I had a short plane ride all to myself this weekend, so I put down my non-fiction and bought William Gibson’s Pattern Recognition. According to the early pages of this paperback, this is Gibson’s eighth book. I’ve read them all, although I’ll admit that — other than Neuromancer — I don’t remember them separately by title alone. One more reason for these notes to myself: life is short enough that re-reading should only be a conscious pleasure, not an unconscious mistake.
Gibson fully integrates pop culture throughout Pattern Recognition, which only seems fit since the protagonist, Cayce, is special because of her sensitivity to brands, which she puts to use ferreting out the next trend for marketers to exploit. Quite the post-modern job description! Of course, what’s retro about her role is that it’s personal and visceral: Cayce is almost literally allergic to some brands, like Tommy Hilfiger. The lady has some taste, I guess.
The plot screams along in a setting which feels very now, where Gibson’s earlier novels sit just around the corner, almost within reach, but “not evenly distributed,” to steal his phrase about the future. The repeated references to Hotmail and Starbucks are certainly deliberate, reinforcing the brand soup the world swims in, but it feels a bit forced occasionally. But maybe “she checked her e-mail” doesn’t evoke the same connection and transience as a webmail account. Or maybe I’m just reading too much into it. I did appreciate the characters’ constant ability (and need) to stay connected. The only part which felt mildly futuristic was how easily Cayce was able to get online using a cell phone and her laptop. We should all be so lucky.
I was struck immediately by the character’s name, Cayce. Gibson must have enjoyed playing his fans, since Neuromancer uses Case (man) as our introduction to the new reality of (I hate the word, but…) cyberpunk. I’m sure I’m not the only one to comment on this naming ‘coincidence.’
Also, you have to appreciate that Gibson wrote a blog for several months, but then decided he needed to “get back to his day job.”
I’ve found blogging to be a low-impact activity, mildly narcotic and mostly quite convivial, but the thing I’ve most enjoyed about it is how it never fails to underline the fact that if I’m doing this I’m definitely not writing a novel — that is, if I’m still blogging, I’m definitely still on vacation. I’ve always known, somehow, that it would get in the way of writing fiction, and that I wouldn’t want to be trying to do both at once. The image that comes most readily to mind is that of a kettle failing to boil because the lid’s been left off.
I’m not a novelist, but I understand the feeling. But I’m still here.