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Bridge #2
Idoru
In twenty-first century Tokyo, Rez, one of the world's biggest rock stars, prepares to marry Rei Toe, Japan's biggest media star, who is known as the Idoru and who exists only in virtual reality. Reprint.
308 pages, Paperback
First published September 4, 1996
425 people are currently reading
8724 people want to read
About the author
William Gibson
297 books14.9k followersLibrarian Note: There is more than one author in the Goodreads database with this name. See this thread for more information.
William Ford Gibson is an American-Canadian writer who has been called the father of the cyberpunk subgenre of science fiction, having coined the term cyberspace in 1982 and popularized it in his first novel, Neuromancer (1984), which has sold more than 6.5 million copies worldwide.
While his early writing took the form of short stories, Gibson has since written nine critically acclaimed novels (one in collaboration), contributed articles to several major publications, and has collaborated extensively with performance artists, filmmakers and musicians. His thought has been cited as an influence on science fiction authors, academia, cyberculture, and technology.
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William Gibson. (2007, October 17). In Wikipedia, The Free Encyclopedia. Retrieved 20:30, October 19, 2007, from http://en.wikipedia.org/w/index.php?t...
William Ford Gibson is an American-Canadian writer who has been called the father of the cyberpunk subgenre of science fiction, having coined the term cyberspace in 1982 and popularized it in his first novel, Neuromancer (1984), which has sold more than 6.5 million copies worldwide.
While his early writing took the form of short stories, Gibson has since written nine critically acclaimed novels (one in collaboration), contributed articles to several major publications, and has collaborated extensively with performance artists, filmmakers and musicians. His thought has been cited as an influence on science fiction authors, academia, cyberculture, and technology.
---------------------------------
William Gibson. (2007, October 17). In Wikipedia, The Free Encyclopedia. Retrieved 20:30, October 19, 2007, from http://en.wikipedia.org/w/index.php?t...
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 763 reviews
July 8, 2014
10/25/2012
Last night my daughter introduced me to one of her hot new things on YouTube: Hatsune Miku, a purely synthetic pop star. In return, I introduced her to this book in which Gibson predicts such a thing, twenty years ago. Then we checked out her other hot new thing, the PBS Idea Channel and among other things, we watched Mike Rugnetta talk about the connections between Gibson, Hatsune Miku, Lana del Rey, pop culture, technology and art. And then I told her about a show that used to be on, Connections by James Burke, which did much the same, albeit with less about art and more about technological breakthroughs. My evening was so meta I can't stand it.
Anyway, now that the book has become reality, I think it's time for a re-read. Well, as soon as Natasha is finished with it.
Last night my daughter introduced me to one of her hot new things on YouTube: Hatsune Miku, a purely synthetic pop star. In return, I introduced her to this book in which Gibson predicts such a thing, twenty years ago. Then we checked out her other hot new thing, the PBS Idea Channel and among other things, we watched Mike Rugnetta talk about the connections between Gibson, Hatsune Miku, Lana del Rey, pop culture, technology and art. And then I told her about a show that used to be on, Connections by James Burke, which did much the same, albeit with less about art and more about technological breakthroughs. My evening was so meta I can't stand it.
Anyway, now that the book has become reality, I think it's time for a re-read. Well, as soon as Natasha is finished with it.
September 14, 2007
You know, it seems like I would really like William Gibson, from what I've heard of him, but there's something about his writing that leaves too much out. This book is the first of his I've been able to finish. I still don't feel like I understood everything he was trying to say--something about a melding of science and nature, centered around the music star Rez and the idoru Rei. It was interesting, but I kept feeling like it was something I was reading out of the corner of my eye, and every time I looked directly at it, it slipped away. Very interesting ideas, though.
June 7, 2024
I felt Gibson move back towards his usual style and structure pre-Virtual Light. I now think of Virtual Light as an experiment, an anomaly. Gibson trods familiar ground here with a focus on virtual spaces, cool physical spaces, identity, and emerging AI. And Gibson's in rare form with early uses of anime-loving Otaku, Love Hotels, (Kowloon) Walled City, and virtual idols (20 years before Hatsune Miku made her IRL debut).
November 17, 2018
A Goodreads friend commented that William Gibson’s Bridge trilogy was underrated. I would agree and add under appreciated and under hyped.
Began in 1993 with Virtual Light, this continues with Idoru published in 1996. Bookended by his wildly popular Sprawl series and his later uber-cool Blue Ant trilogy, Bridge seems to be the Grunge 90s of his set, not as hip-flashy as the 80s nor as Ka-Ching as his Y2K writing. But as Grunge exhibited some refreshing and earthy revitalization of popular hard rock, so too does his Bridge writing add some edgy verve to the SF landscape.
As in his other writings, Idoru is a very loose sequel to the first, keeping contact with some characters, but the plot is new and stands alone in his post-change world building.
You can’t really call his Sprawl books dystopian or post-apocalyptic, they are simply a near future glimpse into a world that has taken a hard turn and its residents are living the dream and taking care of business. In Idoru, as in Virtual Light, Gibson introduces us to a near future world that is still rebuilding after some earthquakes have substantially repurposed much of the Pacific rim.
Revisiting his themes of Artificial Intelligence grabbing the center stage and becoming more or less human, Gibson describes a story where a globally successful rock band and some fans get mixed up in some Russian nanotech skullduggery. There’s also some hypertensive examination of what is cool and why – a recurring element in Gibson’s writing.
As in all of his writing, though the real hero here is Gibson and his extraordinary imagination and vision.
Began in 1993 with Virtual Light, this continues with Idoru published in 1996. Bookended by his wildly popular Sprawl series and his later uber-cool Blue Ant trilogy, Bridge seems to be the Grunge 90s of his set, not as hip-flashy as the 80s nor as Ka-Ching as his Y2K writing. But as Grunge exhibited some refreshing and earthy revitalization of popular hard rock, so too does his Bridge writing add some edgy verve to the SF landscape.
As in his other writings, Idoru is a very loose sequel to the first, keeping contact with some characters, but the plot is new and stands alone in his post-change world building.
You can’t really call his Sprawl books dystopian or post-apocalyptic, they are simply a near future glimpse into a world that has taken a hard turn and its residents are living the dream and taking care of business. In Idoru, as in Virtual Light, Gibson introduces us to a near future world that is still rebuilding after some earthquakes have substantially repurposed much of the Pacific rim.
Revisiting his themes of Artificial Intelligence grabbing the center stage and becoming more or less human, Gibson describes a story where a globally successful rock band and some fans get mixed up in some Russian nanotech skullduggery. There’s also some hypertensive examination of what is cool and why – a recurring element in Gibson’s writing.
As in all of his writing, though the real hero here is Gibson and his extraordinary imagination and vision.
March 20, 2023
Quote: ...I think I'd probably tell you that it's easier to desire and pursue the attention of tens of millions of total strangers than it is to accept the love and loyalty of the people closest to us.
There is an odd surface tension here; some readers may approach Idoru from the wrong bias, through the lens of Neuromancer and the Sprawl trilogy. Those readers will expect the traditional cyberpunk romp of amphetamine-fueled Yakuza battles and twisted violent sex in coffin hotels; those readers will be disappointed and may not be able to penetrate the skin of this charged, deeply emotional book. Idoru is William Gibson's Through the Looking Glass .
In typical Gibson style, the dueling narratives follow two distinctly melancholy characters: there is the starry-eyed teenaged angst of Chia Pet McKenzie and the existential, nearly Phildickian dread of Colin Laney. The novel opens on Laney, recently terminated under dubious circumstances from his "quantitative analyst" position for a tv program called Slitscan; Laney has a rare gift that enables him to tease patterns out of seemingly random data and he is recruited by a Japanese company to come to Tokyo and perform some research on their most valuable asset -- a rock star named Rez. Meanwhile, Chia is sent to Tokyo by her friends in Rez's Seattle-based fan club to discover the truth about The Rumor -- that Rez intends to marry a software construct, an idoru called Rei Toei.
