American Gods
I considered posting a review of this book to CavLec a long time ago, back when I actually read it. I decided not to, though. I dig Neil Gaiman’s stuff, and he’s a fellow Wisconsinite, so better I should keep my mouth shut when it would otherwise say… well, some not-very-nice things.
But now it’s gone and won the 2002 Hugo. So, hey, all’s fair, right?
Because I didn’t like the book very much. And the reason I didn’t like the book very much is quite simple: its female characters.
So this book is about gods, right? And we get a detailed look at the less reputable male members of the Norse pantheon (double entendre intended). No Norse goddesses that I recall, but okay, we can’t include everybody.
Say, what goddesses do we include? Well, one that swallows up men, though not through the usual orifice. And, um, Kali at the big God Shindig toward the end. Maybe Ishtar shows up somewhere. Bastet in cat form—women are animals, you know? And, um, well, that’s it, really.
What the heck is that, I ask you? No Frigga? No Athena? No Demeter? No Amaterasu? No Guan-yin (yeah, yeah, I know about the sex change there)? Just man-eaters, one way or another. Great. That’s a kick in the face.
No, but seriously, it gets worse. Who is our main female character? An undead. We are treated to lengthy, almost gloating descriptions of the decay of her body and her mind. No male character gets a similar memento mori treatment. Worse yet, she’s in the book strictly because of her relationships with male characters. Any other women in her life or her unlife? Nah.
Any other women in the book? Not to speak of. That I remember, anyway; I can be corrected on this point. I suppose that explains the dearth of goddesses; we don’t see anybody who might actually pray to a goddess.
Mr. Gaiman knows this, by the way, so points for him. I fear it doesn’t make me like the book any better. There are plenty of “male” books in the world already, and (as I hope I’ve pointed out), there’s room to make American Gods less insistently, completely male. As it is, the book is barred from my shelf, along with fellow award-winner Babel-17, which is admittedly worse.
I know perfectly well Mr. Gaiman can do better than this, because he has done better than this, several times in several media. I like to see him win awards, and I congratulate him on the Hugo, but I wish he’d won it for a better book. I was earnestly disappointed in American Gods. I wanted to like it, but it left me feeling a maggot or two in my own gut.