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“You know," he said, "I think I would rather be a man than a god. We don't need anyone to believe in us. We just keep going anyhow. It's what we do.�

“What I'm trying to say is that America is like that. It's not good growing country for gods. They don't grow well here. They're like avocados trying to grow in wild rice country.�

“You're not dead," she said. "But I'm not sure that you're alive, either. Not really […] It's like there isn't anyone there. You know? You're like this big, solid, man-shaped hole in the world.�

Which explains Shadow’s detachment from the world, really.

I forgot how strangely detached Gaiman’s narration is in this book. It adds a subtle layer of unreality - like it’s almost a strange dream where you start to realize you’re dreaming and decide to just roll with the punches because you can’t wake up. Shadow is way to even-keeled for everything that’s happening. It’s like he is trudging through a fog.

I can't believe how much of it I forgot since I first read it about 9-10 years ago. Memory is the first thing to go, huh?

Re-reading :)