Tough to love
Believe, and it exists. A bit like Schrödinger’s cat. The Americans did not, or do not, believe, and their gods are dying.
For the first 25% of the book (thank you, Kindle), I was not getting much out of the book at all. I had started reading it at my sister’s insistence, and her taste in books can be a little gritty. It took me about eight months to get through the first 25% of the book, and when I started reading it again during the hiatus between Christmas and the New Year, I found that I had forgotten much of the beginning. I kept going, as I was determined to finish it, so I could tell my sister that I had. Since I had seen “The Last Jedi” during that time, Yoda kept murmuring in my ear “Page turner, it is not”.
Then with progress, at about 60% of the book, I became invested in Shadow. I pushed through to the end because I wanted to know what happened to Shadow, and because I believe in magic. Which is the same thing as a belief in gods. Sort of.
In the end, I liked the story. Through most of it, I rued my lack of knowledge of the gods, ignorance of their stories, and felt that I was not quite “getting it”. That caused a certain amount of pain. It turned out, though, that I did not need to know about the myths. It had pull just at face value.
Essentially that is all Art needs. Pull. And a good feeling at the end. This has both.
Now, should I get “Mythos” by Stephen Fry? Mythology has always had pull, and now, even more so.