It's been a few years now, perhaps as many as five, and what I mainly remember is that I read it as a favour to my dad because I have a tendency to mock him rather mercilessly for liking William Gibson so much; an author towards whom I harbour great prejudice for reasons both unjust and true.

And I remember not feeling very strongly about it, which was disappointing since I could neither argue with him into the wee hours over it nor finally tell him he was right and I was wrong and it really is just the most wonderful book. I just was finished with it and that was fine (not a good sign - books I really love leave me mourning the characters when it's time to part).

I don't remember feeling a lot of empathy with the protagonist, which I find to be a big deal. But it's been, as I said, ages and I don't remember what prevented that or even if that was the problem.

So I am no use basically!