American Gods by Neil GaimanMy rating: 5 of 5 stars
(Originally read May 11, 2006)
The idea behind the story is simple enough: Gods exist because we — people — believe in them. When Europeans began migrating westward, they brought their gods with them to America; when Africans were transported to this continent, they brought their gods with them. So, for a long time, America didn't have its own gods, just borrowed deities from the old countries.
After years and generations past, however, the old gods were replaced. As people's faith in the gods of old faded, so did the gods themselves. Native-born Americans developed their own beliefs, which created shiny new gods — "new gods of credit card and freeway, of Internet and telephone, of radio and hospital and television, gods of plastic and of beeper and of neon."
For some reason, I assumed Gaiman would spend most of his time building up the new generation of gods, preparing them to take over where the old gods left off. After all, the old gods were Big Important Dudes in their home countries, but in America they were small potatoes.
It didn't take long to realize Gaiman'd fleshed out the old gods much better, though. He gave them more interesting backstories, made them stronger and smarter, more well-defined. But that fits. After all, the old gods had been around long enough to build up reputations and carve out their niche in mankind's faith market. They're used to each other, and the hierarchy of most powerful (Mr. Wednesday/Odin) to most pesky (Mad Sweeny/leprauchans) has been established for centuries. By comparison, the new gods seem juvenile and superficial. (Even the "leader" of the new gods — Mr. World/Loki — who seems the most experienced of these newly developed deities, turns out to be an old god.)
And then there's Shadow.
Our narrator is aptly named, no? Much like staring at your own shadow, the basic outline of the character is there, but the details — how far apart are his eyes set? Does he have any scars? Do dimples flash when he smiles? Does he smile? — are all missing. As the readers' tour guide, he is an objective reporter, stating exactly what happened, how it happened, and occasionally why. But how do these events make him feel? What are his own reactions to what, how, and why? He doesn't say. Shadow is definitely one of the most distant and private main characters I've ever come across.
But the other characters in the story were perfectly willing to talk. I learned a great deal by listening to them — including the gods in the side-chapters, who I found distracting until I realized the purpose they served (For Sandman fans: Did you catch the reference to Delirium? She's the confused girl with the dog in San Fransisco!) — and I was entertained quite a bit by their antics and what I took as the writer's own brand of humor (the Egyptian pantheon running a funeral home in Cairo, Ill. — brilliant!).
I actually finished reading this in February (I know, I'm a Slacker, with a capital "S") and just didn't have time to journal my thoughts then and there. Three months later, however, it's apparent that this book made *quite* the impression and is still making me think. That should speak volumes for Gaiman's work.
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