My apologies to those who love this series. I'm sure you have valid reasons. I, on the other hand, barely managed to slog my way through the three massive tomes of the series. The final pages of this book were somewhat more interesting than the previous hundreds of pages, but I'm unsure what the point of the whole undertaking was.
If Neal Stephenson was to attend a meeting, I am certain that he would be one of those tedious speakers who would bury the listeners in fact after fact, and delay the meeting's end because he so loves the sound of his own voice. These books were like wading through molasses, slowed by interminable detail and description. His ideas, many of which were intriguing, were smothered under the weight of verbiage.
Far too much Daniel Waterhouse and far too little Eliza. Somewhat mitigated by the chapters featuring Jack Shaftoe. If not for my reading project, I certainly wouldn't have persevered with these volumes, but I have tried to read all the books on my list unless they downright offend me (or when confronted with one, I am so depressed that I consider giving up reading as an activity).
So, Hallelujah! I am finished and I have scratched the last Stephenson title from my list. He and I are not compatible. It's not you, Neal, it's me.
Book 481 of my Science Fiction and Fantasy Reading Project
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