My copy of this finally arrived on Wednesday (shortly after copies hit Pitcairn’s Island)–and despite poker night followed by an hour of Australia work email very late at night, I still started into it. Thursday morning was… um… not ideal.
The book though, is great. I only got through around a hundred pages that night before I had to give in to sleep, but it was more than enough to know the book would be everything I hoped it would, and that it would more than live up to the hype.
Falling into the book was like putting on a perfectly tailored suit, made from the finest materials: Williams’ craft is so impressive as to verge on the awesome, drawing you into the story like slipping into something perfectly tailored, and then he starts hitting you with the ideas. Damn.
You know how the best live shows are the ones where a really, really competent band is obviously having so much fun playing? Same thing with books.
I may write more about it later, and about my long standing thesis that today’s authors owe a significant debt to Williams that deserves rather a lot more acknowledgement.
