Coraline

by Neil Gaiman

Fairy tales are more than true: not because they tell us that dragons exist, but because they tell us that dragons can be beaten. – G. K. Chesterton

Coraline wondered why so few of the adults she had met made any sense. She sometimes wondered who they thought they were talking to.

It is astonishing just how much of what we are can be tied to the beds we wake up in in the morning, and it is astonishing how fragile that can be.

‘It’s big enough for her,’ said the cat. ‘Spiders’ webs only have to be large enough to catch flies.’

‘Mirrors,’ she said, ‘are never to be trusted.

after all, it is always easier to be afraid of something you cannot see.

She said, ‘You know that I love you.’ And, despite herself, Coraline nodded. It was true: the other mother loved her. But she loved Coraline as a miser loves money, or a dragon loves its gold. In the other mother’s button eyes, Coraline knew that she was a possession, nothing more. A tolerated pet, whose behaviour was no longer amusing.

‘She does not mean you well,’ whispered a ghost-voice in her ear. ‘We do not believe that she would help you. It must be a trick.’ Coraline said, ‘Yes, you’re right, I expect.’ Then she put the key in the lock, and turned it.

She found herself to be quite worried that something would jump out at her, so she began to whistle. She thought it might make it harder for things to jump out at her, if she was whistling.

‘I don’t want whatever I want. Nobody does. Not really. What kind of fun would it be if I just got everything I ever wanted? Just like that, and it didn’t mean anything. What then?’