This is a compelling tale of what happens to the gods when they’re no longer loved and honoured.

In Neil Gaiman’s American Gods, Shadow, gets out of prison the day he finds out his wife died in a mysterious car crash.

In short order, as an ex-con with few options, he finds himself getting entangled with incarnations of all manner of god, goddess and magical creature. And boy do they take the piss out of him.

The story, while it doesn’t lead to a whole lot of gasping when the story twists and turns, instead creates a compelling and believeable picture of the reality of ancient gods living among the living, and weaves the magical, profane, sacred and real together in a lovely stew. Gaiman’s storytelling ability is excellent, and the tale bobs and weaves with the best of them, without losing one inch of suspense or for that matter, without suspending belief one iota.

I could not put the book down and found myself reading into the wee hours of the morning, eyes burning me with the boulders in them, determined to continue reading.

Excellent read!