Your Humble Blogger happened to get lucky and find a copy of Anansi Boys at the local library, well, the next-library-over-from-local, so I didn’t have to decide whether I wanted to buy it in hardback or not. And I’m glad, because I don’t want it in hardback. Maybe by the time it comes out in paperback I’ll want to reread it, and I’ll buy it then, but pretty much, I enjoyed it and I’m done.
Much of the first bit made me igry (and sparked my long wind about Humor), and I didn’t find any of it particularly funny, not LOL funny, as they say. There were quite a few lovely bits, and the plot was not entirely predictable, and was enjoyable even in the bits that were predictable, and the minor characters were magnificent, and the ending was not a cop-out at all, and, well, there isn’t anybody who can touch Neil Gaiman when it comes to doing those set-pieces that he does. On the other hand, I didn’t enjoy spending time with the main character (who, to go back to an earlier point, is half Dorothy and half Ozma), and generally, that’s the sign of a book I want to reread.
... and here’s a question: if I did want to recommend Anansi Boys to somebody, who would I recommend it to? Pretty much anybody who might enjoy it already knows about Mr. Gaiman and his oeuvre, and has either been waiting for it to be mailed to them by their blogebrity pals or has decided that they will pass on this one, thank you. Anyone who has not read Mr. Gaiman’s work oughtn’t begin with this one.
There’s a line I often use when describing books that are exactly what you expect them to be: If you like this sort of thing, this is the sort of thing you will like. That is not actually true of this book (some people will adore it, others will be all meh, since it’s quite a creative work in its way), but what is true is the—what, converse? It’s been a while since YHB was allowed to do math non-metaphorically. Anyway, if you dislike this sort of thing, this is definitely the sort of thing you will dislike. Otherwise, give it a shot. It’s a quick read, anyway.
chazak, chazak, v’nitchazek,
-Vardibidian.
Oooh, I know this one: Abraham Lincoln, right? Or is that apocryphal?
I read the first half-chapter or so in Heathrow Airport and considered it for my father, who’s told me about struggling as a child with intense embarrassment over *his* father’s possibly over-gregarious personality. Nothing like Mr. Nancy’s, sure… which, I think, would be the point. I’d want to read the whole thing first, though — can’t be too careful about screening one’s parents’ reading material.
I attribute it to Winston Churchill, or Oscar Wilde, or possibly Stephen Fry…
Thanks,
-V.