Thoughts: American Gods

Shadow is man with a past. But now he wants nothing more than to live a quiet life with his wife and stay out of trouble. Until he learns that she's been killed in a terrible accident.

Flying home for the funeral, as a violent storm rocks the plane, a strange man in the seat next to him introduces himself. The man calls himself Mr. Wednesday, and he knows more about Shadow than is possible.

He warns Shadow that a far bigger storm is coming. And from that moment on, nothing will ever be the same...

Quotes

Ah, Neil Gaiman. One of favorite authors.

And to be honest, American Gods did not hit me as quick as the other books. This one is as dark as others, but written without the regular lightheartedness. It's still wonderful.

Here's how it goes: Once let out of prison and learning of his wife's death, Shadow becomes the body guard and odd job man of a stranger called Wednesday. From there, he is launched into the middle of a storm, a big one, where Gods of all religions, cultures, and ways of life who have been brought to America by their worshipers are arguing and deciding on their own fate.

What I absolutley love is how Gaiman got the idea- America has no gods, just people who believe in them. Gods from all over the world have migrated with those that believe in them to America, where slowly over the centuries, they are becoming diminished and forgotten. New forces- forces of the industrial age, of the science age- are in the minds of America's people now. But what of the old gods?

Gaiman has a great way of making his characters like people you once knew, but lost track of over time. They're real, and you know they've always been real, even before you started reading about them. It's a perfect skill to have, when you're creating a world where Gods have struggled to survive among real, modern day people. Shadow is also a great character to follow; I was rooting for him the whole way, sorry that he had been thrown into this ordeal without him having to seek for my pity.

Even the epilogue was great. It tied up a few things to make a bang ending, a reminder that Gods will be Gods.

Okay, you get it, I loved it. My one problem: the climax, the storm- I don't know how much of a spoiler this is- but if you've read The Stand by Stephen King, the storm ends in a similar way. After all the build up, it's a bit of let down to have things end peacefully. And I'll leave it at that.

Pg 99 Test: Hyperion

For the past month, my boyfriend has shoved Hyperion in front of my face trying to get me to read it. It's not that I don't like scifi, but I got plenty of other books to read. But I've given in. About 60 pages in, and it's quite good. And he's already pushed the sequel into my hands.

Let's take a look at Hyperion, page 99:

see him." Hoyt struggled upright and clawed at his own cheeks. His eyes were wide, the ultramorph obviously forgetten despite the pain. "About three kilometers into the flame forest... big tesla... eighty, a hundred meters tall, at least. Quiet then, but still a lot... a lot of charge in the air. Ash everywhere.
"The Bikura wouldn't... wouldn't go too close. Just knelt their goddamened bald heads bowed. But I... went close... had to. Dear God... Oh, Christ, it was him. Dure. What was left of him.
"He'd used a ladder to get three... maybe four meters... up on the bole of the tree. Built a sort of platform. For his feet. Broken the arrestor rods off... little more than spikes... then sharpened them. Must've used a rock to drive the long one through his feet into the bestos platform and tree.
"His left arm... he's pounded the stake between the radius and ulna... missed veins... just like the goddamned Romans. Very secure as long as his skeleton was intact. Other hand... right right hand... palm down. He'd driven the spike first. Sharpened both ends. Then... impaled his right hand. Somehow bent the spike over. Hook.
"Ladder'd fallen... long ago... but it was bestos. Hadn't burned. Used it to climb up to him. Everything'd burned away years ago.. clothes, skin, top layers of flesh... but the bestos pouch was still around his neck.
"The alloy still conducted current even when... I could see it... feel it... surging through what was left of the body.
"It still looked like Paul Dure. Important. I told Monsignor. No skin. Flesh raw or boiled away. Nerves and things visible... like gray and yellow roots. Christ, the smell. But it still looked like Paul Dure!
"I understood then. Understood it all. Somehow... even before reading the journals. Understood he'd been hanging there... oh, dear God.. seven years. Living. Dying. The Cruciform... forcing him to live again. Electricity... surging through him every second of those... those seven years. Flames. Hunger. Pain. Death. But somehow the godamned... cruciform... leeching substances from the tree maybe, the air, what was left... rebuilding

And that's all. You want more? Read the book! I'm glad the page stopped where it did, it was giving away information I don't want to know just yet. So what do you think about Hyperion? Go, ahead, judge by it's page 99!

Quotes: American Gods

American Gods, by Neil Gaiman

(Shuffled)

Shadow felt like a pea being flicked between three cups, or a card being shuffled through a deck.

(Worrying About What Is)

"This is the only country in the world," said Wednesday into the stillness, "that worries about what it is... the rest of them know what they are. No one ever needs to go searching for the heart of Norway. Or looks for the soul of Mozambique. They know what they are."

(Frozen Moments)

Shadow turned, slowly, streaming images of himself as he moved, frozen moments, each him captured in a fraction of a second, every tiny movement lasting for an infinite period.

(Sight, Touch, Memory)

All we have to believe with is our senses, the tools we use to perceive our world: our sight, our touch, our memory. If they lie to us, then nothing can be trusted.