American Gods by Neil Gaiman

Sorry this one took so long to get up! My time in Spain is winding down, meaning I’ve had less time to read and less time to write as I give life here one last burst of energy. I finished this novel about a month ago, maybe more, so it’s not all fresh. Excuse any vagaries from memory failure.


Earlier this year when I asked my friends where I should start if I wanted to start reading Gaiman, American Gods was the immediate choice for all of them. From what I could gather, it was a good introduction to the style and ideas of Neil Gaiman. They were all correct.

What I found in this novel was a well-paced story of accessible (but still fantastic) fantasy that was deeply researched, interesting, funny, and full of delightful prose.

American Gods is an important read for writers, especially, because of a skillful balance that Gaiman has discovered. He seems to have stumbled upon the exact correct proportions of funny, shocking, sad, rewarding, and compelling with this book. This is one of very few books I’ve read that can consistently use dream to such great effect, developing characters and driving forward the plot. I’m particularly impressed with how appropriately he handled a few specific moments, including two big character deaths.

SPOILERS:

The death of Wednesday: When one of our central characters, Wednesday was killed by the new gods, I had to set the book down for a moment. I was suspicious. His death was abrupt, unceremonious, and felt rather cheap. I didn’t feel sad or upset, so much as disappointed. I invested a lot into him, trying to figure out his character and guess his next move and the way he died didn’t satisfy me. If it had been left at that, I would not have felt happy with this death. Then I worried, because there was a tugging notion in the prose and the procedure that made me believe Wednesday would come back. That’s disconcerting, because tricking a reader and bringing a character back/faking a death is often cheap and unsatisfying. I was worried Gaiman wouldn’t pull it off. IMO, he did it just right. The two-man grift, the partially, temporarily successful attempt at resurrection offered enough closure, fully developed Wednesday as a character, and ultimately left me content with his demise.

The death of Shadow: I felt similarly about this death. It just didn’t feel like Shadow would stay dead, and that was scary, especially because he was human and there were no special tricks up his sleeve that I could conceive of. I was immensely satisfied with Shadow’s spiritual journey through the underworld and with his decision to fade into nothingness. Because we reached that stage of acceptance with Shadow, it made his resurrection enjoyable because we were able to watch his negative reaction to being torn from nothingness and thrown back into life.

These are certainly two of the most interesting deaths/resurrections I’ve read in a long time. And feeling my reactions to them as they happened taught me a great deal about what a reader wants and needs from character death.

Probably the greatest thing I appreciated about this novel, though, is the immense amount of detail Gaiman offered us about the environments, the minutiae, and the belief systems he presented us with. I have an enormous bag of respect waiting for Gaiman should he ever choose to claim it, because of how impressed I was with the research that went into this book.

With that said, though, I wasn’t completely satisfied with the scope of the religions and cultures he represented. Of course, it would’ve been impossible for him to meaningfully represent every culture of the world in a 600-page novel, but most of the big characters from mythology were the easy choices, coming from popular European myth. It would’ve been nice to see a few more less popular, less anglo-centric gods be given fleshed out stories or characters. There was almost nothing from South America. Does that count as part of the barren America?

Which brings me to the subject of Native American representation. Gaiman justifies his plot-integral proposition that gods don’t thrive well in the Americas by stating that native religions were truly more about land-worship and idols than the creation of gods. I know little about most native religions, but 1) that’s a broad statement and 2) that just doesn’t seem fair. Can we truly say that or is this a case of misrepresentation and the molding of a culture to the author’s needs? I’m inclined to say the latter.

Despite my qualms with representation in this book, I did love it. I wouldn’t call it a master piece, but I would call it a brilliant piece of art that we can look to for inspiration.

Now, I’ve got a question about one part of the book that escaped me. Maybe someone can offer an opinion.

Toward the end, when Shadow is underneath the ice, passing out, he sees a vision of Whiskey Jack, the buffalo god, and the thunderbird god. They seem to be beckoning him, but as Hinzelmann grabs Shadow’s hand and rescues him, the gods turn away and seem to abandon him. Am I interpreting that right? If so, what is their reason for leaving him behind? Has he betrayed them by surviving or has he been tainted because the kobold saved his life? What’s going on here?!? It’s the one part of the book I couldn’t grasp and it’s been eating at me for weeks.

Please, someone, help me.

American Gods by Neil Gaiman

Publication Day! and Other News

Hey readers, I’ve got a quick, exciting update for you. Most recent news first.

  1. I’m insanely happy to announce that my short story “Flat Nose, Empty Head” is now live at the fantastic Hypertext Magazine. Please please please pop over to their site and give it a read. This is my first publication and I couldn’t be more excited.
  2. If you’ve been keeping up with my posts, you know I was struggling to decide my future next year. I’ve finally made a choice. If you want to find me after August of 2015, I’ll be at Iowa State University, writing and writing and writing. I look forward to seeing you there.
  3. A new review will be on the way soon. What book is it? One mentioned in a previous post: American Gods

That’s all for now. Until my next review!

Publication Day! and Other News

We Are Pirates by Daniel Handler: Verily

I’m a huge fan of Lemony Snicket but until We Are Pirates, I had never read a book by the man behind the man, Daniel Handler. If you’ve read A Series of Unfortunate Events, then you’re familiar with Handler’s tongue-in-cheek style and ethereal interpretation of what the fourth wall is. As a youth, those characteristics pulled me ever deeper into his writing.

They’re all present in this novel, though in new iterations. Handler’s narrator is a sneaky investigator attending an open house at the main characters’ (the Needle family) who finds himself enjoying the pants-up, lid-down peace of Phil Needle’s personal toilet where he recounts (imagines?) the events of the last few months. Handler is true to his wry, biting sense of humor and satire throughout the novel, and it is indeed “strange,” as Neil Gaiman comments in his blurb. Handler even employs his familiar technique of phrase repetition to tie his themes together, one example being multiple uses of “during this era of American history.”

All this was present and yet, this novel fell short. It kept my attention while I was reading, but once I set the book down, I didn’t think about it again until I picked it up again.

Amidst the general okayness of We Are Pirates, Handler did manage to touch on a few interesting points. He talks a lot about the state of American society, neither condemning nor praising it, and that, I feel, is what the book is really about. Within that theme he discusses adolescence, individuality, ageism, aging, Alzheimer’s, generation gaps, and much more. What drew my attention most, though, was his (scant but sharp) look at racism. From describing (quite accurately) the way white people try to convince themselves they are prejudiceless, to pointing out that most of the characters are white, Handler’s comments are very conscious and quite hard to interpret. “Just about everyone one else, by the way, in this book is white,” he says, the non-white character being a man from Haiti whose boss thinks he’s Jamaican. So Daniel Handler calls out novelists writing only white characters, but it’s unclear whether he’s satirizing the situation or merely admitting to its perpetuation. Either way, his comments are worth noting after the joke he made following Jacqueline Woodson’s speech at the 2014 National Book Awards.

did laugh, I did like the characters. We Are Pirates is absurd, honest, and brutal–all the things it promised to be. But there wasn’t the magic that makes a good novel a great novel. Maybe I misread this one, but for me it wasn’t the novel that Neil Gaiman, Michael Chabon, and Russel T. Davies promised it would be.

We Are Pirates by Daniel Handler: Verily