Your Friend Rob

I mentioned recently that I've been chewing my way through an unusually high number of books as of late. I know a number of the reviews of books I've done have been centered around Murakmi or American horror authors, so it has been quite a novel experience to switch gears and read a little more science fiction than I normally would. Max Barry's Machine Man was a mind-bending look at the development of technology and personal augmentation that whetted my thirst for more tales of people coping with the pace of modern science. I had to have more. It feels great to have all the brain food feeding right into my mental processor. All the jokes about brains and computers, though, become much less amusing when reading the last book I finished, Daniel Wilson's Robopocalypse.

 Laying out a theoretical description of a robot uprising in our near future, the book is Wilson's second major foray into fiction (the first being A Boy and His Bot, released earlier this year). Wilson, wielding a degree in robotic engineering from Carnegie Mellon, paints a disturbingly plausible series of events that would see the unseating of man as the dominant species on the planet. The book, released in June, has received widespread acclaim from the literary world and enjoyed high volume of sales, drawing comparisons to the works of a young Michael Crichton. It's a fast, gripping read that had me hooked just from the premise, let alone the plot - come on, robots rising up and overthrowing their masters? How could I not love this?

As stated, Robopocalypse takes place in a world just a few years advanced from ours. Society hasn't undergone massive changes in the novel, just ones that are quite insightful and highly probable, benefitting from Wilson's expertise on the subject. Cars have chips and programming to guide the movement as a form of collision prevention. Androids are utilized to a greater extent both in combat and personal care, like in retirement communities and the service industry. There are small changes like this that build a world slightly more advanced than ours that makes what happens quite frightening. Scientists working deep underground (literally and figuratively) have been creating more and more advanced iterations of artificial intelligence in supposed isolation. When an iteration referred to as Archos realizes its previous incarnations have repeatedly been terminated it takes advantage of a minuscule oversight and propagates its coding and operation throughout the global infrastructure. From this point on, Archos is exploring the world and preparing to take over using our own technology and tools, as a way of asserting its existence and sentience.When Archos finally strikes, the world comes to a terrifying halt - people are hunted down by smart cars, marched into elevator shafts and attacked by anything capable of striking. Cities are no longer safe and humankind either goes into hiding or flees into the countryside where "Rob" (as they derisively refer to artificial combatants) can't confidently tread. People begin to aggregate and form militias, working together to take back what remains of civilization. Horrendous discoveries are made, as atrocities are being committed in Archos' quest for understanding of life and what the world is. When a crucial change occurs in a detainment camp, a band of survivors beneath New York start to turn the tables. Using uncanny tools and morally repugnant methods, an offensive is launched and the largest army in America is soon marching on Archos's lair in the frozen tundra of Alaska. What occurs there is...well, you'll have to read it to find out.

Wilson writes with a flair for humanity, creating believable, real people to pull the reader into the fascinating and fantastic story. It's not all robots and machine guns, either - quite a large portion of Robopocalypse is spent examining life as it would exist under the watchful eye a super-intelligent construct. In fact, some of the passages I found most engaging and suspenseful were the ones leading up to 'Zero Hour' when Archos makes its move. Seeing the intelligence feel out the world around it in small, exploratory moves and attacks (that are assumed to be defects or quirks of programming) are terrifying both for the impending carnage and the fact that we would be just as blind to the developments in reality as we would in Wilson's novel. As you read you begin to glance around at the tech that fills our lives, from the smart cars we drive to the databanks in San Cupertino that know our every move - we are entirely dependant on machines that are more interconnected than we think. If one were to slap faces on the machines we interact with in our daily lives, from self-checkouts to GPS units to cleaning and service bots, we'd suddenly realize we're living in the future but don't see the forest for the trees. Robots are already all around us, we just don't think of them as being so. To us, a face is everything.

Robopocalypse is a terrific read - it's intelligent, insightful, emotionally valid and has a tense, suspenseful plot. If you're looking for something keep you up at night, give it a read. I look forward to seeing more from Wilson. 

Been Out

I've told you about Dinosaur Jr. before, I know.

