By Neil Gaiman
William Morrow
336 pages
Last July, during his first Philippine visit, Neil Gaiman was greeted by the sight of a political rally just outside the Makati hotel he was billeted in. If he was disconcerted by this, he did not say. A few hours later, met by a horde of fans that far exceeded the numbers and decibel levels of our professional dissidents, he couldn’t help but be overwhelmed. Gaiman was gracious about the whole thing, Even when the ladies started giving him kisses and cried right after.
It was a scene (or a probable one at least) straight from Anansi Boys, the new novel he was promoting and the reason for his visit. And as Gaiman generously read scenes from the book in his public appearances, Fat Charlie, Anansi Boy’s main protagonist, was probably chuckling between pages. It was only fair – if not becoming – that after suffering indignity upon indignity in the book, the Created gets even with his Creator. If Fat Charlie was gifted with a lime in his story, Gaiman soon got addicted to calamansi juice in his. It all adds up.
It is this acknowledgment of the ridiculous unpredictability of events that runs throughout Anansi Boys, where lessons are learned by the "boys" in the title at the expense of their own convenience. With dry humor and wit, Gaiman pens an easy-going tale that can’t help but be endearing, this despite having its fair share of disquieting episodes.
The gist: Fat Charlie Nancy does not know he is the son of a god. A West African-slash-Caribbean trickster-god, to be exact: the Spider, Compé Anansi. All he knows is that his Dad is far more embarrassing than most Dads, with an outlandish penchant for fedora hats and yellow gloves, and who gives out silly nicknames that stick no matter how aggressive the effort to discard them.
Fat Charlie is also oblivious to the existence of a literal "half"-brother, a demigod called Spider.
These family secrets (though not so much as secrets than matters that are conveniently withheld) soon enough unravel – as almost all family secrets are suppose to unravel – after a death and a funeral, when the one ultimately responsible can escape the blame. The death of his Dad, coupled with the arrival of his brother, will ruin Fat Charlie’s life.
Ruin as in change. He will have problems with the fiancée, earn the murderous enmity of his cliché-spewing albino employer, and, distressingly enough, end up in jail. There’s also the matter of killer birds, geriatric witches, a very pissed-off Tiger, and, yes, the abovementioned lime.
Gaiman, as always, writes with a deft and an assured hand, one that follows a rhythm that is both lyrical and hypnotic. He is a natural storyteller, and Anansi Boys is riddled with his assortment of effective storytelling tricks: one can read his pauses in this book, his gasps and creepy silences, the giggling, the raising of brows and the dramatic folding of hands for effect. It is this flair which ultimately compensates for certain narrative conceits and loose plot-points, rendering the novel engaging when it should be downright confusing (particularly in the latter chapters). It also helps that the book is funny in all the right places.
The author continues with his tendency – whether conscious or not – of writing male leads who find themselves treading unfamiliar paths that but leads to the discovery of their own true selves. This is true with Neverwhere’s Richard Mayhew, Tristan Thorn in Stardust, and Shadow in American Gods. (Gaiman’s female leads, conversely, are always fully formed, confronting rather than reacting to the peculiar situations they find themselves in). With Fat Charlie, however, readers will be quick to suspect that Gaiman conjured and followed his journey with great and obvious affection. So while the character may not be living up to his full potential at the start of the tale, he is not treated as an empty glass to be filled – but perhaps one just enough to get by. There is room for improvement at least. Cheering Fat Charlie on then becomes part of the fun.
Despite Gaiman’s own ambiguous refutations, Anansi Boys will be treated by his faithful readers as a follow-up of sorts to the best-selling American Gods. After all, this new novel is a more satisfying read than "The Monarch in the Glen," the official American Gods sequel found in the anthology Legends II. Though less ambitious and epic than the latter, Anansi Boys likewise extols the power of story and belief – albeit in a lighter, far more reassuring vein.
Anansi Boys is a book worth the price of admission, and it will please many of his fans. (The fact that it ranked first in the New York Times Bestseller List is testament to his burgeoning popularity.) It is not, however, a work that would impress a novice to Gaiman’s oeuvre or encourage one to even search out and explore his other tales. Still, this latter opinion may prove inconsequential: Gaiman, astonishingly enough, is still peaking creatively. And no doubt Anansi Boys, with its mirth, good humor, and the wisdom of its core moral –that we cannot escape childhood unscathed by the antics of our parents – will be treated as a book written during Gaiman’s impressive ascent.