I was blown away, not just by the intricacy and texture of Gibson's universe, but the scarily prescient observations. This was written in 1983, for heaven's sake! We didn't have an Internet or cyberspace or hackers or viruses back then. What were you going to hack- a Commodore 64? The Matrix franchise obviously owes a huge debt to this novel. There's a film version in the works, and I hope they get a team together who know what they're doing. (I saw a few minutes of Dick's Paycheck on TV this afternoon and wept to see what they did to such a beautiful piece of science fiction.) I read through several reviews on this book and was shocked at how many people gave it one star. One star? Is it really that hard to follow? Gibson has a style that reminds me, humorously enough, of Dashiell Hammett. I finished The Thin Man a few weeks ago, and there's a similarity in noirish characters, sexual tension, chemical dependency. I can understand if a person finds a story off putting, and thus rates it lower, but to give it one star is to say it is entirely devoid of literary merit. This book may be difficult for unimaginitive, impatient, concrete sequentialist readers, but is certainly not lacking in literary merit. It is completely unique, and was copied by countless other writers and artists of various genres. Would you really rate the tired and formulaic genre fiction higher than something this daring? Is a book just this pre-packaged entertainment device designed to take you to your own presupposed destinations? Shame on this author for upsetting those expectations!