Without a close inspection of the text, the novel might appear energetic but thematically trite. The plot moves along at a brisk pace: trans-Pacific flights whisk our protagonists into a Japanese Wonderland, quick-cut flashbacks fill in their respective histories, malicious and unseen maneuvering keeps every last character on his or her toes. Gibson drops his customary tropes: seedy back-alley deals gone awry, a detailed but ultimately vague send-up of "cyberspace", a mischievous and emergent AI...
But this book has nothing to do with AI or cyberspace or seedy back-alley deals.
At its core, Idoru explores the proposition that intimacy is a function of immersion, of experience, of fully surrendering to the risks of engagement and that knowledge or facts or data by any name and in any quantity cannot bring affinity. The narrative contains a relatively early scene wherein Laney is subject to a monologue by Kathy Torrance (his boss at Slitscan); she goes on at length about "celebrity" as a natural resource, about how media and tabloids like Slitscan have corralled "celebrity" into a commodity that can be controlled and brokered. Taken out of context, the monologue appears to be a provocative and unambiguous statement about celebrity in and of itself. Examining the scene with the novel's thesis in mind, we begin to see what lies at the kernel of Kathy Torrance's soliloquy: how "celebrity" is a focal point for a broad knowledge about a person (or other object of affection/attention) that by definition cannot be fully experienced. "Celebrity" is data presented as intimacy -- the fine-grained details of some person's life presented to you in all their banal urgency, more fantasy than reality, ever out of reach, inevitably unable to satisfy your need to share and experience.
Consider Kathy Torrance's rant about celebrity as a mirror to Alison Shires and Laney's own back-story. As Laney reflects on Alison Shires' suicide, we begin to see these themes take shape. In her original context, Alison is presented to Laney as "all data"; she is little more than some fulcrum of collapsed transactions that swing back onto some celebrity target of Slitscan's. But as her imminent suicide becomes obvious to Laney through his "nodal apprehension", he becomes concerned about, even attached to her; he breaks through his own Fourth Wall and allows himself to become involved, to experience her face-to-face. He is there in her apartment for the shot that kills her. We can hear echoes of his investment, how the experience created an instantly intimate moment which he capsulizes as: "...the whole thing would settle to the sea floor, silting over almost instantly with the world's steady accretion of data." The experience would be lost, buried under the steady stream of celebrity's telemetry, and he wonders how he can live with that outcome.
The novel is peppered with examples to underscore this proposition about intimacy:
* Consider that every bar, cafe, restaurant, etc. featured in the text is somehow themed and each theme is just data, each motif is hollow and empty -- the impression of something, its image, a copy or facsimile or interpretation but not the thing itself;
* Consider how Chia's story about her Sandbenders computer resonates on this chord, how she descrives the disposable shells of modern electronics as insufficient for people to make a connection with them, and how a "tribe" in Oregon humanized each computer through their artisanal cases;
* Consider Masahiko's tales of Walled City and how he continually asserts to Chia that it is "real" and not just a MUD, not just a website;
* Consider Blackwell's final affirmation to Laney, that Kathy Torrance will no longer threaten him, how they will "carve out this deep and meaningful and bloody unforgettable episode of mutual face-time", how they will have reached "very personal terms" -- the data, the facts are discarded, meaningless -- only the experience matters.
Throughout the narrative, there is a very keen sense that each character is desperately seeking something "real", something with which he or she can truly and intimately connect. Rez at one point blurts out: "Nothing like it [...] That physical thing." It is on those sentiments that the novel opens and again where it closes. We open on Laney in the aftershocks of just such a "physical thing" and Chia striking out to Tokyo in search of same. And we close on Rez and Rei Toei -- both symbolic of Kathy Torrance's "celebrity", different sides of that same coin -- discovering that their union cannot be completed without it, and daring to forge just such a path.
There is an odd surface tension here; some readers may approach Idoru from the wrong bias, through the lens of Neuromancer and the Sprawl trilogy. Those readers will expect the traditional cyberpunk romp of amphetamine-fueled Yakuza battles and twisted violent sex in coffin hotels; those readers will be disappointed and may not be able to penetrate the skin of this charged, deeply emotional book. Idoru is William Gibson's Through the Looking Glass .
In typical Gibson style, the dueling narratives follow two distinctly melancholy characters: there is the starry-eyed teenaged angst of Chia Pet McKenzie and the existential, nearly Phildickian dread of Colin Laney. The novel opens on Laney, recently terminated under dubious circumstances from his "quantitative analyst" position for a tv program called Slitscan; Laney has a rare gift that enables him to tease patterns out of seemingly random data and he is recruited by a Japanese company to come to Tokyo and perform some research on their most valuable asset -- a rock star named Rez. Meanwhile, Chia is sent to Tokyo by her friends in Rez's Seattle-based fan club to discover the truth about The Rumor -- that Rez intends to marry a software construct, an idoru called Rei Toei.
Without a close inspection of the text, the novel might appear energetic but thematically trite. The plot moves along at a brisk pace: trans-Pacific flights whisk our protagonists into a Japanese Wonderland, quick-cut flashbacks fill in their respective histories, malicious and unseen maneuvering keeps every last character on his or her toes. Gibson drops his customary tropes: seedy back-alley deals gone awry, a detailed but ultimately vague send-up of "cyberspace", a mischievous and emergent AI...
But this book has nothing to do with AI or cyberspace or seedy back-alley deals.
At its core, Idoru explores the proposition that intimacy is a function of immersion, of experience, of fully surrendering to the risks of engagement and that knowledge or facts or data by any name and in any quantity cannot bring affinity. The narrative contains a relatively early scene wherein Laney is subject to a monologue by Kathy Torrance (his boss at Slitscan); she goes on at length about "celebrity" as a natural resource, about how media and tabloids like Slitscan have corralled "celebrity" into a commodity that can be controlled and brokered. Taken out of context, the monologue appears to be a provocative and unambiguous statement about celebrity in and of itself. Examining the scene with the novel's thesis in mind, we begin to see what lies at the kernel of Kathy Torrance's soliloquy: how "celebrity" is a focal point for a broad knowledge about a person (or other object of affection/attention) that by definition cannot be fully experienced. "Celebrity" is data presented as intimacy -- the fine-grained details of some person's life presented to you in all their banal urgency, more fantasy than reality, ever out of reach, inevitably unable to satisfy your need to share and experience.
Consider Kathy Torrance's rant about celebrity as a mirror to Alison Shires and Laney's own back-story. As Laney reflects on Alison Shires' suicide, we begin to see these themes take shape. In her original context, Alison is presented to Laney as "all data"; she is little more than some fulcrum of collapsed transactions that swing back onto some celebrity target of Slitscan's. But as her imminent suicide becomes obvious to Laney through his "nodal apprehension", he becomes concerned about, even attached to her; he breaks through his own Fourth Wall and allows himself to become involved, to experience her face-to-face. He is there in her apartment for the shot that kills her. We can hear echoes of his investment, how the experience created an instantly intimate moment which he capsulizes as: "...the whole thing would settle to the sea floor, silting over almost instantly with the world's steady accretion of data." The experience would be lost, buried under the steady stream of celebrity's telemetry, and he wonders how he can live with that outcome.