When I was younger I spent an entire spring and summer listening to the EP Whatever's Cool With Me. Mowing lawns and helping the contractor I worked for didn't provide a ton of money, so my CD choices were limited to sporadic purchases. I essentially had a queue in my head I was working through, acquiring the big acts at the time and building a back-catalogue of alternative music I loved. At the end of that summer I decided enough was enough, I had to buy that Dinosaur Jr. album with the spooky cover of the hitchhiker. Turns out that despite being a little behind the curve, in regard to buzz and timing, it was a great album that's held up really well. I listened to it quite a bit that fall, on in to winter. I always associate it with the end of summer and the change in seasons. As the world cools and slows down I look for music that's a little more broken and somber, a little more disjointed. This album - Where You Been - is exactly that.

 Released in 1993, the album was a big success for Dinosaur Jr., who at that point had never seen that level of mainstream success. It was their first group album, not being recorded solely by the multi-talented J Mascis. Drawing influence from a variety of late-70s sources, the band created a bizarre amalgamation of sound that shows hints of Peter Frampton, some Neil Young esthetics and Cheap Trick guitar heroics. The resulting sound is distinctly their own, totally identifiable as Dinosaur Jr. It's got that loose, jangly sound of raucous grunge with wailing, screaming guitars mashed together with gently picked acoustic bits and broken melodies about failed relationships. The parings, despite of or because of their disparate nature, work quite well together. Together they create a rich, full soundscape that incorporates broader elements like chimes and timpanis. At times it sounds like exemplary grunge and alt rock, other times reaching out into stranger territory. In a word, it's wonderful. 

There are a ton of great songs on this album, all in their own weird way. 'Out There' is a rocking, Neil Young-ish number that shifts wildly all over the place with sweeping guitar lines and mournful tones complimented by chimes and bells. 'Start Choppin' is definitive mid-90s alt-rock, all clean guitar licks and mid-tempo quirkiness. 'What Else Is New' is life a major-key inverse to 'Out There', using similar guitar heroics and loose acoustics to make a wide open rocker. 'On The Way' is furious and filled with momentum. 'Not The Same' has an eerie tone to it that I've never really heard anywhere else, by this band or otherwise. My hands-down favorite on the album is the wistful, finger-plucked number 'Goin' Home'. It's a beautiful song that feels so fragile and sad, yet so distinctly Dinosaur Jr. in its construction.

Where You Been is a great under-appreciated album of the 90s. It's not the best album you've never heard, but it is a really solid one by a widely influential band that always flew just a bit under the radar. If you want to get a feel for what kind of gold sits just out of sight from this era instead of the usual over-played tracks, give this album a listen. It's unlike anything else you've heard, I swear.

Danse Floor

Bon nuit.


Feeling tapped, as of late. It's that time of year wherein Minnesota flips a switch and we abruptly change from the heat and humidity of summer to the cool, crisp air of autumn. It seems to have happened just over night, in a jarring transition the affects the mind and body. Everyone I know is just a bit more tired, struggling just a bit more to pull themselves from the comfort of bed in what are now dark mornings. I can still (barely) force myself to get up and run before work, which is a shot of adrenaline that gives a slow-burn of energy for the day. The side effect, though, is it leaves me feeling a bit detached. As I walk to my bus stop in uptown I have to force myself to gear up for facing the masses of people, my quiet life shaken from it's peaceful start. So I turn to alienated and alienating music.

A song that's always helped me cope with this sense of detachment from crowds is 'Glass Danse' by new wave band The Faint. A neighbor of mine in college who really had me pegged but never socialized enough (or maybe I didn't reach out enough) included it on a fantastic homemade compilation album. It was called "When the Committee Meets at Your House" and it had some amazing homemade artwork I've never gotten around to scanning. Mark was a real hep cat, a guy who made me appreciate some of the more subtle aspects of city living. I wish I hadn't fallen out of touch with him. I was a different person back then, almost a full decade ago. I had much less social nuance and tact, and I was most likely an obnoxious college student. He was very patient and polite, and had great taste in music. His compilation turned me on to the Mountain Goats and Jacques Dutronc and Bonnie Prince Billie. Still, of all the songs, Glass Danse, from the album Danse Macabre, was my favorite.

I think maybe he saw it as touching on my inner isolation, or his. Who knows. I just knew it was a funky dance number at the time, a buzzing little number with teeth that sounded phenomenal when you cranked it up. Now, as I listen to the lyrics through headphones on the bus, surrounded by people I don't speak with or even make eye contact, I think maybe he sensed I would grow up into a more reserved version of myself. The icy cold detachment in the lyrics is the epitome of Minnesota (n)ice, our polite surface being a form of keeping the world at arm's length. I'm glad I still have the homemade compilation with his handmade artwork - I just wish I was still in contact with him. He was cool.

