I’m reading Neal Stephenson’s latest tome, Reamde, and although I am enjoying each individual page, I am tortured by the certainty that it’s not going to come together. I simply have no trust in him as an author. Thus, there often seems to be no point in turning the pages. Each one will be very similar to the last: it’ll be sharp, witty, and (to a certain extent) well-observed. I say “to a certain extent” because Neal Stephenson has, like all authors, a number of tics and quirks that obscure the clarity of his vision. For instance, I find his strange marijuana smuggler / video game designer protagonist to be a little overbearing. Not because of anything he does, but simply because it feels like the book contorts itself to accommodate him and his worldview.
Anyway, not being too clear. It is very late at night. Hopefully I will someday finish this book.