In 1986, I asked my dear mum for a copy of Gibson's "Count Zero" as a birthday gift. Mom, being mom, picked up Asimov's "The Edge Of Tomorrow" instead. By the time I finished high school, I'd completed the Foundation series, the Robot series and even the Empire novels that were still in print and a substantial fraction of his short stories. And I'm not going into my Bradbury, Heinlein, Pohl, and Adams collection either. I somehow missed Pratchett, but oh well. That one book was the key to an amazing new universe.
In 2005, I was idly browsing a book store (they had actual places with books in them in those olden days) I came across Count Zero. I bought it without a second thought. "Finally! This is it!" I Zoomed home and read it.
I hated it.
Seriously, the book marinated in such a smug pretentious hipness and had a purposely obtuse plot which made it an epic slog. If my birthday wish had come true I probably would be into mystery novels and knitting. I'm honestly tempted to believe in fate.
Random Thought on William Gibson
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