Um. With a little help from my ol’ pal sleep deprivation, I was able to stretch out what little free time I often find myself with enough to not only finish Neil Gaiman’s Neverwhere, but also begin William Gibson’s latest, Pattern Recognition.
Gaiman’s Neverwhere was a gift from my intelligent and lovely significant other and, much like American Gods, turned out to be an imaginative and well-crafted tale.
Gibson’s latest has induced within me a feeling akin to sheer euphoria, one of sheer wonder and amazement. My mind boggles at how a person can say much by saying so little. Granted I am only forty lone pages into the text, but I’m utterly engrossed in the tale that is being spelled out before me.