Posthuman Blues

Today I bought "Neverwhere" by Neil Gaiman in mass-market paperback. Why? Because I see his blurbs for other authors everywhere. From China Mieville's "Perdido Street Station" to William Gibson's "Pattern Recognition," Gaiman has the genre covered. And from the various blurbs I've read about Gaiman's own work, I'm convinced he must be good. I remember someone (probably in a coffeeshop) telling me how good "American Gods" was; if "Neverwhere" lives up to its reviews, I'll eventually have to read that, too.

You know the old "Twilight Zone" (or was it "The Outer Limits"?) where the guy seals himself in a bomb-proof safe and weathers a nuclear holocaust so he can spend the rest of his days reading . . . and then breaks his glasses? I feel for that guy. I relate.

That's why I have shatterproof lenses.