The novel is peppered with examples to underscore this proposition about intimacy:
* Consider that every bar, cafe, restaurant, etc. featured in the text is somehow themed and each theme is just data, each motif is hollow and empty -- the impression of something, its image, a copy or facsimile or interpretation but not the thing itself;
* Consider how Chia's story about her Sandbenders computer resonates on this chord, how she descrives the disposable shells of modern electronics as insufficient for people to make a connection with them, and how a "tribe" in Oregon humanized each computer through their artisanal cases;
* Consider Masahiko's tales of Walled City and how he continually asserts to Chia that it is "real" and not just a MUD, not just a website;
* Consider Blackwell's final affirmation to Laney, that Kathy Torrance will no longer threaten him, how they will "carve out this deep and meaningful and bloody unforgettable episode of mutual face-time", how they will have reached "very personal terms" -- the data, the facts are discarded, meaningless -- only the experience matters.
Throughout the narrative, there is a very keen sense that each character is desperately seeking something "real", something with which he or she can truly and intimately connect. Rez at one point blurts out: "Nothing like it [...] That physical thing." It is on those sentiments that the novel opens and again where it closes. We open on Laney in the aftershocks of just such a "physical thing" and Chia striking out to Tokyo in search of same. And we close on Rez and Rei Toei -- both symbolic of Kathy Torrance's "celebrity", different sides of that same coin -- discovering that their union cannot be completed without it, and daring to forge just such a path.
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
November 25, 2019
Alternating Narratives
There are two alternating narratives in "Idoru". At the end, they merge and become one. "The job worked out."
Rez is the singer in a half Irish, half Chinese band called Lo/Rez, which has outstayed its welcome to (and embrace of) celebrity, and released 26 albums (not counting compilations) since their first Dylanesque-labelled "Lo Rez Skyline".
The Technology of Oneness
To the dismay of their obsessive (girl) fans, Rez has announced that he intends to marry Rei Toei, an idoru, an idol-singer, an artificial personality construct, a "software agent", a pool of data, a synthespian, a sentient hologram, "something generated, animated, projected."
Like the narrative, they progress, intending to become one, a oneness made up of a natural person and a product of technology. "Technology...is an aspect of the natural, of oneness. Through our efforts, oneness perfects itself. And popular culture is the testbed of our futurity."
To Rez, “Rei’s only reality is the realm of ongoing serial creation.” The idoru is “entirely process; infinitely more than the combined sum of her various selves. The platforms sink beneath her, one after another, as she grows denser and more complex."
Seeing Things in Clouds
Density is relevant to Laney, a "netrunner" who "liked to think of himself as a researcher". He analyses information and data, detecting patterns in the system of things, when he enters "nodal mode". Density of information is necessary to allow “nodal apprehension". "It's like seeing things in clouds...except the things you see are really there."
Laney's past experience will be familiar to readers of Christopher Steele:
Information as Narrative
For Laney, Rei was "some unthinkable volume of information." Laney once gazed at the idoru in a nightclub and automatically "fell through her eyes." She "induced the nodal vision in some unprecedented way; she induced it as narrative."
Source: https://www.flickr.com/photos/jdx/597...
The Articulated Longing of/for the Infernal Desire Machine
The idoru's producer reveals that she is "the result of an array of elaborate constructs that we refer to as 'desiring machines'. Not in any literal sense, but please envision aggregates of subjective desire. It was decided that the modular array would ideally constitute an architecture of articulated longing..." (These desiring machines are reminiscent of Angela Carter's 1972 novel "The Infernal Desire Machines of Doctor Hoffman".)
Celebrity, Desire and Banal Intimacy
Gibson investigates the nature of celebrity and desire, in much the same way as Don Delillo in "Great Jones Street" . He describes the obsessive concern with the private lives of celebrities as “that terrible, banal intimacy". Unfortunately, the concern is reciprocated:
There are two alternating narratives in "Idoru". At the end, they merge and become one. "The job worked out."
Rez is the singer in a half Irish, half Chinese band called Lo/Rez, which has outstayed its welcome to (and embrace of) celebrity, and released 26 albums (not counting compilations) since their first Dylanesque-labelled "Lo Rez Skyline".
The Technology of Oneness
To the dismay of their obsessive (girl) fans, Rez has announced that he intends to marry Rei Toei, an idoru, an idol-singer, an artificial personality construct, a "software agent", a pool of data, a synthespian, a sentient hologram, "something generated, animated, projected."
Like the narrative, they progress, intending to become one, a oneness made up of a natural person and a product of technology. "Technology...is an aspect of the natural, of oneness. Through our efforts, oneness perfects itself. And popular culture is the testbed of our futurity."
To Rez, “Rei’s only reality is the realm of ongoing serial creation.” The idoru is “entirely process; infinitely more than the combined sum of her various selves. The platforms sink beneath her, one after another, as she grows denser and more complex."
Seeing Things in Clouds
Density is relevant to Laney, a "netrunner" who "liked to think of himself as a researcher". He analyses information and data, detecting patterns in the system of things, when he enters "nodal mode". Density of information is necessary to allow “nodal apprehension". "It's like seeing things in clouds...except the things you see are really there."
Laney's past experience will be familiar to readers of Christopher Steele:
"In his quest for lesser nodal points..., Laney had already affected the courses of municipal elections, the market in patent gene futures, abortion laws in the State of New Jersey, and the spin on an ecstatic pro-euthanasia movement (or suicide cult, depending) called Cease Upon The Midnight, not to mention the lives and careers of several dozen celebrities of various kinds."
Information as Narrative
For Laney, Rei was "some unthinkable volume of information." Laney once gazed at the idoru in a nightclub and automatically "fell through her eyes." She "induced the nodal vision in some unprecedented way; she induced it as narrative."
Source: https://www.flickr.com/photos/jdx/597...
The Articulated Longing of/for the Infernal Desire Machine
The idoru's producer reveals that she is "the result of an array of elaborate constructs that we refer to as 'desiring machines'. Not in any literal sense, but please envision aggregates of subjective desire. It was decided that the modular array would ideally constitute an architecture of articulated longing..." (These desiring machines are reminiscent of Angela Carter's 1972 novel "The Infernal Desire Machines of Doctor Hoffman".)
Celebrity, Desire and Banal Intimacy
Gibson investigates the nature of celebrity and desire, in much the same way as Don Delillo in "Great Jones Street" . He describes the obsessive concern with the private lives of celebrities as “that terrible, banal intimacy". Unfortunately, the concern is reciprocated:
"It's easier to desire and pursue the attention of tens of millions of total strangers than it is to accept the love and loyalty of the people closest to us."
November 21, 2022
4 Stars for Idoru: Bridge, Book 2 (audiobook) by William Gibson read by John McLain.
I love the worlds that William Gibson creates, but his plots can be hard to follow. I read Virtual Light in the 90’s a couple of times and ultimately enjoyed it. And this book is no different.
I love the worlds that William Gibson creates, but his plots can be hard to follow. I read Virtual Light in the 90’s a couple of times and ultimately enjoyed it. And this book is no different.
July 30, 2016
Taman kada čovek pomisli da se istrošio i da period stagnacije u knjizi najavljuje dosadu, mašinerija se pokreće i ne dozvoljava da ispustite knjigu iz ruku.
Gibson ko Gibson - odličan, inspirativan, kreativan, imaginativan.
Gibson ko Gibson - odličan, inspirativan, kreativan, imaginativan.
Read
March 31, 2017I really thought I will enjoy this but it seems too unrealistic for me barely able to finish this.
February 17, 2023
William Gibson has been hit or miss for me. There are times I just don't get and don't want to get his books; The Difference Engine (w/ Bruce Sterling) and The Peripheral for example. I gave up on both books. But when it works and, for the most part I'd say it does, it really works. The Bridge Trilogy, Virtual Light (#1), All Tomorrow's Parties (#3) and now Idoru (#2) are perfect examples. I enjoyed this whole trilogy, having given 5 - stars to Virtual Light and now to Idoru.
