The story of the Fat Charlie, the son of a god, and his first invited, then uninvited brother, Anansi Boys is typical Neil Gaiman fare: it's beautifully and occasionally hilariously written, fantastical and poignant. All the stuff he usually does. It is all over the map in the best way possible. I hope that none of this makes it sound like he just cranks these wild fantasies out, because I don't believe for a moment that is the case. It is more that I believe that this story, like every other story of Gaiman's that I have ever read (and there are many), contains a little bit of the heart and the soul of the author, and his heart and soul are still the same wonderful, fluffy, slippery little bits of magic that they always have been. I loved this book. I absolutely devoured it (metaphorically, of course). I don't know how he does it in story after story, book after book, but every word he writes is a joy to read. There's dimension-shifting, bird ladies (go...
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