Without delving into religion, I think that I can honestly say that I am an adherent to a non-zero number of the American Gods
To pick one of the gods from oh-it’s-not-random-at-all, I have been given much. My wife, for example, came to me by way of the Internet. My livelihood, for another example, was given me by the internet. Indeed, pretty much every single one of you beautiful people reading my simple ascii worlds right now is a gift given me (and me to you and thank you and you’re welcome) from yes yes yes indeed this same very internet.
There are stories told within American Gods of tricks pulled by, among others, Odin. This trick, that grift, another confidence game. Tricks he pulled whereby he got money from people, access from guards, sex from women, knowledge of sorrow from those who have this knowledge and who, for whatever reason, hold it to their own breasts.
And, sure, I feel a thrum in my chest about how I miss the days of my ancestors. How I miss the days when we worshipped Odin, and Freyr, and the women gods and how we *KNEW* things. And then I take a deep breath and I look at my wife. I look at my life. I look at my friends… and I look at my ancestors and the things that they knew in their bones and I compare to the things that my various gods have whispered to me in the blackest parts of the night and I look at my wife, my life, my friends. Now, to be sure, we have some of the believers of old gods in our house, who sleep under our bed, on our legs, and otherwise underfoot and, yes, we do what we can to give our best to the gods of the old, old cats who touch our new noses with their old noses as we drift from awake to asleep to awake again…
But I’m pleased to drink of the caffiene given me by my new gods (though, granted, not after 2PM, because of my heartburn and my sleeplessness), I’m pleased to taste of the food given me by my new gods (even as I know it is not merely “food” but, instead, “protein” and “carbohydrates” and “fats”), I’m pleased to smell the smells of the perfumed oils delivered to my very address where I can bathe (okay, “shower”) in perfumes (okay, “botanicals”) and walk out and wipe myself down in cloth made in Egypt Itself (a land 6,906.1 miles away, so the internet tells me) and feel like I have, indeed, been born again and been born again every day.
Now, minor spoilers, the American Gods were not portrayed particularly well in the book. (We were given the perspective of someone working with the old gods, not the new ones.)
Please understand that this is a believer saying this: American Gods is a book you should read… but it’s propaganda. I’ve tasted the wine poured from the new and improved American Gods themselves (imported from Australia, Spain, Germany, California, Colorado) and… well, it tastes like The Real Thing. When the drunk passes, it’s hard to not notice that all of those things are just down the street (rather than a world away) and they taste *GOOD* when the only cost is… what? A bit of a headache in the morning? Rather than anything that would draw blood (let alone a frenzy). Anyway, something that could be fixed with just a little bit of willow bark.
The American Gods that we have are either variants of the old gods (new, improved) or gods that came into being the same way that we came into being: through effort of will that exists as long and as violently as we will intend to.
You should read it. If only to forget it.
But the message of American Gods as I understand it is that the problem with the new gods precisely is that they offered comfort for little cost. The old gods required blood, and that is what made them great. Odin, in his incarnation as Mr Wednesday in America had himself degraded. He had ceased to be the person who sacrificed an eye for knowledge and hung himself on a tree for wisdom (or whatever). He became a con man. Someone who kept passing the cost on to others tricking others looking for an easy way out.
i.e. American Gods is very much a paen to ‘Old-time religion’
Oh, indeed it is.
I even felt myself feeling the tug of missing that old-time religion as I was reading the book.
At the end of the day, however, I come back here.
Loved this.
There was a cartoon I saw as a child, called (I think) “Dragon’s Breath.” All about magic giving way to science and logic. If I remember it right, it had kind of an elegiac tone, but ended with a notion of accepting that the world had moved on.
And this whole post dovetails with one I’ve been mulling about the Internet (and mass media in general) and joy.
That’s become a cliche in fantasy. Lord of the Rings ends with magic going away, as do the Prydain books and much of the other stuff that’s derived from it.
Star Wars seems to have “ended with the magic going away”, but not as an intentional storytelling device. 🙂
At it’s heart, it Shadow’s story seemed a retelling of the Jesus story. It is ironic that you walk away from American Gods with a clear sense of how we go about creating gods, see the modern gods in every familiar logo, yet it’s the old-time gods that tell the tale.
The Kobold still gives me nightmares; feeds into my phobia of frozen lakes.
At it’s heart, it Shadow’s story seemed a retelling of the Jesus story.
It seems that there is a scapegoat element missing from Shadow’s tale.
Wait… wasn’t Shadow supposed to be Baldur?