Not even two weeks ago I wrote about Einstein, or about Brian Greene, to be exact. Since then I did finish William Gibson’s “The Peripheral“. The reviewers of that book must have been better, faster readers than me to call this a brilliant book. Don’t get me wrong: it’s a dazzling book. It challenges your brain to see the world painted just by words – Gibson certainly has a vivid imagination.
But I will have to read it again to get a better grasp on what the story really is about. It’s not an whodunnit, that’s for sure. And it’s not your classic scifi either. It sets your brain to work, just like Greene’s. Isn’t that what books are supposed to do?