Posthuman Blues

Sometimes I wax nostalgic for really good books. I recall bits of character and setting and they ramble about in my head like thought-viruses. Lately I've been thinking about China Mieville's "Perdido Street Station." Neil Gaiman's "Neverwhere" -- which I'm about to finish -- strikes me as a distant cousin to Mieville's novel; both share some of the same dingy "steampunk" trappings and fascination with ruinous architecture.

John Brunner's "Quicksand" is another I can't shake. It's a little-remarked book about a psychiatrist who falls in love with a mysterious patient . . . intensely interesting and utterly haunting. As actual storytelling, it's probably better than his breakthrough novels ("The Shockwave Rider," "Stand on Zanzibar," "The Sheep Look Up").

I make a point never to reread books. But if I did, I have a half-realized list of titles I'd revisit: William Gibson's "Neuromancer," Jack Womack's "Elvissey" and a few others. Possibly "The Difference Engine," which I read in high-school and would probably appreciate a lot more now having immersed myself in cyberpunk. And Kim Stanley Robinson's "Red Mars" -- if for no other reason than I could move on to the sequel, "Green Mars," without feeling quite so amnesiac.