Another Neal Stephenson novel! I might say I'm becoming a fan, though that would imply an admiration of his work. It's not an endorsement I'll freely dispense, though this book ultimately helped: Reamde. That's right, you're not dyslexic - Reamde.You'll notice two things from this title right away. The first is the not-so-subliminal messaging: read me, a compelling title for any book, really, and it's a wonder in this golden age of marketing that every book isn't named similarly. I can see it now on the shelves in glossy hardcover - Pagenurter by Dean Koontz. Mamnaker by Tom Clancy. Roktscar Histper by David Sedaris.
The second thing you'll notice is Stephenson taking on a digital-era meme (I still shudder to use that word) by A). naming his book after the ubiquitous file included with most pieces of software and B). scrambling it to simulate the offhandedly poor English of online Babblespeak. He may as well have called this book Teh L33t H4x0rs and been done with it. But he's not done with it, with proving himself as the most geek-savvy writer of popular fiction in the early 21st century. So now I have to read another thousand-page epic.
The subject topically being global online videogaming (also recently naively attempted by Ernest Cline in his novel Ready Player One). Fortunately, Stephenson sidesteps overt exploration of the human psyche through tired allegory and instead makes the game a fun vehicle with which to examine cultural trends in the modern era. I like this game; it's a medieval World-of-Warcraft-alike with a focus on geology and converting in-game virtual currency to real-life currency (this spontaneous economic model is dubbed 'gold farming'; read the wikipedia entry). Stephenson has honed in on some of the more interesting developments in Massively Multiplayer Online Games or Gaming (MMOGs) and dreamed up a game that supports and encourages them. Anybody who has played one of these games would love to spend time in this world, and I have at times found myself wishing it did exist so I could get a taste of it. This is the end-goal of any author of a fictional universe - to make a place in which the reader desires to spend more time - and to set this universe within the context of a real-world modern fiction is clever. Touché, Neal. You are very clever.
So there's this videogame world known as T'Rain which is the brainchild of an entrepreneur of questionable but mostly harmless character known as Richard Forthrast. He belongs to a large Iowan extended family, which gives Stephenson room to explore two of his apparent fetishes: gun culture and the Midwest. He even slips in a mention of Libertarian survivalism, though it's a passing nod. It's like Stephenson is flirting with an approach to the Great American Novel without yet committing himself.
Through a series of fantastical events, Richard's adoptive niece is kidnapped by Russian mobsters and taken to China, tasked with tracking down the writer of a computer virus targeted at T'Rain players, but instead she instigates a quarrel with a cell of Islamic fundamentalist terrorists and ends up kidnapped by them as they mount a bombing operation back in North America. It's a long story - 981 pages, to be exact. Reamde has more plot twists than a yearly subscription to The National Enquirer. Stephenson is determined to bring people from all walks of life together, and his cast of characters looks like a Peace Corps pamphlet: an Eritrean adopted in Iowa; a black-skinned, dreadlocked Islamic terrorist from Wales; an Anglo-Chinese MI6 operative stationed in Vancouver.
The result is a global thrill-ride that vacillates wildly between fascinating and ridiculous. In Reamde, Stephenson has eschewed ambition at plot-outset for ambition in plot-execution. He's bitten off less to chew, for this is no Diamond Age or Cryptonomicon, but boy does he chew on it. He has focused on writing an absolutely ripping yarn, and I applaud the decision. He is relaxing into a style that suits him, one of unique characterization and breathless storytelling. He delights in creating characters with vastly different backgrounds and motives and then cramming them into stressful situations, like going through your yard and putting every bug you find in a big jar and then shaking it vigorously.
Unfortunately, this novel comes perilously close to being shaken to death on a number of occasions. Stephenson is over-indulgent as ever, prone to concept-dropping for the google-happy reader and going into quasi-masturbatory detail about guns, guns and more guns. I never want to read another word about high-velocity rounds and their behaviors. And had I drunk a shot of something stiff every time I read the word 'caromed' in this novel, I may have enjoyed some of its wordier passages more.
If you know Neal Stephenson's work, this novel will fit very easily into your world view. If you don't, know that it will be a lengthy undertaking, immensely enjoyable but of questionable worth in retrospect. I heartily enjoyed this book, and I'm glad it's bloody well over now.
