William Gibson’s done it again.   If you’ve read the previous two books in this series, then this book is an automatic read.   If you’ve not yet begun the trilogy, All Tomorrow’s Parties and Idoru should provide enough incentive to start reading.
 
Virtual Light, the first novel in the series took place almost entirely within San Francisco.   Idoru took place almost entirely in Japan.   It should therefore come as no surprise to readers that this third book explores the way in which these locales and characters are related.   ATP does take place simultaneously in both locations simultaneously with selected characters from both of the previous works.
 
The thrust of the storyline is this: Laney, a character gifted with insight into the future (he does not ‘know’ the future, for it is unknowable… rather, he senses it in vague terms), returns sensing a massive change is about to take place.   He does not know what that change is, but he is able to resolve that it will take place in San Francisco.   He now operates out of a cardboard box in a Japanese subway because he has finally fallen victim to the “stalker syndrome” observed in other volunteers who took the drug which gave him his insight.   He is visited by social-historian Yamazaki, who was concerned for his health.   Laney, through Yamazaki, employs the cop-wannabe Rydell to be his “man on the scene” in San Francisco.   From there a storyline emerges which involves the former messenger biker Chevette, the Idoru, a convenience store, a street kid with little to say, an antiques dealer, the Walled City, a country singer, a man who makes his living by not existing, and a man who is able to sustain fame for an impossibly long period of time.
 
Gibson’s style hasn’t changed a bit, and the phrase that comes to mind is “if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.”   What you may anticipate from this novel, then, is great writing, his trademarked “crammed prose,” and characters with a wealth of motivations, circumstances, and outlooks on the world converging on a central point during the climax or creating the climax through their actions.   And there’s nothing wrong with any of that.   His “crammed prose” technique is often more natural than proper sentence structure; avoiding the more simple sentence structures by clipping obvious subjects and/or verbs provides a more concise and equally clear view of what’s happening.   It’s more akin to a real train of thought than proper sentence structure as well, so little or no time is needed to familiarize yourself with the style.   Simply reading the text is enough to understand it.
 
Characterization within this novel is more than sufficient, providing entirely reasonable motivations for all the characters included.   Gibson also provides solid explanations of what happened to the recurring characters after the events of the previous novels.   Everyone’s story is told, and all make good sense… a definite plus.
 
Gibson’s vision of the future present in the previous two novels remains intact with a few enhancements.   The Idoru, Rei Toei, returns from the second novel as the Japanese pop singer who never quite existed.   Nanotechnology, which encompasses all uses of microscopic robots and manufacturing processes, is still an infant and emerging technology in this book.   Gibson’s social observations continue in the cardboard city, as they started in post-quake San Francisco and continued in Japan.   A few fresh ideas crop up as well; one is the existence of disposable cellular phones, which I see as the logical convergence of cheap circuitry and calling cards.
 
This novel is a Gibson to its core, which is one of the highest complements I can think of.   Well written and well constructed, it brings the trilogy to a fulfilling close.   All Tomorrow’s Parties is an outstanding read, especially for Gibson’s fans and those who’ve read the previous books in the series.