Rereading Gibson

      It's my third reading of William Gibson's The Peripheral.  I'd read it not long after it was first published and again after reading Agency, when that book was released.  When I saw Amazon had produced a TV series version, I figured I would be reading it again, unless the television version was awful.  And maybe even then.

      It isn't awful, and I am reading the book.  It holds up, for all both of his invented worlds are pretty awful, place I wouldn't care to visit but may be hurtling towards, more or less.

      The story's been rearranged and so far tightened up for TV.  They haven't lost the flavor.  Though the show's version of future London isn't quite what my mind's eye saw of Gibson's, if feels similar; and if a certain Airstream is missing an outer covering of spray-on insulating foam (really don't do this, friends: it's messy and destructive, expensive even on Amazon's budget) and a bit thin on polymer inside, it is nevertheless the right thing, in the right place, near the right house.  And with the right people moving around it, which is the important part. And, of course, thylacines.

      Will Amazon keep on getting it right?  I don't know.  Reportedly, William Gibson doesn't know.  But so far, so good, and at least they're helping to keep one of my favorite writers in coffee and cakes.  The book and its sequel are entertaining reading.