Gibson's take on Sci-Fi, like Philip K Dick and others is unique. Idoru is a wonderful mix of Sci-Fi and excellent, sympathetic characters and just a downright excellent story. I won't say I understood all of the technology, but what the heck, for such a great story, it didn't matter. I just sort of swam in it and enjoyed the ride.
Let's see, the story in brief. Two characters, teenager Chia and middle-aged? man, Laney find themselves in Tokyo. They are there for different reasons but their lives will become intertwined. Chia is a rep from the American fan club for an experimental internettish band, Lo-Rez who has been sent by her club to find out what's the what with Rez, the band's leader. It seems that Rez has fallen in love with an internet, hologram, the Idoru and they plan to marry. Laneey used to work for a ... um.... public relations sort of company, Slitscan, but was fired after a girl he was tracking online (he uses nodal research... see what I mean about technology??) committed suicide. Laney is trying for a new job working for Rez's security team, using his nodal abilities to find out about Idoru.
So, that's it, sort of. There are a few little twists. Mary Alice, who flies to Tokyo on the same flight as Chia, slips some kind of contraband into Chia's backpack, without Chia realizing. This will bring the Russians, the Kombinat, and Mary Alice's boyfriend into the picture as they try to find Chia. Laney's old boss, Kathy, is after him, trying to blackmail him to helping them get Rez.
There are fantastic characters in this story. Besides, Laney and Chia, there are Blackwell, the Aussie man mountain who protects Rez. There is Mr. Yamazaki, the mild assistant to Blackwell, who will make another appearance in All Tomorrow's Parties. There is Masashiko, brother of one of the Tokyo fan club members of Lo-Rez, who is a member of The Walled City, a 'free' internet site who will assist Chia so very much. My favorite character is Arleigh, who works for Blackwell as well, and who, while a reasonably minor character, helps Laney so very much. She's just lovely, common sense, brave... Even Mary Alice is nat. Not to forget Chia's fan club member Nona Rosa, a troubled character whose story, such as it is revealed, will hit you in the heart.
It's such a well-crafted, drawn story. Future Tokyo is fascinating, the story moves along at a steady, attention-grabbing pace, each chapter alternating from Chia to Laney's storyline. As their lives become more intrinsically linked, thanks to the Idoru, the pace picks up and your involvement with the story and characters will deepen. Fascinating, excellent story. Loved it so much. It reminded me of why I enjoy Sci-Fi so very much. Thank you, William Gibson (5.0 stars)
Gibson's take on Sci-Fi, like Philip K Dick and others is unique. Idoru is a wonderful mix of Sci-Fi and excellent, sympathetic characters and just a downright excellent story. I won't say I understood all of the technology, but what the heck, for such a great story, it didn't matter. I just sort of swam in it and enjoyed the ride.
Let's see, the story in brief. Two characters, teenager Chia and middle-aged? man, Laney find themselves in Tokyo. They are there for different reasons but their lives will become intertwined. Chia is a rep from the American fan club for an experimental internettish band, Lo-Rez who has been sent by her club to find out what's the what with Rez, the band's leader. It seems that Rez has fallen in love with an internet, hologram, the Idoru and they plan to marry. Laneey used to work for a ... um.... public relations sort of company, Slitscan, but was fired after a girl he was tracking online (he uses nodal research... see what I mean about technology??) committed suicide. Laney is trying for a new job working for Rez's security team, using his nodal abilities to find out about Idoru.
So, that's it, sort of. There are a few little twists. Mary Alice, who flies to Tokyo on the same flight as Chia, slips some kind of contraband into Chia's backpack, without Chia realizing. This will bring the Russians, the Kombinat, and Mary Alice's boyfriend into the picture as they try to find Chia. Laney's old boss, Kathy, is after him, trying to blackmail him to helping them get Rez.
There are fantastic characters in this story. Besides, Laney and Chia, there are Blackwell, the Aussie man mountain who protects Rez. There is Mr. Yamazaki, the mild assistant to Blackwell, who will make another appearance in All Tomorrow's Parties. There is Masashiko, brother of one of the Tokyo fan club members of Lo-Rez, who is a member of The Walled City, a 'free' internet site who will assist Chia so very much. My favorite character is Arleigh, who works for Blackwell as well, and who, while a reasonably minor character, helps Laney so very much. She's just lovely, common sense, brave... Even Mary Alice is nat. Not to forget Chia's fan club member Nona Rosa, a troubled character whose story, such as it is revealed, will hit you in the heart.
It's such a well-crafted, drawn story. Future Tokyo is fascinating, the story moves along at a steady, attention-grabbing pace, each chapter alternating from Chia to Laney's storyline. As their lives become more intrinsically linked, thanks to the Idoru, the pace picks up and your involvement with the story and characters will deepen. Fascinating, excellent story. Loved it so much. It reminded me of why I enjoy Sci-Fi so very much. Thank you, William Gibson (5.0 stars)
September 21, 2015
About half the way into this book I had a rough outline for this review in my head. It went somewhere along the lines of "if Gibson's stories sucked you in as his world descriptions do he would write the best books ever..." And that was when the story grabbed me!
So why did I rate it 4 stars and not 5? Well truth is, the hold did not last all the way through and another "problem" is the characterization. Even the main protagonists could be Idorus judging by their bleak impressions and I frequently jumped back to find out who was who.
Still; well-written, really good book and incredibly impressive almost 20 years now(!)
So why did I rate it 4 stars and not 5? Well truth is, the hold did not last all the way through and another "problem" is the characterization. Even the main protagonists could be Idorus judging by their bleak impressions and I frequently jumped back to find out who was who.
Still; well-written, really good book and incredibly impressive almost 20 years now(!)
February 26, 2011
Now this book I remember better than its immediate predecessor, "Virtual Light". One might guess that it is because I liked "Idoru" better than VL, but I think it is another subjective factor. From the early to end of the 90s I did a fair amount of traveling and East Asia, including Japan was where I went often. So, I suspect that familiarity with the locations and real-world culture and people helped make a stronger impression on me than people living in San Francisco (which city I have only seen from within the terminals of its airport.)
Having presented my 'mea culpa' for being human, let me say that I really liked this book and was not at all disappointed in it, as it may seem based on the goodreads average rankings that I saw when entering the title. This is a book where Gibson increasingly tangles the lines of his world and how we expect people to behave in it. Using the Japanese cult phenomenon as a starting point, he crafts another excellent and engaging tale of his future world. I think that he shows again how more inventive he is when compared to many other genre and mainstream authors.
If you chose to read his works in order, then you will benefit from his continuing evolution of his skills and ideas. Could every book stand on its own? Yes, I believe this is so, but why torture yourself?
Having presented my 'mea culpa' for being human, let me say that I really liked this book and was not at all disappointed in it, as it may seem based on the goodreads average rankings that I saw when entering the title. This is a book where Gibson increasingly tangles the lines of his world and how we expect people to behave in it. Using the Japanese cult phenomenon as a starting point, he crafts another excellent and engaging tale of his future world. I think that he shows again how more inventive he is when compared to many other genre and mainstream authors.
If you chose to read his works in order, then you will benefit from his continuing evolution of his skills and ideas. Could every book stand on its own? Yes, I believe this is so, but why torture yourself?
April 7, 2016
As with Virtual Light, the selling point of this book is the setting, not so much the story. Gibson's futuristic Tokyo is not too different from present-day Tokyo, but it's still fun to walk the streets of nanotechnology-enhanced Shinjuku and feel the uncanny thrill of a place that is at once familiar and wholly strange.
And, as with Virtual Light, I found myself far more engrossed in the coming-of-age side-story than the hardboiled noire backbone on which the novel rests. Chia, the plucky teen who ventures to Tokyo to rescue her celebrity crush from the clutches of the virtual idoru, is far more compelling than Laney, who is pretty interchangeable with any other of Gibson's leading men.
