I wanted to like this book; I really, really did. I thought something set in a post-9/11 world that still has elements of cyberpunk--I could TOTALLY get on board with that. And yet...

This book disappointed me for myriad reasons--one dimensional characters and holes in the plot you could drive a Buick through are two that come immediately to mind. Futhermore, this novel seems to move at a snails pace, characters literally going from place to place and through the mundane motions of life, then all of the sudden BAM! Its as though Gibson had a moment of illumination, said "Oh, THIS is what this novel is SUPPOSED to be about, but damned if I'm going to go back and re-write!" Thus, the last third of the book is nothing but exposition as to what the characters--specifcally the heroine Cayce (pronounced "Case"... yes, like that oh so famous anti-hero of Gibson's most famous novel. And yes, it should occur to you that he's ridding some coattails here, hoping to evoke the ghosts of novels past in order to infuse some life into this one)--are thinking, feeling, and doing.

Partly, what this novel lacks is a compelling main character. Sure, we've got the female Cayce, and at inital glance she's quite intruiging. She's got this cool "power" or intuition for branding: she quite literally gets sick when confronted with ineffectively or over branded products. Which I was totally down with--alright Mr. Gibson, lets rank on consumeristic society!--yet some how this Cayce falls short of the other Case. Where as the other Case was a touch passive (and thus in need of the Razor Girl Molly) this Cayce is active (she even breaks a goon's nose at one point) and while this may sound promising, it falls flat. Part of the reason being that while her active self is fully developed, her internal emotional self is not. [reveal spoiler][hide spoiler]  The male Case of Neuromancer is compelled to do what he does for myriad reasons--one of the more intruiging being the way that the AI Wintermute is able to play on his emotions for long-lost love Linda Lee. Similarily, Cayce of Pattern Recognition faces not only the loss of a father (to the terrorist attacks of 9/11) but emotional ties to this online video she's investigating and two men in her life. Gibson writes this Cayce as cool calm and collected, rarely mentioning any emotion what-so-ever until the climatic moment. And then it is too late. By then, the reader has constructed Cayce as an unfeeling automaton. All the beautifully written, emotive stuff at the end of the novel--the revelation that she loves Parkaboy, the scene at the mass gravesite, and so forth--all fall way short of the emotional mark. I found myself wondering at one point why it is that authors often write male protagonists as falling in love from a heroic standpoint and female protagonists falling in love because, well, they're female and they can't help themselves. Boy Case, for example, loved Linda Lee but left her because she was no good. Yet, he'd save her if he could--and he tries (and fails). Boy Case is attracted to and intimidated by Razor Girl Molly, has sex with her, but doesn't truly love her until she's beaten bloody and needs saving. Girl Case, on the other hand, remains chaste (no falling into bed with anyone until her feelings are clearly expressed) and "feels bad" for spurning one potential lover for another EVEN THOUGH one potential lover has jerked her over--i.e. had a girlfriend that he lied about. Male protagonists are able to cut and run on love, females must wallow in it.

Additionally, the themes of the novel seem garbled. Initially, as I suggested, this book reads as though it is going to be a commentary on anti-consumerism. Yet, Gibson fails to explain why a character who has such a reaction to branding that she files the brand names off the buttons of her jeans would be so attached to a branded re-production bomber jacket. Then there's the 9/11 stuff. Gibson hints at it, chases after it, and ultimately can't decide what to do with it. Thus the reader is left wondering if he's trying to draw a parallell between the terrorist attacks of 9/11 and the WWII Russian mass grave that one of the other characters is poking about (and if that's an intended parallell, its contrived and reaching). Then there's the use of technology--a hallmark of Gibson novels. Again, it falls short of Gibson's seminole work as the themes associated with technology--Big Brother is watching you, and thus manipulating you--are old and tired by this point.

However, there was one theme/concept of this novel I found compelling: the infusion of technology and art. The producers of the online segments--the people that Cayce is seeking--are using technology to create this beautifullyl rendered storyline of two lovers (or so the whole world assumes). Yet, when Cayce discovers these two artists--a pair of Russian mafia boss neices (that's right, I said Russian Mafia...like I said, holes one could drive a Buick through)--she also discovers that the "story" created by these images is subjective and that the audience has peiced it together as a story and not the artist. That, for me, was a mind blowing moment: to be reminded that art isn't so much what the artist wants us to see or feel, but rather what we, as the viewers, place on the art. Whoa.

Overall, the story is not as tight as Neuromancer in terms of character, plot, and theme. However, it is not a read devoid of entertainment or enjoyment. Just don't expect the tightness of Gibson's former works.

