I don’t do book reviews. Many of my friends do and I think they have a knack for something that I don’t have a knack for. I read. I have no idea if what I read is good or bad or in-between because I am uncomfortable making those sorts of judgments for anyone other than myself. With that in mind…
The perfect book at the perfect time.
The timing: last fall I taught two classes at co-op, both centered around Scandinavia, it’s legends, Beowulf, it’s gods; two weeks ago I was bucked off of a horse and broken in several ways and I needed to be healed; other books I’m reading include Behaving as if the God in all LIfe Mattered, Egyptian and European Energy Work, Extraordinary Plant Qualities for Biodynamics, The Eighty Dollar Champion, two books on Reiki and one on Chinese Herbalism. This book, American Gods by Neil Gaiman jumped into my arms like an overzealous bride and refused to be dropped until we had crossed the threshold.
I’m a fan of the arcane, the weird, the off-the-charts stuff that most people don’t find engaging or interesting. I’m a shamanic anthropologist at heart. Yes, enigmatic…or something. This book touched every one of those interest-driven synapses. I loved it. I will read it again.