I finished Anansi Boys in a few lunchtimes of reading; like American Gods, it rattles along at a decent pace, and is easy, likeable reading. Pity I didn’t enjoy it half as much.
I shan’t rattle on about the plot, which is straightforward enough there’s little point (man’s father dies, man discovers secrets about his family, man embarks on voyage of discovery about family, world, and self).
The biggest difference is that it’s too damn tidy; everything is spelled out to the reader, every loose end tidied up, and everyone lives happily ever after.
Interestingly enough this exposes a weakness in Gaiman’s writing, something which is ordinarily a strength I hadn’t thought about too closely in the past, and is most evident in the likes of American Gods and Sandman: Gaiman excels at dropping references in his work - allusions to Milton, whatever - but it’s not the references in and of themselves that are necessarily adding depth; it’s the fact they are often elft half-formed, as invitations to the reader to research, or to think about the works they already know. Hand in hand with this goes a habit of sketching characters, rather than producing detailed studies, leaving room to imagine a bigger story than is on the page.
Anansi Boys has none of that scope, and with a narrower reference, Gaiman looks like a bit of a lightweight - not beccause of what h’s written, but because of the untold stories he hasn’t let the reader enjoy.
It’s a good enough novel, but it’s like eating rice crackers. Tasty, but I felt like needed something more.