In my first year of teaching Freshman Comp at a local Boston college, I taught a class that I designed myself called "Virtual Realities, Virtual Bodies: Technology and Identity." Students were asked to examine the evolving role of technology vis-à-vis human and gendered identity. Truth be told, I molded this entire class around one book: William Gibson's Neuromancer.

Neuromancer is the story of Case, a cyber "cowboy" who, at the beginning of the novel, has been robbed of his ability to jack in and out of cyberspace. Self destructive and suicidal, he is offered a chance to regain his cowboy status if he helps some shady elements procure an artificial intelligence. Eventually, Case comes to realize that instead of controlling and manipulating technology, he is in fact the one being controlled and manipulated by this AI, Neuromancer (the term, if broken down into its components "neuro," meaning nerves, and "mancer," meaning magician, hence "nerve magician").

Neuromancer possesses an interesting conglomeration of women within its pages. There is Linda Lee, the drug addict ex-girlfriend who betrays Case, is murdered (perhaps as punishment for betraying the male lead?) only to return later as a construct within the world of Neuromancer as a means of enticing Case to stay and forget his quest. In this sense, Linda Lee is the temptress of the novel even though she does not perform a single sex act. She is the one being that ties Case to "earth," yet she is also an enabling and destructive force in his life.

And then there is 3Jane, which appears to be some sort of clone that runs the Tessier-Ashpool complex where Neuromancer was "conceived"-and I use that word literally and figuratively here. Neuromancer, as the AI itself reveals, was first thought up and then made real by Ashpool and his wife. While Ashpool seems to have wanted to store this technology until such a time when he could control it and use it to his advantage, the original Jane nurtured its sense of independence and individuality. She continued to create and manipulate programs for it until it because the free thinking, and perhaps even free feeling being, that puppetmasters all actions of the other characters. Jane, and her subsequent replications, take on the role of nurturer and mother, albeit a dangerous one. Best not mess with Momma's kittens or she'll send her pet Ninja after you.

Lastly there is the original Razorgirl, Molly. Part bodyguard, part babysitter, Molly is sent to make sure that Case stays on track and completes his mission. Molly is more machine than woman-she no longer has eyes but ocular implants, razors where her fingernails should be, etc.-and is perhaps the most sexualized of all the characters. At one instance, for example, the reader learns that Molly prostituted herself to fund her enhancements. Her pimp found out about the modifications she was making/had made to her body and, drugging Molly, "sells" Molly to Johns interested in S&M. She is, essentially, raped repeatedly. Molly, however, finds out, and infuriated by the double-crossing of her pimp, kills him. What is interesting to note, is that when she reveals this to Case, she does not get emotional. Rather, she expresses a wry sense of "he done me bad" in terms of a deal gone south: she agreed to prostitute herself for a cut of the profit. The pimp had simply cheated her of money and therefore must pay.

Molly symbolizes, for Case, as a "cowboy," is already in love with technology, a sort of physical embodiment of his true love. When his nervous system is destroyed, he responds to the literal severing of the connection between him and his love (cybersapce) with a Romeo-esque despondency. Yet, along comes Molly, all walking sex with the added bonus of technological enhancements. Case can't wait to get his *ahem* mitts on her. Gibson could have let Molly remain in the "helpmate" role, yet he doesn't. When any action takes place in the novel, it is through Molly's body that it is accomplished. Granted, it is ultimately Case, wired into cyberspace and hacking into mainframes, that calls the shots, but it is Molly who is physically strong and capable. Without her, Case's mission would (and does) unravel and fall apart. Literally, time and time again Molly pulls Cases' proverbial ass out of the fire. Case is the weak and passive "female" character, Molly the strong and active "male" character. It is not until Molly becomes physical incapacitated that Case is forced into action, and even then he is forced to act not because his mission (and thus himself) is on the brink of failing, but because he woman that he has convinced himself he loves is in danger. While this is a gendered trope older than time (princess is imprisoned by evil queen, prince must save her), it is still interesting to note that Case potentially gives up the one thing he thought would make him whole-his ability to jack into cyberspace-for a woman.

Gibson could've ended this novel in two ways, [reveal spoiler][hide spoiler] one being "happily ever after with Molly and Case skipping off into a hazy digital sunset. Yet, he chooses not to. In the end, Molly skips out of town, leaving Case behind her without so much as a "thank you, kind sir, for rescuing this fair damsel." It is a "guy" move, and Case (again) is left in the female role, feeling rejected and neglected.
The Gibson Girl, though she may be a wicked temptress, an over protective momma cat, or a razor wielding geisha-cum-samurai girl, is not an entity to be messed with.