All Tomorrow's Parties

Front Cover
Penguin Adult, Oct 5, 2000 - Fiction - 288 pages
8 Reviews
Rydell is on his way back to near-future San Francisco. A stint as a security man in an all-night Los Angeles convenience store has convinced him his career is going nowhere, but his friend Laney, phoning from Tokyo, says there's more interesting work for him in Northern California. And there is, although it will eventually involve his former girlfriend, a Taoist assassin, the secrets Laney has been hacking out of the depths of DatAmerica, the CEO of the PR firm that secretly runs the world and the apocalyptic technological transformation of, well, everything. William Gibson's new novel, set in the soon-to-be-fact world of VIRTUAL LIGHT and IDORU, completes a stunning, brilliantly imagined trilogy about the post-Net world.

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LibraryThing Review

User Review  - Eyejaybee - LibraryThing

I think that William Gibson is a marvellous writer, and one who has never really received the mainstream credit that his books deserve. This concluding volume of his "Bridge" trilogy may just fall ... Read full review

LibraryThing Review

User Review  - DRFP - LibraryThing

Standard sort of Gibson fare - multiple storylines converging, future predictions, and obscure outcomes. The start of the novel is a bit slow and rather little seems to be at stake, but eventually it ... Read full review

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About the author (2000)

'Since 1948'

Gene Wolfe once said that being an only child whose parents are dead is like being the sole survivor of drowned Atlantis. There was a whole civilization there, an entire continent, but it's gone. And you alone remember. That's my story too, my father having died when I was six, my mother when I was eighteen. Brian Aldiss believes that if you look at the life of any novelist, you'll find an early traumatic break, and mine seems no exception.

I was born on the coast of South Carolina, where my parents liked to vacation when there was almost nothing there at all. My father was in some sort of middle management position in a large and growing construction company. They'd built some of the Oak Ridge atomic facilities, and paranoiac legends of 'security' at Oak Ridge were part of our family culture. There was a cigar-box full of strange-looking ID badges he'd worn there. But he'd done well at Oak Ridge, evidently, and so had the company he worked for, and in the postwar South they were busy building entire red brick Levittown-style suburbs. We moved a lot, following these projects, and he was frequently away, scouting for new ones.

It was a world of early television, a new Oldsmobile with crazy rocket-ship styling, toys with science fiction themes. Then my father went off on one more business trip. He never came back. He choked on something in a rest

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