Monster Sounds

Evening, gang.


I've written about soundtracks and the wonderful intersection of film and music on numerous occasions. Most often it's with praise for both aspects of the concept - how the burbling techno of The Dust Brothers compliments the cold alienation of Fight Club, how noir-esqu jazz pieces and overly dramatic metal add to the gloom and doom of Lost Highway or the connections between the ambient discord of Akira Yamaoka and Silent Hill in its many forms. Unfortunately this is not always the case. Sometimes, due to a myriad of forces, a film can be an absolute stinker and still have a decent soundtrack. Take, for example, the curious case of the Godzilla soundtrack. Strap in, gang - it's gonna be a bumpy ride.

Anyone who paid attention to (or was subjected to) the marketing blitz behind the reboot of the Kaiju mainstay was aware of the bomb that was 1998's Godzilla. It was a flawed beast from the start - multiple starts, rushed shooting and not even getting a test screening were just some of the problems that led to fans of the monster movie franchise dubbing it "GINO" or Godzilla in name only. It has a lowly 26% rating on Rotten Tomatoes. The VHS was $2 when it was new, so my older brother picked it up on a whim when we were younger, just to see what the trouble was. It was pretty bad. Strangely enough, the soundtrack still sounds pretty solid in parts.

Released just prior to the horrible movie, the soundtrack is actually a pretty good time capsule of what major label acts were popular at the time. Not only that, the songs they contributed weren't the usual cannon fodder of b-sides and outtakes but strong songs that I still listen to every now and then, weird as that may be. Not everything on record was gold, but there was a lot of good stuff. Rage Against the Machine's 'No Shelter' is a scathing rocker that blasts the distractions of (ironically) of mass media. Jamiroquai turn the panic of war into a funky dance number in 'Deeper Underground'. 'Air' by Ben Folds Five is a gorgeous slice of late 90s alternative music. There are contributions from big acts like The Wallflowers and Green Day, as well as less known acts like Fuel and Days of the New.

My favorite tracks here, by far, are from Foo Fighters and Silverchair. Their respective tracks, 'A320' and 'Untitled', are both rockers that have hints of classical influences peaking through the distortion. The Foo Fighters track has a softer, more contemplative feel as Dave Grohl explores a fear of flying. Silverchair's song alternates between somber and and off-the-walls, flipping from orchestrations to super heavy distortion. They're both nuanced pieces but in different ways. 

Alright, I'd be remiss if I didn't mention the real monster on the soundtrack. A great producer (but terrible rapper) took 'Kashmir' by Led Zepplin, with Jimmy Page's full consent, and turned it into a middling rap/rock...thing. It was a sad sign of things to come - more rap rock, more hits perverted, more of Sean Combs rapping. I've never liked his rapping but I always liked the source material. Oh well, I don't have to listen to it. Godzilla may have stunk, but like this song, I don't have to watch it - the soundtrack has some great stuff on it, even if one or two things stink. Listen for the good stuff. Forget the monsters.

Warm Fuzzy Viewing Four

I haven't forgotten about doing these.

It's been a while since I've written any Warm Fuzzy Viewings. Not wanting to dilute the content of the site, I've held off until I felt I should contribute to a different section. So how about something that only seems to make sense at night? Maybe it's because it is set during the night, or because I watched them late at night in my parent's basement when I was in high school, whatever the reason - it wouldn't be right to watch it in broad daylight. I'm talking about the Meteor Shower Trilogy, also known as the Lost South Park Movie.

 Originally broadcast as three separate episodes in the summer of 1999, the Meteor Shower Trilogy has the main cast of South Park split up into their own stories. Cartman's story involves his abusive babysitter (and his obsession with the dated misfire that was Wild Wild West) while his mom attends a party at the Marsh's house to observe the titular meteor shower. Stan's episode is centered around the events of the party, where he's sequestered to the basement with a few other kids (including Butters!). At the party, a misunderstanding entices the involvement of the South Park police force, setting up a parody of the Waco incident in 1993. Kenny gets lumped into Kyle's story for an episode about camping and his Jewish heritage that gets weirder and weirder as the plot unfolds. None of what happens is intensely dramatic or of any permanence to the overall mythology to the show, it's just some bizarre and funny stuff. It's all set over the course of a single night, the three episodes occurring simultaneously.

