Ode to Odin captures something ineffable, something universal, something beyond time. A friendship with a man who lives as a deity is subject to the slightest whim. Working with Odin can be a dangerous occupation. The enterprise largely depends on the charisma and genius of Odin, charming and fierce, handsome and capricious, the embodiment of self-belief, a man who lives as a God even as he pursues the origins of religion. Yet no success is guaranteed in a land of violence and corruption, of unforgiving deserts, populated by vodka-soaked and acrimonious Russians, Turkomen, Uzbeks, Kazakhs, Tatars and Karakalpaks. Their quest, to audaciously reach out for the cryptic origins of God, is an intellectual pursuit of the highest ambition. The two men forge a friendship on the anvil of the deserts of Central Asia as they embark on a search for the homeland of Zoroaster the Prophet, arguably the progenitor of monotheism. A young British archaeologist makes a deal with the devil, the brilliant but dangerously unpredictable Odin. I saw a man of grand plan and action, friend and foe, angel and demon, dualistic in nature, representing life in all its facets, both good and bad and at the same time neither.
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