For sheer ambience, I preferred the Bridge from Virtual Light, but Chia's quest through real and virtual worlds was a welcome and delightful addition to the series and made Idoru, on balance, an equally fun read.
And, as with Virtual Light, I found myself far more engrossed in the coming-of-age side-story than the hardboiled noire backbone on which the novel rests. Chia, the plucky teen who ventures to Tokyo to rescue her celebrity crush from the clutches of the virtual idoru, is far more compelling than Laney, who is pretty interchangeable with any other of Gibson's leading men.
For sheer ambience, I preferred the Bridge from Virtual Light, but Chia's quest through real and virtual worlds was a welcome and delightful addition to the series and made Idoru, on balance, an equally fun read.
June 7, 2015
I re-read it (even though there are about 50 new books that stare at me from shelves) and got reminded why I love cyberpunk and this book in particular. Why hasn't anyone filmed this yet??
August 10, 2021
Good read and good fun. A bit predictable if you know Gibson's works, but good read because not despite of it.
August 8, 2025
The best part of this book was when it ended
March 12, 2010
Gibson is an ideas man: big on 'what', not on 'why' or 'how'. It's been said enough times that his predictions are spookily accurate. This book - written in 1996 - features many foreshadowings of the current time. A time where we hide behind an avatar, led around by geo-aware goggle-boxes. Social networks, always-on broadband, CGI pop stars (nearly).
Gibson's writing has distance. The (lethargic) characters seem behind a transparent wall; you can see but not touch. Laney - one of two protagonists - floats from one plot-point to the next. A researcher, he only wants to do his job, no funny business. Then he walks blindly into danger. Only crisis provokes life from Laney, otherwise we feel little empathy. Laney could be borrowed from a "psychological thriller": caught up in more than he can handle; blinking and naive, yet obediently following the script.
The virtual-world settings are decorated with robust detail and toyish icons, like a child's dream. In contrast, the real world is mostly austere, yet odd objects scream crude colour and novelty.
The dialogue - punchy and spare - tells most of the story. The prose is speedy and light on narrative.
Japanese words are well-explained when first introduced, but can be forgotten. Intriguing cultural references lead us to ask "is that really true?" Whether or not, the factoids are convincing enough.
There is no great mystery or conflict urging us forward, and the plot is organic: nothing quite expected or logical. But we are curious how the pieces will come together: nested virtual worlds, a hand-held nano-assembler, one naive 14-year old girl, one hired savant out of his depth, and a criminal underworld on their tail.
There is a satisfying ending with emotive appeal. But we are left feeling we intruded into the lives of strangers. Read this book for the techno-riffing or a taste of worlds to come, not for drama or characters.
Gibson's writing has distance. The (lethargic) characters seem behind a transparent wall; you can see but not touch. Laney - one of two protagonists - floats from one plot-point to the next. A researcher, he only wants to do his job, no funny business. Then he walks blindly into danger. Only crisis provokes life from Laney, otherwise we feel little empathy. Laney could be borrowed from a "psychological thriller": caught up in more than he can handle; blinking and naive, yet obediently following the script.
The virtual-world settings are decorated with robust detail and toyish icons, like a child's dream. In contrast, the real world is mostly austere, yet odd objects scream crude colour and novelty.
The dialogue - punchy and spare - tells most of the story. The prose is speedy and light on narrative.
Japanese words are well-explained when first introduced, but can be forgotten. Intriguing cultural references lead us to ask "is that really true?" Whether or not, the factoids are convincing enough.
There is no great mystery or conflict urging us forward, and the plot is organic: nothing quite expected or logical. But we are curious how the pieces will come together: nested virtual worlds, a hand-held nano-assembler, one naive 14-year old girl, one hired savant out of his depth, and a criminal underworld on their tail.
There is a satisfying ending with emotive appeal. But we are left feeling we intruded into the lives of strangers. Read this book for the techno-riffing or a taste of worlds to come, not for drama or characters.
May 9, 2024
Probably even more slow than the first in the trilogy, the tech and insights into social constructs resonates all the more deeply today. The emotional complexity in this are more fulfilling than any other Gibson novel I’ve tried yet, too. To marry that with the seemingly vapid and ephemeral of celebrity, intimacy, and a more organic and analog cyberspace—really made this feel like Gibson’s chops were shining through.
Even more bold that it’s in a cyberpunk near future, where people expect propulsive action. The counter culture vs mono culture feels much more rich and nuanced. Not simply rebellion and fight co opting, but tapping into the general intellect in many ways. Where the previous Virtual Light has little to no ramifications on the plot or, really, the social aspects the book interrogates, the high tech part of the low life milieu here is integral to how everyone interacts with their phone, their social media, and the commodification of data that comes with influencers being big business.
The book does fall down somewhat in the usual areas. Most predominately a not altogether convincing portrayal of marginalized cultures, much like rastas in Neuromancer. But it is more developed here too. If I were more familiar with the culture I could critique it better. As is, it just feels off. For a while this book remained four stars, but I just felt it came together so well, and in such a different way than most cyberpunk books, that I just really wanted to set it as a cut above.
4.5 rounded up
Even more bold that it’s in a cyberpunk near future, where people expect propulsive action. The counter culture vs mono culture feels much more rich and nuanced. Not simply rebellion and fight co opting, but tapping into the general intellect in many ways. Where the previous Virtual Light has little to no ramifications on the plot or, really, the social aspects the book interrogates, the high tech part of the low life milieu here is integral to how everyone interacts with their phone, their social media, and the commodification of data that comes with influencers being big business.
The book does fall down somewhat in the usual areas. Most predominately a not altogether convincing portrayal of marginalized cultures, much like rastas in Neuromancer. But it is more developed here too. If I were more familiar with the culture I could critique it better. As is, it just feels off. For a while this book remained four stars, but I just felt it came together so well, and in such a different way than most cyberpunk books, that I just really wanted to set it as a cut above.
4.5 rounded up
November 1, 2016
After a few of Gibson's cyberpunk novels, I'm starting to see a pattern in the structure of his plots and the composition of his worlds. But they're enjoyable patterns and settings that I'd love to see more of, so I can't really fault him for that.
His vision of Tokyo scarred by a massive quake ("Godzilla"), and rebuilt by emergent technology is probably the most glaring similarity between this and the first book in the trilogy, Virtual Light; without having read the third, it seems like they could otherwise be standalone titles. But where Virtual Light's version of Los Angeles dealt with disaster by plodding onwards, leaving behind infrastructure that had crumbled along with those who chose to inhabit it, Idoru's Tokyo raised buildings overnight with nanotechnology and strove to pretend that nothing had happened.
I thought that was interesting, but I don't really know what to make of it; maybe the next book will shine more light on what Gibson is trying to say. Or hey, maybe I'm reading too much into a sci-fi thriller novel.
His vision of Tokyo scarred by a massive quake ("Godzilla"), and rebuilt by emergent technology is probably the most glaring similarity between this and the first book in the trilogy, Virtual Light; without having read the third, it seems like they could otherwise be standalone titles. But where Virtual Light's version of Los Angeles dealt with disaster by plodding onwards, leaving behind infrastructure that had crumbled along with those who chose to inhabit it, Idoru's Tokyo raised buildings overnight with nanotechnology and strove to pretend that nothing had happened.
I thought that was interesting, but I don't really know what to make of it; maybe the next book will shine more light on what Gibson is trying to say. Or hey, maybe I'm reading too much into a sci-fi thriller novel.
August 30, 2007
A fast-paced, exciting story about the intersections of realities and identity. This is also one of the rare books that gets the mindset behind fandom. An impressive piece of cyberpunk.