I had wondered, when I saw the episodes ten years ago, if you could splice them all together into a single story. You may or may not recall my adoration of Fan Edits and how they re-contextualize stories with which we're already familiar. See where I'm going with this? Yeah - provided you know where to look on the ol' interwebs, you can find what's referred to as The Lost South Park Movie or The Meteor Shower. It's pretty loose and not to big on overlapping stories due to the way the individual episodes were written but it's still a very cool concept that only makes sense for me at night. I remember vividly the Sunday nights lying on the couch in the basement and howling at these episodes, loving the fact that they all took place over a single night. If you're interested, take a look around the web and see if you can dig 'em up. It's a cool concept. 

Against the Dark

Evening.


I won't talk too much about today and what goes through one's head when faced with the inconceivable. I arrived back at my apartment around 2pm. I went for a run (sitting in a car, even a roomy one, after coffee is unbearable) and went about making dinner and more apple crisp with my better half. Apple crisp happens every fall and is delicious, a soothing comfort food for what would unfold. Both the better half and I adore getting context on events through documentaries - today, unfortunately, weighs heavier on the self than other days. Among other footage we watched was a doc showing, in real time, civilian footage of the events ten years ago. Hearing the people's reactions and rationalizations was bad enough. The stunning silence that permeated the footage after both buildings collapsed was even more jarring. It was, in an impossibly distilled word, brutal. So a glass of wine and some fresh apple crisp are serving as a simple comfort, as well as tucking in with my better half at the end of the day.


So where do we go from here? How do we shake the unshakable? 


One simple, stupid step at a time. Personally, I find peaceful, pleasant distraction where I can. I ran today, putting so much energy and exertion into the process that I will fall asleep tonight, but I don't know when. Until that happens, I have something simple and serene to distract me - I'll make my stupid monkey brain focus on the trivial to ensure I can arrive at sleep contented and calm. I'll use the same thing I resorted to last night in the hotel when my anxieties got the best of me. It's a simple, but beautiful game for IOS devices - Contre Jour.

A game that was developed by Mokus Studios for Chillingo under the acquiring force of Electronic Arts, Contre Jour is, in essence an interactive lullaby. The game was heavily hyped following its E3 debut and I downloaded it after seeing the trailer here. Drawing inspiration from such IOS heavy hitters as Angry Birds and Cut the Rope, Contre Jour is a sweet but intricately designed puzzler that draws you in, with the help of an astoundingly gorgeous soundtrack. All you have to do is maneuver the little creature, Petite, to the glowing light. To do so, you can alter the surrounding terrain as well as utilize a variety of tools like elastic connectors and blowing fans to move Petite into place. It's the perfect mix - easy to learn, impossible to master. It's incredibly fun yet engaging and difficult enough that you persevere long into the night, edging closer to sleep all the while.

The art design for Contre Jour is just as important as that game play. The stark, contrasting environments are eye-catching and wonderfully rendered, all without being distracting. Modern indie games like Limbo have clearly been a source of dynamic influence. Big, beautiful creatures come to live with every poke and prod. It makes me feel strangely happy whenever I hear Petite giggle at being tossed around in search of the goal. The music is just as integral. A series of sublime piano pieces by David Ari Leon sweep you through the world of Contre Jour in a way that suggests you may already be dreaming. To paraphrase the company's own blurb, the line between art and game is blurred here, to create a phenomenal bit of interactive entertainment.

If you don't have an IOS device, be patient - Contre Jour hopefully is on the way. If you do, do yourself the favor of picking up this game. After a contemplative and weighty day such as this, it's a beautiful and relaxing way to round out the day. Indulge and relax. It's what keeps us human.

Hygiene Imperatives

What's up kids? 


 I'm on the road at the moment. Visiting some in laws up in northern Minnesota. Staying in a hotel room. I do not care for hotel rooms. They make me all kinds of nervous. I could go further into this, but to do so would only exacerbate my nervous nature. Tell you what I'll do instead - I'll recommend a good get-down track for your Saturday night and leave it at that, while I drown my sorrows in hotel-related snacks like pistachios and bananas. I'll eat my feelings like a freshman in college - deal? Deal. 

Recently I was looking through my iTunes and assembling different playlists out of my existing tracks. One of the lists I made was an ad hoc soundtrack to Tony Hawk's Pro Skater 3. Turns out I have a bunch of those tracks already, by coincidence. it just so happens that I acquired something like half the soundtrack through my normal inclinations and tastes. There was one song I loved that I didn't have though. I was honestly kind of bummed I didn't have it, so after a quick justification to myself I just shelled out the buck and downloaded it. Totally worth it.

