On the eve of the blizzard, William Gibson was channeling Pattern Recognition in downtown New York:
One odd moment, sitting in the lower lobby of the SoHo Grand, Cayce’s entrance suddenly unspooled and I looked up, almost expecting her to walk in. And simultaneously reminded I don’t know what she looks like; she’s written “from inside”.In a seemingly unrelated development, I started reading Pattern Recognition last night, alone at a small, marble-topped table by the bar in the empty expanses of Belmondo on Avenue B. An Eastern European waitress with strange teeth kept grinning at me in a way that didn’t clue me in as to whether we were in on the same joke, or whether I was the joke. Outside, beyond the windows, a car lay buried up to its roof, and people skidded past. And yet: the book. Made me lose track of all semblance of place. Gibson has serious flow. I envy the rhythm of his writing.
· Force Majeur [williamgibsonbooks.com]
· One Big Ass Blizzard [williamgibsonbooks.com]
· Pattern Recognition [amazon.com] One reviewer helpfully notes, “Varick Street is spelled, wrongly, ‘Varrick’ on page 186.”