Although Gaiman ostensibly writes this from the point of view of an adult, the entire story takes place in the seven-year-old narrator's self. I liked the novella (not really a novel) well enough - it was a quick, imaginative read, and a trip through Gaiman's fantasy-addled brain is always a fun one. But the entire story has the feel of a fever dream (perhaps this is intentional) - something in which you accept the fantastical in stride, and then wake up from, and forget as your real life creeps back up around the edges. It was a charming story, but the marks it'll leave on me are faint, indelible - yet there nonetheless.