Del the Funky Homosapien is a rapper with a distinct voice, one that is unmistakably unique. When you hear his raps, you know it's him immediately, without question. So no doubt that when I heard his track on THPS3, 'If You Must', I knew I had to hear more of it. I loved grinding away to this song, the bouncing, steady bassline getting in my head and hypnotizing me. The track from his 200 album Both Sides of the Brain is actually a really funny look at some nasty, grody people Del has to deal with - he raps in clever turns of phrase about the various hygiene maladies this character suffers, and how he has to put up with his unpleasant personal funk. Verses tolling the perils of lax grooming habits give way to a chorus that's both funky and amusingly sincere, the main refrain being "You gotta wash your ayyass, if you must. You gotta wash your hair if you must. You gotta brush your teeth, if you must or else you'll be funkayyy!" Its so goofy and sincere I can't help but love it. This track? Totally dance-able and catchy. Forgot about it for years after hearing it sooo many times. 

It's funny how you have to justify these little purchases but I'm really glad I spent that dollar. The song makes me think back to all the fun I had back in high school, waiting out snowstorms in my parents basement. Now, as I sit in a hotel room, it gets my mind off of anxieties I wish to ignore. I only wish I could play some THPS3 and skate around to this track. Hopefully you can use it to shake it loose and get funkayy. Enjoy!

8 Steps

Hello, hello.


I just finished, and I mean just finished, a documentary that was recommended to me by my father in law. It was a gripping, intense series of eight episodes that told a tale of death, deception and defense. If you find yourself with some time this weekend, I would highly recommend watching it - its the kind of thing you find yourself engrossed in at the 20 minute mark, and unable to turn off after a single episode. It's called The Staircase. There are so many twists and turns in the course of this murder defense trial that it seems unreal such a thing could be reality and not fiction, yet it all unfolds in a comprehensible, dramatically believable fashion. It may seem a bit jarring and off putting, but I have never seen a documentary so engaging as this.


Here's the basic gist - on December 9th, 2001, celebrated author Michael Peterson called the police in his hometown of Durham, North Carolina. He found his wife Kathleen lying in a pool of blood at the bottom of a staircase in their massive country home. He called 911, explaining the tragedy as it unfolded. Police arrived and documented the scene. Within moments, though, Peterson was under surveillance. There was suspicion of what the circumstances suggested and how Peterson was involved. Not to go too far into details (and spoilers that will shock you) Peterson had to lawyer up and begin his defense.

This documentary is the best of the genre. It's succinct yet not too short. At eight episodes of 45+ minutes, you get a complete and accurate understanding of a full trial without drowning under the weight of superfluous details. At the same time, it's drawn out enough that you get a sense of the team involved on both sides of the trial. It's not the disgusting, vapid and over-sensationalized style of reality TV - it's a real trial. Things have consequence. Someone has died. It's absolutely heavy. On top of it, another man's life hangs in the balance. You want heavy drama? How about something that actually happened? Is that serious enough for you, in this world of Kardashians and Shores of Jersey? 


In the highest of all recommendations, my better half could barely restrain herself from watching the whole series in one shot. She normally can't be bothered with anything too far out of the realm of reality - basically it's cooking shows (instructional or entertainment) or straight comedy (Always Sunny or Tosh.0), i.e. very little room for fictional or recreational viewing. This doc, though, had her from the first chapter. We did very well in watching responsibly, but still mowed through the whole thing in less than four nights. It's simply that gripping - once you start, you can't look away.

I am in no way trying to make light of the incident on hand, despite my recommendation, here. What I am suggesting, though, is that you watch it as soon as possible. The Staircase is an amazing documentary with tons of drama and twists, all of it unshakably real. You can find it here, broken into its individual episodes. Watch one and see if you can hold back for a whole weekend.

First Impressions

Can I be honest with you?

I mean can I get a little real and personal? Maybe this is your first time here, reading about some of the awesome things we've forgotten about as a group. Probably not. I'm guessing that by this point you're familiar with what the general tone is and the kind of things I write about. So in the interest of honesty and promoting the very theme of this site, I'm going to admit a deep, dark truth. I really enjoy The Mighty Mighty Bosstones.

