American Gods in Rock City

"Would you believe that all the gods that people have ever imagined are still with us today?...And that there are new gods out there, gods of computers and telephones and whatever, and that they all seem to think there isn't room for both of them in the world. And that some kind of war is likely." (pg. 308) After three years of Ron insisting that I read American Gods by Neil Gaiman, I finally picked it up. He was right about it - I didn't want to put it down once I started it.

Even stranger, the climax of the novel takes place at Rock City! So wierd that I just read this after going there and blogging about it a week ago. Gaiman describes it just right:

Rock City begins as an ornamental garden on a mountainside: its visitors walk a path that takes them through rocks, over rocks, between rocks. They throw corn into a deer enclosure, cross a hanging bridge and peer out through a quarter-a-throw binoculars at a view that promises them seven states on the rare sunny days when the air is perfectly clear. And from there, like a drop into some strange hell, the path takes the visitors, millions upon millions of them every year, down into caverns, where they stare at black-lit dolls arranged into nursery-rhyme and fairy-tale diaromas. When they leave, they leave bemused, uncertain of why they came, of what they have seen, of whether they had a good time or not. (pg. 380)