December 12, 2025
„Идору“ се развива почти изцяло в Токио, като точната година не се знае, но вероятно е около 2010-а. В романа съвсем бегло участие взима Бери Райдел от "Виртуална светлина", а главните персонажи отново са два. Колин Лейни (преведен като Лани в родното издание) може да вижда „нодални“ или възлови точки в безкрайните потоци от данни в необятната мрежа. Той е нает от екипа на музикалната звезда Рез, който е решил да се ожени за Рей Тоей – японско „идору“ или ИИ, създадена да е музикална звезда. Началника на охраната на Рез мисли, че той е манипулиран и иска да разбере от кой и по възможност да развали „годежа“. Другият е Чиа Пет Маккензи – четиринайсетгодишно момиче и член на фен-клуба на бандата на Рез, която е изпратена в Токио да разбере повече за скандалното намерение на идола ѝ. В непознатия и силно екзотичен Токио ще преживее много приключения, след като в багажа ѝ е пъхнато нещо особено опасно, незаконно и желано както от доста сенчести фигури, така и от „идору“.
Историята е доста добра, макар, че Токио-то във вселената на Моста някак е много близо до представата ми за реалното Токио. Имаше интрига и макар някои неща да ми се сториха странни, то това беше по желание на Гибсън, а не щото е забравил да пише. Все пак, мостът липсваше осезаемо!
Историята е доста добра, макар, че Токио-то във вселената на Моста някак е много близо до представата ми за реалното Токио. Имаше интрига и макар някои неща да ми се сториха странни, то това беше по желание на Гибсън, а не щото е забравил да пише. Все пак, мостът липсваше осезаемо!
October 1, 2019
5 días y 4000+ scrolleadas de Kindle. El primer libro que leo del autor, y justo lo iba comenzando me percate que era el segundo libro de una trilogía, nunca me pude barrer el hecho de que me hacía falta algo, y que nunca logré una interacción de ideas ni sentimientos totalmente.
A diferencia de otras novelas del curso, esta es la que tiene menos rock de casi cualquier forma, y enfocado más a la ciencia ficción y cyber punk primordialmente.
Como comentaba al principio, adentrarse a la trama no fue lo difícil, sino a los personajes. Eran tan aburridos y carentes de emoción en la trama que jamás pude conectar. Probablemente no fue la culpa del libro sino mía.
Yo amo la ciencia ficción y la sci fi, pero eato me hace un poco más objetivo a la hora de fijarme en algunos detalles que este libro no llegó a cumplir. Buenos paisajes y descripciones, pero en la parte emocional me quedó a deber.
No habrá reseña.
A diferencia de otras novelas del curso, esta es la que tiene menos rock de casi cualquier forma, y enfocado más a la ciencia ficción y cyber punk primordialmente.
Como comentaba al principio, adentrarse a la trama no fue lo difícil, sino a los personajes. Eran tan aburridos y carentes de emoción en la trama que jamás pude conectar. Probablemente no fue la culpa del libro sino mía.
Yo amo la ciencia ficción y la sci fi, pero eato me hace un poco más objetivo a la hora de fijarme en algunos detalles que este libro no llegó a cumplir. Buenos paisajes y descripciones, pero en la parte emocional me quedó a deber.
No habrá reseña.
April 15, 2019
Gibson’s problem is that, like a lot of SF writers, he is more interested in things than people. This is why, as with all his novels, I gave up on Idoru half way through. Gibson is continually stopping to admire the view - the sheen on a metallic surface, the spires and landing pads of the skyline, the sumptuous tablespread of technical do-dahs. This isn’t too much of a problem for short stories (here in fact, Gibson is a master) but over the span of 300-odd pages, it soon becomes a drudgery. It feels like being led around the schematics of an architect's City of the Future, with the characters appearing every now and then as belligerent interruptions.
As for the story line, only a few months has been enough to render it vague in my mind. I think the essence of it was that a man whose job it is to analyse behavioural data has realised that the person whose life he’s been assigned to analyse is going to die. Then, as competing interests and head hunters swirl around, the usual file-swapping and private dick shenanigans ensue. Revolvers and shady businessmen in lobbies. This is the other problem with Gibson's work: once you strip away the prescient Future Shock ruminations, what you're left with is straightforward middlebrow noir, or perhaps even worse - for there's no suspense in the action, and none of the revelations are particularly strong.
What Gibson is best at, and what I wish he'd stuck to, is high-concept ideas, sparsely rendered as highly compressed reorderings of technology and instinct gone awry. Here, drama and suspense are no longer dependent on technique. They form naturally from the shortening of the plot. Gibson's futurescapes are rendered, not so much worlds, but pressured localisations, tightly wound overspills of roguish intent, human desire led astray, escalated to powers by voguish technologies and delinquent gadgets. It is, as has often been pointed out, the best of H P Lovecraft, rebooted for the internet age.
This book, coming out in 1996, comes quite a bit before the mass adoption of the net, but half the power of Gibson is in the prescience, the subtle intimations of future norms. In a world where celebs are just as likely to be SEO managed as stage managed, this book does at least get the future right (rare for any SF work, particularly one written pre-millennium). Though now we’re already there, without good characters and story, what's the use now of returning to the future as it was anticipated over 20 years ago?
As for the story line, only a few months has been enough to render it vague in my mind. I think the essence of it was that a man whose job it is to analyse behavioural data has realised that the person whose life he’s been assigned to analyse is going to die. Then, as competing interests and head hunters swirl around, the usual file-swapping and private dick shenanigans ensue. Revolvers and shady businessmen in lobbies. This is the other problem with Gibson's work: once you strip away the prescient Future Shock ruminations, what you're left with is straightforward middlebrow noir, or perhaps even worse - for there's no suspense in the action, and none of the revelations are particularly strong.
What Gibson is best at, and what I wish he'd stuck to, is high-concept ideas, sparsely rendered as highly compressed reorderings of technology and instinct gone awry. Here, drama and suspense are no longer dependent on technique. They form naturally from the shortening of the plot. Gibson's futurescapes are rendered, not so much worlds, but pressured localisations, tightly wound overspills of roguish intent, human desire led astray, escalated to powers by voguish technologies and delinquent gadgets. It is, as has often been pointed out, the best of H P Lovecraft, rebooted for the internet age.
This book, coming out in 1996, comes quite a bit before the mass adoption of the net, but half the power of Gibson is in the prescience, the subtle intimations of future norms. In a world where celebs are just as likely to be SEO managed as stage managed, this book does at least get the future right (rare for any SF work, particularly one written pre-millennium). Though now we’re already there, without good characters and story, what's the use now of returning to the future as it was anticipated over 20 years ago?
July 18, 2010
The fact that some of the "futuristic" detailing of this story is already here and old hat wasn't lost on me, but didn't bother me either. The story world of this book is a believable take on the not-too-distant future. I loved the fantastic worlds people create together to interact online, and the way their avatars have morphed into fully-loaded alter egos. People create elaborate virtual sets and props for their meetings, parties, escapist fantasy, musical sessions, and just about everything else. I'm betting this will really happen some day, and it's going to be a hell of a lot of fun.
The gangsters, out-of-work slackers, and tech wizards you expect in this kind of book were all present and accounted for. This grunge factor is what's always turned me off about Gibson in the past; I tend to find the whole scum-bag scene too predictable. Do any of the writers who love gritty realism really function in it, writing and revising by day, hooking in flophouses and smoking opium by night? I doubt it. This time, however, I was in the mood something that could credibly mimic trashy, and Gibson is a pro. He put the usual suspects together in a way that worked, and that's what counts.
Well, almost worked. The one exception was the charmingly-named Chia Pet. I just couldn't believe that a reasonably smart teen would be stupid enough to carry some creepy-ass lady's bag through customs. She's not so naive as all that in the rest of the book, so this action seemed out of character to me.