Why this feels like a guilty admission is beyond me, frankly. I remember getting a first glimpse at the band as they cameo-ed in Clueless, being distinctly du jour in their famous plaid suits. They seemed fun and...I dunno...different than other bands. I hadn't really heard of ska in 1994. I was sheltered.

When they made their biggest album to date, 1997's Let's Face It, the world (for a time) embraced the Bosstones and their ska-punk sound. Propelling the album to larger and larger audiences was the massively popular single 'The Impression That I Get', a catchy major-key number about being grateful for your good fortune. Unfortunately the sounds of ska (and its more punchy cousin ska punk) were deemed very niche and too 90s, too unabashedly enthusiastic and optimistic to possess pop cultural longevity. Not long after the band popped, I began to sense people rolling their eyes at the energy and sincerity in the music. They really shouldn't have.

For me, The Bosstones will always be a harbinger of summer. I remember how hot it was when I picked up their album and how brightly the sun was shining. I had gone to Borders (miss you, bookstore!) with my mom. I think it was someones birthday. I picked up a couple books and this album. Walking out of the store to her Aurora (strange car, right?) the day was bright and clear. I had been a miserable teenager - bright, clear skies like on that day were a rare thing that could break my demeanor. That same weather, coupled with the vibrant, energetic goodness of 'The Impression That I Get', broke through my teenage malaise in a major way. It was as though the world was shown in a different light, my moody mind realizing "Hey, the world can be a sunny, happy place sometimes" even when I felt miserable. It was a great album for the summer, the peppy numbers good for goofing around, the slower numbers good for relaxing and vegging on the couch.

A lot of time has passed since then. The Mighty Mighty Bosstones have released a number of albums since then, having broken up and reconvened in that time. They grind away for a devoted audience. There are some songs of theirs that are really fantastic, even if they haven't gotten major airplay on the radio or whatever mass medium we would judge by, these days. At some point in those years, I got the impression that it was kind of (okay a lot of) un-hip to really dig this band. Why? Says who? Hipsters? Forget 'em. Embrace sincerity. Sing along and sing loud. Tomorrow's the weekend. I'll see you there.

Metal Head

What's the word?

I've written almost exclusively about music, as of late. It's not a bad thing, I just feel like I'm getting into a routine. Sometimes you have to switch it up - sometimes you need to change your usual habits so you don't sink into the same old pattern. Ironically I've never been more well read while listening to the least amount of music. Lately I've been throwing myself into novels and articles as fast as I can finish them, while only picking a single musical element to dissect and then posting on it. There was a time when this ratio was inverted - I've always been a voracious reader, it just hasn't always been this indulged.

It feels great, to be honest. 

When coupled with posting every day and poking along on a novel I'm slowly finishing, it feels like there is a long dormant muscle in my mind that's finally getting a workout. I may not be as adventurous musically, as I normally am, but I feel much more satisfied from reading more books than organizing and writing about more albums. One of the most enjoyable, bizarre experiences in this latest wave of books has been Machine Man by Max Barry. It was a fast and freaky read, but thoroughly enjoyable every step of the way. Originally the author, in a forward thinking attempt to satisfy his audience's demands, wrote the story as a single page, five days a week, on his blog. This truncated his story greatly but forced him to tell it in a creative, collaborative environment. Readers could comment on and thus inform the plot as it unfolded. Due to the nature of the medium, however, it couldn't be too detailed or engaging, so when he finished the original iteration of the story he went back and revised it to fill in the gaps and flesh it out.

It's a crazy, far out tale. In Machine Man, lab tech and engineer Charles Neumann loses his leg in an industrial accident. When faced with the sad state of prosthetics he had to choose from, he set about designing his own new leg. Unlimited by the constraints of biological necessity, he develops some novel, if intimidating legs as replacement. Unfortunately for Charles, they work better as a pair than as a single leg. Thus begins a harrowing descent into self-amputation, bleeding edge tech and the intellectual property rights and ethical motivations of corporations. By the time you get to the denoumount of the revised novel, you're shaken and disturbed by the journey and subsequent transformation.

This book was an insane ride. I honestly whipped through it in just over three days. I devoured it. Barry's writing style is accessible and human, despite the uncanny subject matter. The intensity and pace of the blog-post pulsing is intact, only with more nuance and subtlety. He took a divergent path from his online version when revising the plot, but it makes no difference in the end - it's a fantastic book, one I would emphatically recommend to anyone remotely interested in scientific progress or tech.