precise, every word carefully chosen to build tension. The way he describes the Other Mother’s transformation from seemingly perfect parent to something increasingly sinister is masterfully done. The click-click-click of her needle fingers, the too-bright buttons for eyes, the way her smile stretches just a little too wide – these details create an atmosphere of creeping dread that’s hard to shake.

The character of Coraline herself is wonderfully crafted. She’s brave but not fearless, clever but not unrealistically so. Her determination to save not only herself but others trapped by the Other Mother makes her heroism feel earned rather than given. The scene where she challenges the Other Mother to a game is particularly tense – you can feel the weight of the stakes in every move.

The supporting cast adds rich layers to the story. The eccentric neighbors, especially the retired actresses Miss Spink and Miss Forcible, bring both comic relief and an underlying sense of melancholy to the tale. The mysterious cat, with its ability to move between worlds and its sardonic commentary, serves as both guide and Greek chorus.

Gaiman excels at capturing the uncanny – those moments when familiar things become strange and threatening. The other world starts as an almost perfect copy of reality, but slowly reveals its wrongness in ways that are deeply unsettling. A toy box filled with things that can move on their own. Food that tastes like dust and paper. The way the other world seems to end at the edges, fading into nothingness.

The themes of identity, love, and courage are woven seamlessly throughout the narrative. The Other Mother’s offer of conditional love – “I will love you if you let me sew buttons into your eyes” – serves as a dark metaphor for the ways in which love can be used as both reward and weapon. Coraline’s journey is ultimately about discovering that real love doesn’t require you to change who you are.

The pacing is perfect for a horror story – it starts slowly, building tension through small details and mounting wrongness, before accelerating into a genuinely thrilling climax. The horror elements are handled with remarkable restraint. Rather than relying on gore or jump scares, Gaiman creates fear through suggestion and implication, making the story all the more effective.

Despite its dark elements, the book never loses sight of hope. Coraline’s courage in the face of terror, her determination to save others even when scared, and her ultimate triumph over the Other Mother make this more than just a horror story – it’s a tale about growing up, facing fears, and understanding what real love looks like.

This slim volume packs more genuine chills and thoughtful themes than many adult horror novels manage in twice the page count. It’s a masterclass in how to write horror for young readers without talking down to them or pulling punches. The illustrations by Dave McKean perfectly complement the text, their scratchy, unsettling style adding another layer of eeriness to the story.

For readers who enjoy their fantasy with a hefty dose of gothic atmosphere and psychological horror, Coraline delivers in spades. Just maybe don’t read it late at night when you’re alone in the house. And whatever you do, don’t trust doors that shouldn’t be there, no matter what’s on the other side.