Since the plot revolves around Rez, a rock star and celebrity of the future, it's a bit disappointing that Gibson doesn't, in the end, give us a very detailed idea of what he's really up to. Rez wants to marry what is essentially an intricately programmed hologram, but his own explanation of this decision doesn't carry much weight. Rei, the idoru, and to some extent Rez himself, end up functioning more or less as a mulligan.
Maybe it's my fault for reading only the second book of a trilogy, but I get the feeling it's more that the point of this is to explore the future world envisioned by the author.
The gangsters, out-of-work slackers, and tech wizards you expect in this kind of book were all present and accounted for. This grunge factor is what's always turned me off about Gibson in the past; I tend to find the whole scum-bag scene too predictable. Do any of the writers who love gritty realism really function in it, writing and revising by day, hooking in flophouses and smoking opium by night? I doubt it. This time, however, I was in the mood something that could credibly mimic trashy, and Gibson is a pro. He put the usual suspects together in a way that worked, and that's what counts.
Well, almost worked. The one exception was the charmingly-named Chia Pet. I just couldn't believe that a reasonably smart teen would be stupid enough to carry some creepy-ass lady's bag through customs. She's not so naive as all that in the rest of the book, so this action seemed out of character to me.
Since the plot revolves around Rez, a rock star and celebrity of the future, it's a bit disappointing that Gibson doesn't, in the end, give us a very detailed idea of what he's really up to. Rez wants to marry what is essentially an intricately programmed hologram, but his own explanation of this decision doesn't carry much weight. Rei, the idoru, and to some extent Rez himself, end up functioning more or less as a mulligan.
Maybe it's my fault for reading only the second book of a trilogy, but I get the feeling it's more that the point of this is to explore the future world envisioned by the author.
November 1, 2021
William Gibson's Idoru starts off a slow burner, which is great as it allows him to really delve deep into this then near-future world he has created which is not too far away from what the late 2000s actually turned out to be. It's paced perfectly and allows Gibson to explore his usual themes of emerging technology and its sociological impact, the realisation of an evolving AI in the form of a Japanese idol singer, nanotechnology and humanity's place amongst this high-tech world we find ourselves in. Another interesting theme explored is the concept of celebrity and Gibson's observations in Idoru are just as relevant today in this fame-obsessed social media world.
The novel then suffers from its abrupt change in pacing, as it becomes too much of a fast-paced thriller (a well written one at least) and contains some over-the-top Russian gangsters in search of a piece of nanotechnology being unknowingly kept by one of the main characters. At this point, I couldn't have cared less about what happened to the characters especially after the brilliant development of them over the first couple of hundred pages, which saddened me a bit. Things become manic, as if Gibson thought he had to include certain thriller elements to make it more exciting.
Luckily the book itself is written incredibly well. Gibson has a knack for describing our ultramodern world with such precision and detail, and when he dissects our highly technological world it becomes such a tense and enjoyable read.
The novel then suffers from its abrupt change in pacing, as it becomes too much of a fast-paced thriller (a well written one at least) and contains some over-the-top Russian gangsters in search of a piece of nanotechnology being unknowingly kept by one of the main characters. At this point, I couldn't have cared less about what happened to the characters especially after the brilliant development of them over the first couple of hundred pages, which saddened me a bit. Things become manic, as if Gibson thought he had to include certain thriller elements to make it more exciting.
Luckily the book itself is written incredibly well. Gibson has a knack for describing our ultramodern world with such precision and detail, and when he dissects our highly technological world it becomes such a tense and enjoyable read.
September 9, 2017
Not as good as Virtual Light. Tokyo setting yet the plot feels less like jap cyberpunk than Virtual Light. The VR content is cringe. One of the characters is some 14 year old girl who never actually does anything but ride around in taxies & chat with some harlot. The nodal stuff was obvious bullshit but at least on that front the author clearly understood that & subsequently used it merely as a device
WHICH REMINDS ME. I had planned out a review of this a couple weeks ago in a drunken stupor. So in college I kept all my receipts in a cupboard. Not because I was ever going to file them into any type of budgetting system, but because it'd be a mechanism of socialization whereby I could discuss an idea where the story is merely the metadata, the receipts, of the plot it describes. Laney essentialy reads a book like that _& gets it_
Somehow the 2nd paragraph of this review got into describing the rest of the other twin story & stuff, but I'm afraid I can't reconstruct those thoughts any longer
WHICH REMINDS ME. I had planned out a review of this a couple weeks ago in a drunken stupor. So in college I kept all my receipts in a cupboard. Not because I was ever going to file them into any type of budgetting system, but because it'd be a mechanism of socialization whereby I could discuss an idea where the story is merely the metadata, the receipts, of the plot it describes. Laney essentialy reads a book like that _& gets it_
Somehow the 2nd paragraph of this review got into describing the rest of the other twin story & stuff, but I'm afraid I can't reconstruct those thoughts any longer
April 14, 2018
2018 readthrough.
This is my favourite book. I reread it every year and this year, it remains my favourite.
I love the feel of the book. So much of it reminds me of my life growing up in the Pacific Northwest. I haven't set foot in Japan as an adult. Perhaps it's time to go to Shinjuku and look for Monkey Boxing.
This is my favourite book. I reread it every year and this year, it remains my favourite.
I love the feel of the book. So much of it reminds me of my life growing up in the Pacific Northwest. I haven't set foot in Japan as an adult. Perhaps it's time to go to Shinjuku and look for Monkey Boxing.
December 7, 2013
After a dip in quality with Virtual Light, Gibson returns to fine form in Idoru, with some of his most fully realized characters and a plot that speeds along quite nicely, although the novel still suffers from some of the quirks I've come to associate with Gibson.
December 2, 2025
Me ha decepcionado bastante, por desgracia. El libro mantiene el formato y el estilo del primero: varias historias paralelas que ocurren en la misma localización, todas en torno a una trama tecnológica y que acaban fusionándose. En este caso tenemos a varios personajes que aparecen en "Luz Virtual", uno es un especialista en análisis de datos en San Francisco al que el protagonista de la primera novela recomienda para que le contraten en Tokyo en un trabajo de investigación. Rez es un cantante famoso que se ha enamorado de una Idoru, una entidad virtual, consciente, que desea estar junto a él, y nadie entiende los motivos. Por otro lado tenemos la historia de Chia, una adolescente, fan incondicional de Rez, al que su club de fans financia un viaje a Tokyo para tratar de conocerle y ver si los cotilleos de su enlace con la Idoru son ciertos. Esta última trama lo siento pero me ha parecido muy ingenua.
Estilo habitual en Gibson: muchos fuegos artificiales, muchos conceptos tecnológicos, algo de acción aquí y allá, conspiraciones... pero me ha parecido esta vez todo bastante insustancial. A la trama normalita se une que la parte de la adolescente es muy, muy ingenua.
El tratamiento de las IA, el famoseo y demás está bien llevado, resulta interesante, como casi cualquier escenario que plantea Gibson en sus novelas. Normalmente ese contexto supera con creces el mayor o menor interés de la trama, pero en este caso esta no llega a mis mínimos.
Estilo habitual en Gibson: muchos fuegos artificiales, muchos conceptos tecnológicos, algo de acción aquí y allá, conspiraciones... pero me ha parecido esta vez todo bastante insustancial. A la trama normalita se une que la parte de la adolescente es muy, muy ingenua.
El tratamiento de las IA, el famoseo y demás está bien llevado, resulta interesante, como casi cualquier escenario que plantea Gibson en sus novelas. Normalmente ese contexto supera con creces el mayor o menor interés de la trama, pero en este caso esta no llega a mis mínimos.
October 9, 2015
One reason I regret that so much young-adult science fiction is dystopian at the moment is that it fails to adequately explore the intersections of technological advancement and pop culture. In fact, this is largely true of much science-fiction—but it’s a particularly keen absence in a subgenre wherein pop culture should be at the foreground of the protagonist’s experience. Considering that the amount of time most of us spend engaging with pop culture to one degree or another is dwarfed only by the amount of time we spend thinking about sex, food, and sleep, it’s curious that we often neglect it in favour of so-called “Bigger” Ideas.
