Neuromancer

If this was the start of Gibson’s “career in the imaginary future” it was a really good start. Thirty-five years later I read this as research for my own novel, which is going in a different direction with respect to artificial intelligences. Gibson’s hero asks one of his villains, “Are you sentient or not?” The answer is, “Well it feels like I am. It’s one of them, ah, philosophical questions.” And it is the philosophical questions blurred behind the constant action and technobabble of Gibson’s story that give it such staying power.

Gibson is almost apologetic in the introduction, thanking the readers for breathing life into his book and for interpreting the depictions of the setting in a way that fills it with relevance (he pokes a bit of fun at the idea of lines of phonebooths in the future). He's right in that the book is sparse on the details and lets the reader fill in the blanks; exactly how things look and operate doesn't seem to have intrigued him, and it's helped the staying power a lot.

Coming to the book late, you're going to have the problem of cultural osmosis. There's little here that hasn't been copied, referenced or spun-off in something else you've read. Games like Shadowrun and Cyberpunk weren't shy about stealing the content, everything from tv show more shows to movies have done similar premises one way or another. It's Gibson's circuitous way of writing that saves much of the plot though, the mysteries unfolding into new mysteries, the uncertainty over who's playing who to what end, and the layers in which cyberspace takes place; it's kept the central story fresh and makes the originator of all those things you know worth (re)visiting. show less

Neuromancer hit science fiction like a railgun shell, and deservedly so. This is one hell of a book: a dark cynical hotwired take on technology, crime, power, and ambition. Gibson is a top-tier prose stylist, and right from the start ("The sky was the color of a television tuned to a dead channel...") he pulls you into a world of the Sprawl, of corporate games on an international levels, of crooks and spooks, of AI trying to evolve into something new.

The story follows Case, ex-keyboard cowboy and hacker, plummeting towards 'suicide-by-gangster' in Chiba City. His talent burned out by a vengeful employer he stole from, Case will move anything, make any deal, knowing that he's headed towards crossing a fatal line. He's given a second show more chance by Molly, a street samurai with upgraded reflexes and retractable blades under her fingers, working for Armitage, a blank-faced corporate cipher, and ultimately, Wintermute; an AI that has put together a team to hack itself, in violation of the basic laws that govern relationships between human beings and artificial intelligences: Never build one too smart.

Every part of this book hits home individually: the fast moving plot, the techno-noir stylings, the globe-trotting setting. But there are two things that lift Gibson far above the people who came after him. The first is that his philosophy is existentialist, not nihilist. Case, Molly, even Armitage, are profoundly damaged people trying to piece together lives on the margins of a society blowing itself apart on simulated reality and advanced technology, but they're *trying*. They're not the empty, gun-fetishistic, black-leather clad macho parodies of the genre that it's so easy to fall into--and which Gibson somehow presciently satires in one of Riveria's twisted hologram tableaux in the Villa Straylight. Second, Gibson has something interesting to say about power, in that it is literally dehumanizing. The entities that rule the world are strange post-human conglomerates: Corporate memory banks, rogue AI, clans of cryogenically preserved clones, CGI personality constructs. A lot of the later cyberpunk literature parroted this without understanding it, in the replacement of the nation-state with mega-corporations, or backstabbing Mr. Johnsons selling out the heroes, or heroic anarchist artists against soul-sucking plastic corporate goons. But for Gibson, it is always about what you lose, and what you keep with you as you approach that apex of power. show less

The reviewer who called this "low life meets high tech" was exactly on point: think 'Blade Runner' and you'll be prepared for the atmosphere. Drug use is rampant, everyone's hiding a gun under their desk or a weapon up their sleeve. Case is a drug addict with nothing left to live for, numb to the world. An unsought opportunity knocks and suddenly he finds himself reconnected to the online world, embroiled in some kind of scheme the details of which are kept hidden from him. Something I appreciate, he's always asking the right people the right questions (unlike certain other maddening characters in certain other frustrating novels). He always wants to know the score, and he's very good at puzzling out what's happening in the most show more confusing moments. It lends credibility to his in-story reputation.

In this 1984 novel, Gibson imagines an internet that we didn't get, one that is purely virtual with access only for the technically inclined. It's not a career for the faint of heart. Gibson's firewall equivalents have the ability to fry your brain if you get too close, no messing around. His descriptions of hacking in a virtual world are very visual-oriented, ready to film. I thought I'd have to be more forgiving in light of its age, but I only smirked once when I was meant to be impressed by several megabytes of data.

