Like the thread title says, here be spoilers, so I’m not going to fool around with tags.
For a few of years now people have been telling me how I need to read Neal Stephenson. He’s brilliant, he knows his technical details, he writes intricate plots, et cetera. Finally, one day while I was in a used bookstore that is no longer open (like every other used book store I’ve ever patronized) I pick up a copy of Cryptonomicon, and it has lain in my “to read” pile for about a year or so. (There’s an enormous backlog, and despite the number of books I chew through in a month, I’ve just never gotten to it until now.)
So, I started reading it, oh, maybe two months ago. I normally read about four or five books concurrently–just whatever piques my fancy at the moment–but to take two months to get through a book is unusual. Heck, I even made it through Atlas Shrugged in three weeks (although it was the only book I was reading at that time), but for some reason I struggled to get into, stay into, and finish Cryptonomicon.
And now, I kind of regret that perseverance. I kept with it doggedly, through all that nonesense about Bobby Shaftoe, and some kind of not really explained underground with Enoch Root, and so forth. I liked the descriptions of WWII cryptology and the adventures of Goto Dengo. The modern day thread was mostly interesting, too, especially the plans for the Crypt. But, at least for me, the whole thing didn’t mesh together well. The various threads seem to be written in very different styles–part Vonnegut, part Heller, part Clancy–and the transitions between them were jarring. Much of the book seemed to be quite pointless, really. But, I was all for giving it the benefit of the doubt; that, in the end, it would come around to a justifiable conclusion. After all, everybody has been telling me what a great writer Stephenson is.
Bolsh and bullshit. Either I missed some major details in preceeding 900 pages, or the ending made essentiall no sense whatsoever. It’s as if the editor was on the phone, demanding that Stephenson finish of the script where it stood or he’d send out a team of ripsaw-armed turbo-ninjas to evicerate the author and publish the results of his entrails instead. The book bears all the hallmarks of months of careful research, painstaking plotting, detailed fact-checking, and circuitious editing, only to be finished off by fifteen pages of nonsensical crap that the author must have come up with on the way to the post-box.
And I’m told there’s supposed to be a sequel on the way. Never mind “how?” I just want to know “why?”
So, am I as wet as a duck in a thunderstorm here, did I miss some kind of major points that would make sense of the whole resolution, or did Stephenson just give up in fear of being crushed by the increasingly large galleys and just publish the thing before he was found one day trapped in his office under a mountain of editing revisions?
I’m very frustrated with this. Should I even consider reading any of his other books? Good Org, this was almost as painful an experience as reading Ayn Rand.
Stranger