"The Ocean at the End of the Lane" by Neil Gaiman
The Ocean at the End of the Lane is very short. It's kind of a tea sandwich of a fantasy novel which tells a charming, if somewhat twee, story about a normal young boy who has a fantastical adventure, book-ended by two deeply-felt episodes that glancingly attempt something more.
The book begins with our unnamed first-person narrator returning to the house of his youth on the occasion of (I think) a funeral. These opening pages are freighted with a deeply introspective world-weariness, and it felt like the story was gearing up for a kind of self-realization narrative.
But once home, our narrator encounters a mysterious neighbor, and this encounter summons the memory of an experience the narrator had as a child. That story, as recalled by the narrator, is the meat of this novel, and it's interesting and just as full of monsters and fairies and magic as you'd expect from the byline. There are some dark moments, and a twist of tragedy. But it all comes across as very harmless and safe, even in some of the less comfortable and sad moments.
For me, though, the novel only became interesting in its final pages, after the narrator finishes recounting this experience he had and is talking with the mysterious neighbor. Without getting into specifics, it is only at the end that the story starts trying to broach some of the self-realization hinted at in its opening pages. But before it goes anywhere, the book ends.
I feel like Gaiman has a clearly defined comfort zone, and if he tentatively sticks a foot outside of it, as he does here at the very end, it is only to withdraw it a moment later with the hope that the attempt at something deep will count for the real thing. I look forward to the day he works up the courage to venture outside of his self-circumscribed magic circle and tell us about the monsters he really sees there.