Things that look like clichés are actually not - remembering again, this was 1984. Immortality through virtuality, following the music back, AIs striving for freedom, other little moments that seem like echoes of other stories. This preceded those stories, or at least the ones these moments recalled to mind for me. In my head, Gibson's "Neuromancer", Stephenson's "Snow Crash" and Cline's "Ready Player One" form a kind of trilogy (Tad Williams' Otherland riding shotgun), depicting a vision of the internet before it was, a vision of the internet as it might become, and a vision of its ultimate limitations now that we can see a bit more clearly from here. This is still a fine start to that sequence. show less

5/5

I believe that Neuromancer will benefit from a re-read in the future. Gibson's writing style is such that he shows you the story instead of telling it to you directly. His evocative and sharp prose leaves you to fend for yourself at times. While I did not get lost while reading, there were a few sections that I scanned back through to make sure that I was on the right track. However, I actually enjoyed this way of writing as it assumes a certain level of competence in the reader, which Gibson does quite well.

If you were to read only a portion of this novel, I highly recommend the opening section: Chiba City Blues. This tight 40-page section defines the cyberpunk sub-genre in tone, setting, characters, and motifs. It was a joy to show more read, and I can see how it set the pace for all cyberpunk to follow. But beyond the first section, many of the aspects I love remained. Characters that are broken, coerced, and brooding, struggling to survive another day. A plot that grows increasingly complex, that builds in pace over time. Evocative and consistent writing that easily drew a picture in my mind's eye, and has a strong sense of personal style. Ideas for future technology that feel fresh even today.

My only gripe with the book is more about myself than the book itself. I developed an expectation for how the book would go or how it would move me. Having heard so much about it being a pillar of SF, I couldn't help placing it up there myself before I had read a word. And, like most high expectations we place on things, we cannot help but feel disappointed when they do not reach those heights. I hope that a future re-read of Neuromancer, when I am perhaps more sober in my expectations, can give me more appreciation for it. Even though I regard it highly now. show less

Neuromancer reminds me of the early films of Spike Lee. Gibson, like Lee, gives us a new slang. Who was hipper than Mars Blackmon? Lee’s language gave us a new way to talk about race. Gibson gave us a new way to talk about technology. It wasn’t just that he coined the term cyberspace or that he made predictions that came true. In fact, he admits that he didn’t know much about computer technology at the time. He notes that even his famous first line — “The sky above the port was the color of television, tuned to a dead channel” — was already an anachronism.

Gibson told us how addictive the new technology could be. Larry Niven had already given us far-future wireheads, but Gibson hooked computers to a near-future drug show more culture that was very close to home. After Gibson, computer brand names were embedded in pop culture, which, like the matrix, was a “consensual hallucination.” His spatial metaphor of data as architectural constructions that could be navigated like city streets was prescient. The Information Superhighway has morphed into the Cloud, but the spatial metaphor remains.

The central idea of Neuromancer is that data itself might become self-aware, with Case and Molly helping it along. Case is an unlikely character for the role. In the sequel, Count Zero, Gibson tells us Case was “a man who was scared to care about anything.” He is self-hating and self-destructive. He despises what he calls “meat space” and is content to sleep in a room he calls a “coffin.” Ironically, when he is given a chance to move permanently into a virtual world, he says no and opts for the East Coast Sprawl. His noir ennui tells us something true about the ambiance of post-Vietnam American culture.

That is why Gibson is on my imaginary Mount Rushmore of post-Vietnam science fiction writers. show less

Neuromancer is a Science Fiction novel which is primarily dated by its aesthetic - it screams, howls, and ululates the 80s every chance it gets. If as a reader that resonates with you, or triggers some form of nostalgia (as it does for me), it will likely be seen as a net positive - though I can see how certain aspects might prove to be a bit perplexing for younger readers.

It's one of those award-studded novels which upon reading one immediately understands why it was so celebrated. Had I read it at the time of its original publication (and had I been old enough to do so!) I suspect it would have been mind shattering. Even well into the late 90s I suspect it would have been influential in how I understood and conceived the genre. In show more 2025 though . . . it's still a phenomenal work, but the edge has been taken off, making the novel less cutting than it would have been otherwise. I've read later cyberpunk novels, seen movies influenced by Gibson (most obviously being The Matrix), and walked through cyberpunk worlds either in my imagination (via TTRPGs) or computer assisted adventures (Cyberpunk 2077), so the novelty is somewhat lacking. On the otherhand, if this is somehow your first introduction to the genre . . . relish every moment.

I have a few relatively minor criticisms - for example the main character Case, whose viewpoint informs how we experience the novel, is not terribly interesting or relatable. However, I'd argue that he needs to be fairly bland, as too much colour or character would risk interrupting the flow of the novel. The second criticism would be that while it stats out strong, it then slows down and meanders a bit too much before picking up the pace once more as it races towards its inevitable conclusion. I put the book down for a week or so halfway through, before picking it up again, but its very much worth persisting through the lull to reach the end. show less