Neuromancer

There are some books that are always mentioned in genre discussions as being the pinnacles of the genre in question. Neuromancer is such a book, as... (show more)

There are some books that are always mentioned in genre discussions as being the pinnacles of the genre in question. Neuromancer is such a book, as you can not escape it in any discussion related to science fiction, and cyberpunk in particular. It was the book that The Matrix hocked a lot of its ideas from, with Gibson being considered a prophet and visionary for being one of the first authors to write about virtual reality, megacorporations, genetic engineering, and artificial intelligence before they became common topics in popular culture. Whether these claims reek of hyperbole or are planted in truth is irrelevant: the myths of books like Neuromancer often transcend the works themselves.

With these things in mind, I dove into the book and was left with one predominant feeling by the end: stupefied. Now, I am not the most intellectual individual on the face of the planet, nor do I claim to have magical decoding powers when it comes to any work of literature. However, I like to think that I can sink my teeth into just about anything and come out with a decent understanding of the author's aims, or at least an understanding of the plot. Even if I am unable to fully express my ideas on the work, I can still attach my own interpretation to the events and come out with something worth ruminating on, or discussing with friends. Books are not simply more cerebral forms of entertainment; they are vehicles for individual, social, and cultural analysis. As such, I was incredibly frustrated to discover that I was simply lost for almost the entire duration of Neuromancer, and I could not pull out anything worth thinking about.

The plot setup seems simple enough, and if you read a synopsis of it anywhere online or even on its back cover, you are led to believe that this is a desolate world with a parallel virtual reality. While I got a basic sense of that through Gibson's prose, his reluctance to explain just about anything left me feeling stranded by the author. Slang is meant to be deciphered on your own. Names of people, places, constructs, and other things are introduced at such a rapid pace at times, that once you feel you have a grasp of at least some of the central players, something else is thrown in to confuse you further. This sense of disorientation does not aid any desire to invest yourself in the novel, as it feels like a fever dream. Gibson's switching between realities and his prose in general feel so choppy to the point of being incomprehensible at times, or so reaching for cybercool that they sound amateur and childish. Here are some examples:

"Archipelago. The islands. Torus, spindle, cluster. Human DNA spreading out from gravity's steep well like an oilslick."

"The bartender's smile widened. His ugliness was the stuff of legend. In an age of affordable beauty, there was something heraldic about his lack of it."

"But the chrome stars held his gaze. They were mounted against scarlet ultrasuede with nearly invisible loops of nylon fishline, their centers stamped with dragons or yingyang symbols. They caught the street's neon and twisted it, and it came to Case that these were the stars under which he voyaged, his destiny spelled out in a constellation of cheap chrome."

"Raw edge of vomit in his throat."

Again, I am not a wordsmith myself and I have never published a novel, but I have read enough to cringe at some of his word choices and phrases. I have no doubt that William Gibson is a talented writer and that his mind is full of brilliant and piercing ideas about the virtual age, but I simply could not muster enough care for the characters or the events to compel me to trudge on ahead. And that is one of the biggest problems I personally had with this book: I didn't care about anything that was happening, nor did I find any of the characters terribly interesting. Compounded with the difficulty I had in understanding what was actually happening because of Gibson's "figure it out yourself" writing style (which I haven't minded in other novels), the paperthin characterization and spit-quick events made this one of the greatest literary chores I have ever had the displeasure of forcing myself to finish.

I honestly really wanted to like and even love this book. Maybe it was just not meant for me; maybe I am simply not smart enough to get it. Or maybe it really is as big of a confusing quagmire as I have indicated here. I think the answer likely lies somewhere in between. For all of the negativity I have heaped on the book here, I recognize its cultural significance, and what it means to the science fiction genre, and what it means to millions of readers. Maybe they are seeing something I am not, or they have been better acclimated to Gibson's style of writing. Whatever the reason, I cannot discourage anyone from liking what they like, but I cannot jump on this wagon.

This is not a book for everybody, and I seem to fall into the category of people who it's not for. If you are a science fiction completist, go nuts; maybe you will get more out of the experience than I did. As is, I found Neuromancer to be confusing, dated, and an utter chore to get through. A 271 page book should not take a month and a half to finish. At least the punishment is over for me. Next! (show less)