I credited it on the note to my favorite poet, Robert Frost, so I knew I'd finally see it in full at some point during my trek through his complete works. That happened, giving me a small sense of closure along with a haunting poem to ponder as I fell asleep. I finished the collection, and last night started on a new one, Good Poems compiled by Garrison Keillor.
In the meantime I've started re-reading American Gods. As I said in my post about the upcoming show, it's been a long, long time, and I suspect I may be enjoying it every bit as much as I did the first time. The mythology is intriguing, the characters more so, but it's that otherworldly Neil Gaiman narration style that really sets it apart. He'll make me laugh, make me think, and deeply disturb me, and I'm not getting mood whiplash because all three are happening at the same time.
The last chapter I read opened with a quotation...a fragment of poetry. Click. Neil Gaiman writes a lot about dreams: what they mean, where they come from, the sheer strangeness of them. For a moment I felt like one of his characters, uncertain about the significance of what I was seeing and whether I was still awake. You know Robert Frost, Neil? I know him too. I had considered him an old friend, but you go back much further, it seems.
He said the dead had souls, but when I asked him
How could that be -- I thought the dead were souls,
He broke my trance. Don't that make you suspicious
That there's something the dead are keeping back?
Yes, there's something the dead are keeping back.
--Robert Frost, "The Witch of Coös"