Neuromancer Full Audiobook
Faustina Bartsch
In the midst of a bustling morning commute on the subway, I immersed myself in the futuristic world of Neuromancer audiobook by William Gibson, narrated by the talented Robertson Dean. As the train rumbled through tunnels and stations, I found myself captivated by the intricate storytelling and immersive soundscapes that transported me to a realm where virtual reality intertwines with human existence.
Neuromancer is just the beginning of an enthralling trilogy that promises more twists and turns ahead. While the story leaves room for interpretation and speculation, it also beckons readers to delve further into its sequels for a comprehensive understanding of its intricately woven narrative threads.
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Michael Kozlowski is the editor-in-chief at Good e-Reader and has written about audiobooks and e-readers for the past fifteen years. Newspapers and websites such as the CBC, CNET, Engadget, Huffington Post and the New York Times have picked up his articles. He Lives in Vancouver, British Columbia, Canada.
So opens William Gibson's debut novel, and it is to his eternal credit that weall still remember the line now, nearly forty years later. I don't usually doaudiobooks, but I made an exception for this.
Cyberspace. A consensual hallucination experienced daily by billions oflegitimate operators, in every nation. By children, being taught mathematicalconcepts. A graphic representation of data abstracted from the banks of everycomputer in the human system. Unthinkable complexity. Lines of light rangedin the nonspace of the mind, clusters and constellations of data. Like citylights, receding.
The consensual hallucination might seem prosaic now, but one has to rememberthis was written back when the internet connected less than 1,000 hosts,accessed via green screen text terminals on university campuses.
He introduced the world to cyberpunk, combining the fatalistic noire of BladeRunner with the relentless dehumanizing advances of a libertarian techdystopia, to create a startlingly original warning of our possible future thatlooks, as the decades tumble by, increasingly on-the-nose.
A year here and he still dreamed of cyberspace, hope fading nightly. All thespeed he took, all the turns he'd taken and the corners he cut in Night City,and he'd still see the matrix in his dreams, bright lattices of logicunfolding across that colourless void... The Sprawl was a long, strange wayhome now over the Pacific, and he was no console man, no cyberspace cowboy.Just another hustler, trying to make it through. But the dreams came on inthe Japanese night like livewire voodoo, and he'd cry for it, cry in hissleep, and wake alone in the dark, curled in his capsule in some coffinhotel, hands clawed into the bedslab, temper foam bunched between hisfingers, trying to reach the console that wasn't there.
There are several versions of Neuromancer as an audiobook. The slightlyabridged six-hour version available for free at the InternetArchive is notablefor two things: it is read by William Gibson himself, and it is an extremelylow quality rip from an audiocassette.
The audio quality might make anyone immediately pass this version by. It isn'tjust noisy, but features discernible wow and flutter - artifacts characteristicof the stretching or uneven speed of its original tape based media.
He closed his eyes. Found the ridged face of the power stud. And in thebloodlit dark behind his eyes, silver phosphenes boiled in from the edge ofspace, hypnagogic images jerking past like a film compiled of random frames.Symbols, figures, faces, a blurred, fragmented mandala of visual information.Please, he prayed, now- A gray disk, the color of Chiba sky. Now- Diskbeginning to rotate, faster, becoming a sphere of paler gray. Expanding- Andflowed, flowered for him, fluid neon origami trick, the unfolding ofdistanceless home, his country, transparent 3D chessboard extending toinfinity. Inner eye opening to the stepped scarlet pyramid of the EasternSeaboard Fission Authority burning beyond the green cubes of Mitsubishi Bankof America, and high and very far away he saw the spiral arms of the militarysystems, forever beyond his reach. And somewhere he was laughing, in awhite-painted loft, distant fingers caressing the deck, tears of releasestreaking his face.
But I'd urge you to stick with it. For the author's reedy, Virginia-inflectedvoice has a cadence that holds the attention. A rhythm of tone and emphasisthat, for me, works considerably better than the practiced glossiness of morerecent, more professional recordings.
It was disturbing to think of the Flatline as a construct, a hardwired ROMcassette replicating a dead man's skills, obsessions, kneejerk responses.
[...]
He slotted some ice, connected the construct, and jacked in.It was exactly the sensation of someone reading over his shoulder.He coughed.
"Dix? McCoy? That you man?' His throat was tight.
"Hey, bro," said a directionless voice.
"It's Case, man. Remember?"
"Miami, joeboy, quick study."
"What's the last thing you remember before I spoke to you, Dix?"
"Nothin'."
"Hang on." He disconnected the construct. The presence was gone. He reconnected it. "Dix? Who am I?"
"You got me hung, Jack. Who the fuck are you?"
"Remember being here, a second ago?"
"No."
"Know how a ROM personality matrix works?"
"Sure, bro, it's a firmware construct."
"So I jack it into the bank I'm using, I can give it sequential, real time memory?"
"Guess so," said the construct.
"Okay, Dix. You are a ROM construct. Got me?"
"If you say so," said the construct. "Who are you?"
"Case."
"Miami," said the voice, "joeboy, quick study."
"Right. And for starts, Dix, you and me, we're gonna sleaze over to London grid and access a little data. You game for that?"
"You gonna tell me I got a choice, boy?"
A distortion so thoroughly appropriate to the underlying materialit was as though Gibson had planned it this way all along, speaking directly tome via a weak signal, projected through time by the noisy filters of thisobsolete electro-mechanical recording mechanism. The words at once clear andirrevocably decayed, fuzzy sounding but still stark and unmistakable in theirmeaning.
"Dixie?"
"Yeah."
"You ever try to crack an AI?"
"Sure. I flatlined. First time. I was larkin', jacked up real high, out by Rio heavy commerce sector. Big biz, multinationals, Government of Brazil lit up like a Christmas tree. Just larkin' around, you know? And then I started picking up on this one cube, maybe three levels higher up. Jacked up there and made a pass."
"What did it look like, the visual?"
"White cube."
"How'd you know it was an AI?"
"How'd I know? Jesus. It was the densest ice I'd ever seen. So what else was it? The military down there don't have any thing like that. Anyway, I jacked out and told my computer to look it up."
"Yeah?"
"It was on the Turing Registry. AI. Frog company owned its Rio mainframe."
Case chewed his lower lip and gazed out across the plateaus of the Eastern Seaboard Fission Authority, into the infinite neuroelectronic void of the matrix. "Tessier-Ashpool, Dixie?"
"Tessier, yeah."
"And you went back?"
"Sure. I was crazy. Figured I'd try to cut it. Hit the first strata and that's all she wrote. My joeboy smelled the skin frying and pulled the trodes off me. Mean shit, that ice."
"And your EEG was flat."
"Well, that's the stuff of legend, ain't it?'
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Portions of it heavily inspired the Matrix trilogy (Gibson was the first to use the phrase in the cyberspace context) and some have even gone as far as to suggest that the 1984 novel inspired the Internet itself.
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