I impulse-bought *American Gods* while visiting a bookstore a while back because I recognized the novel by name. I knew basically nothing about it other than knowing that Neil Gaiman is a well-known author (and I had read *Coraline* probably close to 17 years ago), so I figured I’d give it a shot.
I read the first 240ish pages over the course of a few weeks, and promptly forgot about reading it for nearly 2 months (while reading nothing else during this down time). The amount of world-building in that first 240 pages was staggering, with what felt like not a lot of plot progression.
About a week and a half ago, I picked it back up, and read the entire rest of the novel including the epilogue and mini-novella between then and this last Sunday. I can’t quite describe the draw this story had on me, because it wasn’t the same as a “can’t put it down” type of draw. It was grueling to read, but in a way that was fiendish and confounding.
It feels like the kind of novel I need to read again in order to fully grasp, but at the same time I basically want nothing to do with re-reading it. At least for the time being anyway. It was exhausting and left me feeling simultaneously empty and satisfied.
The imagery and the prose were phenomenal, I liked the plotline as a whole but felt like it could have done more to tie in some of the odds and ends (the Ifrit cab driver comes to mind) to the rest of the novel.
I’ll certainly make an effort to read more Gaiman, as I’ve seen praise for his work from people who both enjoyed and disliked *American Gods*. I’ve simply never felt like this upon finishing a novel and I feel like it’s going to take me another couple of weeks to fully integrate the enjoyable clusterfuck of an experience I just went through.
by DisMyDrugAccount