What are you reading in 2026?

Apropos of nothing, it would be very easy to make Neuromancer cosmic horror, if one were so inclined. As Ashpool tells Molly in part 4:

“For thirty years. You weren’t born, when last I lay me down to sleep. They told us we wouldn’t dream, in that cold. They told us we’d never feel cold, either. Madness, Molly. Lies. Of course I dreamed. The cold let the outside in, that was it. The outside. All the night I built this to hide us from. Just a drop, at first, one grain of night seeping in, drawn by the cold. . . . Others following it, filling my head the way rain fills an empty pool.”
 

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Apropos of nothing, it would be very easy to make Neuromancer cosmic horror, if one were so inclined. As Ashpool tells Molly in part 4:

“For thirty years. You weren’t born, when last I lay me down to sleep. They told us we wouldn’t dream, in that cold. They told us we’d never feel cold, either. Madness, Molly. Lies. Of course I dreamed. The cold let the outside in, that was it. The outside. All the night I built this to hide us from. Just a drop, at first, one grain of night seeping in, drawn by the cold. . . . Others following it, filling my head the way rain fills an empty pool.”
There's a lot of alien, existential dread in Gibson's writings. Whether it's the Tessier-Ashpools, Josef Virek, Wintermute, or the Loa, his worlds are filled with inhuman beings, some of which once were human, some not.

His short story Hinterlands is another example.
 


I just finished This Inevitable Ruin, the seventh book of Matt Dinniman's Dungeon Crawler Carl saga, and wow was that a lot!

To be clear, when I say that this book was "a lot," that's mostly complimentary. Mostly. Dinniman seems to be leaning into the aspects of the last book which I praised, in that there's even less environmental hijinks going on here than in the last book (though there are still some) and much more in terms of plot development. I'd normally say "plot and character development," but I'm not sure that's the best word for describing the characters. More than a half-dozen books in, they're already developed; to the extent that they grow and change, it's mostly in reaction to what's happening around them, and even then it's more about trying not to let themselves be ground down by it. I suppose that "fighting to stay who you are" is a form of development, but somehow that term doesn't seem quite right.

That said, the dial has been cranked firmly to eleven in this book, with monkey wrenches thrown out of left field (to mix metaphors) in seemingly every single chapter. The vast majority of these are for plot threads that have long since been laid down, but while the happenstances themselves are telegraphed in advance, the timing (and, quite often, the manner) in which they're made manifest repeatedly caught me off-guard. We knew that most of these things would happen, but not when or how, and that's where the impact comes from.

Of course, a few of these are genuine surprises, though that's usually more with regards to the details than to something being completely unexpected. That's largely because the manner in which the dungeon (and the entity running it) operates is so vast and massive that there's always going to be things of which we weren't aware. Insofar as the actual "rules" of the dungeon go, it's like a cross between Champions, Rifts, and AD&D 1E all at once (with every single splatbook) all being run by a GM who's firmly in favor of "rule of cool" while simultaneously having a psychotic break. And, of course, the players can't leave. So yeah, chaos abounds here; the fun is seeing how the protagonists, who by now are very used to this, figure out how to not only manage it but turn things to their advantage.

The thing is, this is not only the book's greatest strength, but also its greatest weakness. Reading this was like watching an action movie whose director doesn't understand the concept of "downtime," with the entire thing being explosions, gunshots, and stabbings. Like a John Wick film made by someone who thinks the existing movies moved at too slow a pace. While we do get moments of introspection, it's like being thrown over the side of a ship during a typhoon; you'll occasionally manage to get your head above water long enough to take a breath, but for the most part you're going to be pulled underwater.

The result is that the book can not only feel exhausting sometimes, but almost leave you slightly numbed. The sheer pace at which things happen seems to almost encourage you keep reading to see what happens next, even as that same breakneck intensity makes you want to step back and catch your breath. I'm honestly not sure if that's a good thing or not; it left me wanting more, but not sure if I was able to handle it without stopping for a short time to try and digest what had happened.

Of course, now that it's over I'm going to get a break whether I like it or not, since this is currently the last of the Dungeon Crawler Carl books. The next one, A Parade of Horribles, won't be out for another three months.

The caveat, there, is that this gives me time to check out the next few copies of the printed versions of the books from my local library. I'm making sure to do that, because based on what I've read so far, the "Backstage at the Pineapple Cabaret" novella that's exclusive to the hard copies of the story are now starting to become relevant to the mainline narrative. There were only two instances of that in this book, and one of those seemed like a cameo more than anything else, but the second one seemed more important than just being an easter egg.

That said, given how long it takes my local library to get those in (since there's always a queue), I'll be looking for something else to read in the meantime now that I've finally caught up to where Dungeon Crawler Carl is at.
 
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