The other night, I sat in my office and stared at my keyboard. I had only typed two or three sentences when I realized a dilemma. My Death t-shirt betrayed a certain conflict of interest. Death, the sister of Dream, is probably Neil Gaiman's most beloved comic book character. I bought it when I was in college from a comic book shop in Rome, Georgia. I've had my t-shirt for so long that I could even call it vintage. Note to self: It is unwise to write a review of Neil Gaiman's latest novel with one of his most popular characters staring out from your fanboy shirt.
Today, I am dressed far more appropriately. So let's begin ...
I have an interesting perspective when it comes to Neil Gaiman's latest novel. When I spoke with him two years ago in Charlotte, Anansi Boys was just an idea. Gaiman knew who was going to die on page one and that the novel was meant to be funny.
And now, I've read the finished product. It is as good as I expected, but very different from Gaiman's previous work. Gaiman has always been a master of telling stories. He loves everything about the art, and to hear him at a reading, little imagination is needed to recognize him as a minister for the religious love of tales. Yet there are times when he lets his characters appear all too briefly. It is entirely possible that he does this to us on purpose. What better way to keep the pages turning than to maintain the possibility that a rarely seen favorite might walk through another scene? Sure, we want to know how the story progresses and ends, but if we can just catch another glimpse of [insert favorite-yet-rare character here], then all the better.
Back in his Sandman days, Gaiman kept a college-aged me looking for all kinds of rare characters. Many a fanboy and fangirl would grin at seeing even one comic book panel's worth of Destruction (the self-exiled member of the Endless) or The Corinthian (a living nightmare with teeth for eyes). And in 2001's American Gods, the most talked-about deity in the book is undeniably the one that none of the other characters can remember. He appears, is spoken to or about, then is forgotten immediately, leaving only the impression that someone was there.
And so, it is remarkable to realize just how many of Anansi Boys players are given substantial spans of time to be realized. With a few minor exceptions, most of the characters are given far more than an hour to strut and fret.
Naturally, the best of these is Fat Charlie Nancy.
The wonderfulness of Fat Charlie Nancy comes from his absolute humanity. Every author attempts an Everyman at one time or another. It's possible that Gaiman himself was seeking that archetype in 1997 with Neverwhere's Richard Mayhew. But Mayhew was presented as a character that always had a touch of the hero, even though it waxed and waned like a moon. Fat Charlie is far more human. Bravery and charisma do not come naturally to him, anymore than either really does to the rest of us. Before Fat Charlie can even think of saving the day, he has to learn how to save himself.
Anansi Boys is not a sequel to American Gods, but one could not exist without the other. While not nearly as epic in scope as American Gods, the world they occupy is obviously the same. The sun just seems to shine there a little more brightly where Anansi is concerned. Gone are many of the dark recesses found throughout Neverwhere. Absent is much of the dire sacrifice of American Gods. If anything, Anansi Boys is a return to the elastic form that carried Gaiman through 75 issues of Sandman for DC Comics. Sandman's Lord of Dreams offered Gaiman a monthly opportunity to tell any tale that captured his fantasy. Many were dark, some were tragic, but several were absolutely delightful. And so is Anansi Boys.
But what about the story?
Anansi Boys is about magic (the old kind that stretches back to the beginning of time), music (some of it karaoke) and spiders (who prove far more resourceful than you might expect), but most of all, it is about family. Many novels have given us a look at the tasks of sons (or daughters) facing the challenge of reconstructing the legacy of a lost parent. Anansi Boys is another in that line, only with the added bonus of our semi-hero learning that his departed dad was an African trickster god.
I used to call Neverwhere the perfect gateway book into Gaiman's work. Now, I am tempted to suggest Anansi Boys instead. It is far brighter than his other novels, and yet it maintains the same appreciation for mystery and story and for magic in unlikely places. If there is anything to be said against Anansi Boys it is that the novel is over much too quickly. Nothing feels rushed and no string is left untied, but I would've liked more time with Fat Charlie and his associates.
And Neil ... you succeeded. Anansi Boys is funny. Very.
