Monday, December 6, 2010

Anansi Boys by Neil Gaiman

Gaiman uses Mr. Nancy or Anansi (a character from American Gods) to create another story full of epic references. Anansi, the Spider god has died, and his son, Fat Charlie, is torn from his normal life as his father continues to embarrass him from beyond the grave. Anansi Boys is a less complex book than American Gods, but I think this simpler, less epic structure allowed for a more humorous tone. Gaiman reveals a fondness for the trickster, emphasizing cunning and smooth words instead of brute force.

Every story has already been told. This statement makes me think of myths, legends, fables, or other ancient stories that have unjustly stolen my relatively new ideas. Gaiman isn’t intimidated by these tales; he uses them as inspiration for impossible figures in modern circumstances. Anansi Boys isn’t quite an adaptation of African folktales but a continuation in present day London, Florida, and the Caribbean.

Gaiman also plays with the idea of parts being greater than their original sum. Fat Charlie has a godlier twin brother. This trickster component of his personality was exorcised when Fat Charlie was a small child. When a starfish is cut in half, each part will grow into another starfish. Anansi Boys combines this image with role reversals as the brothers meet and inhabit each others’ lives.

The only unsatisfying part of the book was the ending. It felt too convenient with an ancient power struggle resolved and happy circumstances achieved in one fell swoop. I believe the implication that a similar conflict would arise in another time and place was there (every story will also be retold), but a hint of uncertainty could have added to the cyclical nature of these epic references.

A story with a god and his offspring as the main characters is likely to have bizarre series of events. Anansi Boys is no exception, but Gaiman’s humorous tone turns these events into a wonderfully embarrassing but necessary component of Fat Charlie’s struggle to become his own starfish. In my own writing, I’ve been asking the question “how much is too much?” Won’t it be taken as a joke past a certain point? Perhaps I need to find that point, since some of the best stories don’t need to be taken seriously.

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