“Weird Fiction” is such a strange tag when you think about it. There's no other genre of fiction where the name is a description of the contents, rather than the category of story. You don't get “Boring Fiction” or “Pretentious Fiction”. But there it is, and Neil Gaiman is an author often labelled as writing Weird Fiction. I'm not sure if that's a badge he wears proudly or not, but likewise I can't say for sure if American Gods counts as “Weird”. Unusual, yes, and it does twist and subvert many of the tropes and structures you'd expect in a story. But here's the thing, the reason why such tropes, archetypes and clichés exist is because they work. If you're going to step off of the beaten track and be “weird”, you need to have a darn good substitute. You need to still tell a story. You cannot get by on just being different if that difference isn't very good. "The God Complex" So is American Gods good? To many, it is. Great, even. And far be it from me to take that away from them. But I can only offer my perspective. And for me, American Gods, while full of rich subtext and ideas, is flawed. Some experiments work. And some don't. I'm going to talk about those flaws here. I won't really talk about the plus points of the book, of which there are many, so if it seems like I'm being unfair, that's not my intention. American Gods is a critically lauded and fan-loved novel, you already know he reasons you like it. It's on me to submit my reasons for not liking it. American Gods is a dense book. A lot happens, seen and unseen. Themes weave a thick web throughout the book: belief, religion, American culture, life, death...all the while the names of songs, movies, actors, actresses and other books are dropped everywhere. And this is before we get to the plot, which covers the length and breadth of America, and revolves around the high concept of the Gods taking physical form, both old and new, representing the old and new beliefs. It's a lot to juggle, and it's testament to Gaiman that he manages to keep it all in the air, let alone make a cohesive novel out of it. But through the sheer complexity of the book, something is lost: clarity. It's like a fine stain-glass window: a wonder to behold in its own right, but really doesn't lend itself to clearly viewing the subject matter beyond. Scene-by-scene, frame by frame, there are some truly wonderful moments in American Gods, but when put together as a cohesive whole the narrative gets muddy. I enjoyed the feel of Shadow’s side-trip to Cairo, but I'm not quite sure what purpose it served to the story overall. To the themes, yes, but story is key. More on that later. "Knowledge is Power" Now, I'm sure that there some people out there who can tell me exactly what the purpose of the scenes in Cairo were. Who Whiskey Jack is and why he’s important. Why Shadow is so keen on coin tricks. But this leads me onto the second issue I have: Gaiman’s writing style. While it is full of flavour and verve, is no doubt unique. Nobody writes quite like him. He's not the kind of writer who spells out exactly what is happening and the significance of it. And while that is to be admired - it is refreshing to have an author who assumes a high level of intelligence and perception from his audience - I feel it matches poorly with American Gods. It is complex enough as it is, and I could have really done with a straight-shooting writing style to give a more reassuring guide through this bewildering world. And again, while I thank Gaiman for respecting my intelligence, I felt like I needed to have an advanced level of understanding for Norse Mythology, American culture and world religions to gain a complete understanding of American Gods. Sorry Gaiman, I'm just not that smart after all. Related to that point is the speaking style of the characters. Everyone speaks as if they're experts in said topics on Myths and Legends. Take the scene when Sam hitchhikes a lift from Shadow, for example. So we have this big guy on the run, picking up a girl of college age. And what do they talk about? Gods. And they talk about it as if they're both majors in the field, with technical terms thrown around. It really stretches that suspension of belief. And they still speak with a hint of that Gaiman-esque uniqueness that makes it difficult to follow their conversation at times. Speech patterns begin blurring into one. I think I reread the passage where Shadow enters the Underworld three times and there were still some things I couldn't quite be sure the characters were talking about. "In the beginning (and the end)..." American Gods starts well and ends very well. The extended epilogue wraps things up nicely, clears up some of those hanging questions, and strangely enough the writing style is more straightforward as well, making it easier to digest and absorb. But the middle of the book tried my patience. We jump between long meandering days in Lakeside, where Shadow reads books, has dreams and literally waits for Wednesday to pick him up. Then it's off to meet another God, to persuade another one to join the team, then back to Lakeside. Gaiman isn't afraid to take his time through the narrative, and again that is to be admired, but you do have to wonder what the importance and significance of these meanders are. How do they add to the novel as a whole? Take those interjections of scenes from other times and places: the salesman in New York, the children brought over during the slave trade, the short story of Essie. Sure, these all add to and enrich the themes of American Gods, but not the story. Ultimately, I enjoyed my time with American Gods. While the middle of he book tried my patience, the payoff in he end pulled it back for me. And even now, over a week after I've put the book down, I still think about it, and I've done some research to fill in the gaps where I feel I missed something. But that's the critical point for me. See, I have no problem with books that are filled with symbolism, themes and metaphors. One the contrary, I love them. Lord of the Flies is one of my most adored books, and nearly every other sentence of that oozes with allegory. But they are both fiction novels, and the simple rule of “story first” applies: the concept that you can fill your stories with as many themes, meanings, agendas and politics as you want, but the story comes first. Somebody should be able to sit down with your story, take it at face value, and still enjoy it for what it is. You can certainly do that with Lord of the Flies. Can it be done with American Gods? Can you take the adventure of Shadow purely at face value and still enjoy it? For me, the answer was no. Everybody in American Gods talks of the divine, and people in the real world talk of American Gods as if it is just as revered, but I wasn't converted.
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Off the ShelfHere I share my ideas, musings and advice on the writing process. I also analyse some of my own writing for examples to show how I work. ShowcaseHere I will show off of some of my favorite good and great stories, gushing lovingly over why I adore them and why you should too. I will also show you the other side of the spectrum: bad examples of stories and what we can learn from them.
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