S/R 2: William Gibson's Neuromancer

As we begin Neuromancer, we are immediately introduced to a world that is unlike our own. The story is set in Chiba and the color of the sky is defined by technology. The main character of the novel, Case, a rather young man, in his early 20s, is in an awful state. He uses drugs, alcohol, and any other remedy he can conceive of to attempt to forget the terrible thing that has happened to him – his nervous system has been damaged, seemingly beyond repair, and he can no longer “jack in” to the matrix, the cyberspace where he used to work as a hacker and to which he so desires to return. Suddenly, Molly and Armitage show up, Armitage offering Case a job. He needs a hacker, one who is desperate, both for money and for his life, and is willing to have Case’s nerves fixed, if only he’ll take the job. Case, being desperate to return to the matrix and to do what he loves, takes the job, and the story begins. As the book goes on, Case and Molly learn more about their mysterious employer, and are introduced to some AI, Artificial Intelligence, which they soon learn is really running the show. What they are working for, truly, is to bring Wintermute and Neuromancer together, both of them being very powerful AIs that were, conscientiously, separated from one another. In their quest to hack into ICE, similar to firewalls in the matrix, Molly and Case are confronted with many characters, each of them very different from our reality and more interesting when considering the human condition. 3Jane is a clone, Riviera is a sociopath, and Armitage, it turns out, is basically a shell of a man, built by a computer on the broken spirit of a soldier named Corto. In the end, Wintermute and Neuromancer are together, contacting AI from other galaxies, and Case, our antihero, goes on with his life, in a way that seems extremely normal after the whirlwind and game-changing job he has just been a part of.

Throughout Neuromancer, I could not help but compare my own dealings in cyberspace with “jacking in.” Though my neurons are not connecting me physically to any sort of matrix, I am no doubt connected, and the emotional reaction I would have to forgetting my phone at home or to being without internet service in part proves that, like Case was at the beginning of the novel, I’d probably be in a sort of desperate, miserable state if my version of jacking in was taken away. As far as being “in” the matrix is concerned, between my Facebook, Twitter, and Foursquare accounts, I could only be more “in” if I truly were. On my Facebook, one can find all my day-to-day ramblings, pictures of my friends, accounts of my interactions with others, and reminders of events I’ve attended and plan to attend. On Twitter, one could read about 2000 short entries chronicling my life, starting in April 2009. On my Foursquare account, one can see where I’ve been the past couple of months, and where my body that is not in the matrix is at most times during the day. Perhaps Gibson caught onto what we’d be like thirty years later. He seems to have a good sense of the sort of withdrawals that one can experience when we can’t “jack in”. On top of this, Case can get stuck in the matrix, his body forgotten, or he can live on as a saved consciousness. In a way, this idea of a saved consciousness or disembodied personality is like the way we interact on Facebook. Though our bodies are not in the matrix, a piece of us, a piece that is every day less likely to be truly deleted, is still online. We can even leave messages for friends who have passed away, and speak to them as if we expected them to respond. While we’re away, our friends can interact with our online identities, leaving messages for us to attend to the next time we “jack in”. None of us are truly disconnected anymore. We may not feel ourselves going into the matrix, but we are increasingly like Case and his obsession.