American drudgery.
What is there to like about this book? Characters fade into the page like forgotten gods, and serve mainly as plot devices. The plot forces detours like taking the wrong lane at a freeway interchange.
The setting? The book takes place in the ugly of Americana, and without an overlay of analysis is as exciting as a road trip though South Dakota at 30 mph.
All that remains is the allegory, and while the premise has promise, Gaiman fails to deliver. Where is consumerism, capitalism, and evangelicalism? What evil god represents racism? Personifying intersubjective realities is clever, but little is said about the presumed neon gods of modernity. A missed opportunity.