So maybe William Gibson’s brilliance isn’t so much his seeming prescience as it is his willingness to turn the light of technological extrapolation into an introspection of our own cultural evolutions. I suspect this is why Japan figures so prominently in much of his writing: Japanese culture operates within a pressurized equilibrium between the traditional realm and the hyper-accelerated popular realm. This embodies the famous Gibsonian adage that “the future is already here—it’s just not evenly distributed”. Our techno-fetishist obsession with Japanese culture means the media tends to present it as racing ever-towards a cultural singularity in sharp contrast to the more sedate pace of Western adjustment to the proliferation of networking (or cyberspace, as Gibson called it in those days) and distributed social cognition.
Idoru exemplifies this facet of Gibson’s genius, then. As the second book in the loose Bridge trilogy, it is set in a near future in which an earthquake rocks both Japan and San Francisco, and the resulting use of nanotechnology to rebuild has altered the geography and culture of these places. The eponymous character is a semi-sentient AI construct that also happens to be a pop singer—this is Japan, after all, and her name is actually Rei Toei. She doesn’t enter into the plot for a while, however. Instead, Gibson intersperses the narratives of Colin Laney and Chia McKenzie—and the result is addictive. He splits scenes across micro-chapters in such a way as to create knife-edge tension, forcing me to read a Chia chapter so I can get back to what Colin was doing—or vice versa, for my relative fascination with the two protagonists changed multiple times as I read.
This ability to make the reader’s opinions progress and regress in dazzling, non-linear fashions is another reason I love Gibson’s writing. His plots tend to be intricate and abstract to the point of seeming like they aren’t there—and they are, but he builds them into the background of the world until they reach a point where they just appear to be setting. You really have to work to follow the bizarre chain of events that leads from beginning to end, and that doesn’t always pay off. But I’m willing to overlook this, because Gibson manages to engage that part of the brain that likes thrillers—for Idoru, like so much of his work, is undeniably a techno-thriller—without making me hate myself for reading a thriller.
He also makes it all seem so effortless, even though a moment’s consideration will reveal it obviously isn’t. Idoru has a lot of very plausible technology—Colin’s job sounds very Big Data, definitely something Hubertus Bigend would be into, and certainly well within the capabilities of the NSA, Google, or maybe Amazon—as well as some stuff that is possible but not quite there yet—Chia’s immersive computing rig is like the Oculus Rift, only actually good. Unlike some authors, however, Gibson spends almost zero time on technobabble explanations of how these things work. (Keep in mind this book was published in 1996, so the Internet and web were both a thing, but they were things very different from the Internet and web as we think of them today.) Gibson demonstrates why distinctions between so-called hard and soft science fiction are meaningless. This is hard in that it involves AIs and virtual realities and nanotechnology and soft in that it involves the cultural implications of marrying an artificial person, of identity in cyberspace, of ethics and morality in the land of Big Data.
Let’s put it this way: it says something about Gibson’s skills that Idoru is generally one of his lesser-known novels. A lesser writer who put out Idoru would be remembered for it. This book is overshadowed only because Neuromancer et al happen to be titans to this book’s giant. On its own, it can still crush the weak and puny dross of pulp science-fiction any day of the week.
No, I’m not actually going to spend that much time talking about the book, just meditate on its and Gibson’s awesomeness. This is a book for Gibson fans to enjoy; it’s a book for newcomers to read as well. You don’t need to read Virtual Light to pick up Idoru—you could read the former afterwards and not really be spoiled. All you need is a certain willingness to contemplate the various complexities of our nascent networked age and how that will influence our relationships, our identities, and of course, our organized crime.
Because if there is one constant in William Gibson’s novels, it’s that somewhere along the way, you run into a mob boss or two.
My reviews of the Bridge trilogy:
← Virtual Light | All Tomorrow’s Parties →
So maybe William Gibson’s brilliance isn’t so much his seeming prescience as it is his willingness to turn the light of technological extrapolation into an introspection of our own cultural evolutions. I suspect this is why Japan figures so prominently in much of his writing: Japanese culture operates within a pressurized equilibrium between the traditional realm and the hyper-accelerated popular realm. This embodies the famous Gibsonian adage that “the future is already here—it’s just not evenly distributed”. Our techno-fetishist obsession with Japanese culture means the media tends to present it as racing ever-towards a cultural singularity in sharp contrast to the more sedate pace of Western adjustment to the proliferation of networking (or cyberspace, as Gibson called it in those days) and distributed social cognition.
Idoru exemplifies this facet of Gibson’s genius, then. As the second book in the loose Bridge trilogy, it is set in a near future in which an earthquake rocks both Japan and San Francisco, and the resulting use of nanotechnology to rebuild has altered the geography and culture of these places. The eponymous character is a semi-sentient AI construct that also happens to be a pop singer—this is Japan, after all, and her name is actually Rei Toei. She doesn’t enter into the plot for a while, however. Instead, Gibson intersperses the narratives of Colin Laney and Chia McKenzie—and the result is addictive. He splits scenes across micro-chapters in such a way as to create knife-edge tension, forcing me to read a Chia chapter so I can get back to what Colin was doing—or vice versa, for my relative fascination with the two protagonists changed multiple times as I read.
This ability to make the reader’s opinions progress and regress in dazzling, non-linear fashions is another reason I love Gibson’s writing. His plots tend to be intricate and abstract to the point of seeming like they aren’t there—and they are, but he builds them into the background of the world until they reach a point where they just appear to be setting. You really have to work to follow the bizarre chain of events that leads from beginning to end, and that doesn’t always pay off. But I’m willing to overlook this, because Gibson manages to engage that part of the brain that likes thrillers—for Idoru, like so much of his work, is undeniably a techno-thriller—without making me hate myself for reading a thriller.
He also makes it all seem so effortless, even though a moment’s consideration will reveal it obviously isn’t. Idoru has a lot of very plausible technology—Colin’s job sounds very Big Data, definitely something Hubertus Bigend would be into, and certainly well within the capabilities of the NSA, Google, or maybe Amazon—as well as some stuff that is possible but not quite there yet—Chia’s immersive computing rig is like the Oculus Rift, only actually good. Unlike some authors, however, Gibson spends almost zero time on technobabble explanations of how these things work. (Keep in mind this book was published in 1996, so the Internet and web were both a thing, but they were things very different from the Internet and web as we think of them today.) Gibson demonstrates why distinctions between so-called hard and soft science fiction are meaningless. This is hard in that it involves AIs and virtual realities and nanotechnology and soft in that it involves the cultural implications of marrying an artificial person, of identity in cyberspace, of ethics and morality in the land of Big Data.
Let’s put it this way: it says something about Gibson’s skills that Idoru is generally one of his lesser-known novels. A lesser writer who put out Idoru would be remembered for it. This book is overshadowed only because Neuromancer et al happen to be titans to this book’s giant. On its own, it can still crush the weak and puny dross of pulp science-fiction any day of the week.
No, I’m not actually going to spend that much time talking about the book, just meditate on its and Gibson’s awesomeness. This is a book for Gibson fans to enjoy; it’s a book for newcomers to read as well. You don’t need to read Virtual Light to pick up Idoru—you could read the former afterwards and not really be spoiled. All you need is a certain willingness to contemplate the various complexities of our nascent networked age and how that will influence our relationships, our identities, and of course, our organized crime.
Because if there is one constant in William Gibson’s novels, it’s that somewhere along the way, you run into a mob boss or two.
My reviews of the Bridge trilogy:
← Virtual Light | All Tomorrow’s Parties →
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