Paperback | July 10, 2000

byWilliam Gibson

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Neuromancer is the multiple award-winning novel that launched the astonishing career of William Gibson. The first fully-realized glimpse of humankind's digital future, it is a shocking vision that has challenged our assumptions about our technology and ourselves, reinvented the way we speak and think, and forever altered the landscape of our imaginations.

Now, for the first time, Ace Books is proud to present this groundbreaking literary achievement in a trade paperback edition.


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Neuromancer is the multiple award-winning novel that launched the astonishing career of William Gibson. The first fully-realized glimpse of humankind's digital future, it is a shocking vision that has challenged our assumptions about our technology and ourselves, reinvented the way we speak and think, and forever altered the landscape ...

William Gibson's first novel Neuromancer sold more than six million copies worldwide. Count Zero and Mona Lisa Overdrive completed his first trilogy. He has since written six further novels, moving gradually away from science fiction and futuristic work, instead writing about the strange contemporary world we inhabit. His most recent n...

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Format:PaperbackDimensions:288 pages, 8.2 × 5.2 × 0.7 inPublished:July 10, 2000Publisher:Penguin Publishing GroupLanguage:English

The following ISBNs are associated with this title:

ISBN - 10:0441007465

ISBN - 13:9780441007462

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Rated 4 out of 5 by from very interesting (but sometimes confusing) read I won't lie, after reading each chapter, I went online and read a summary of that chapter just to make sure I understood what happened. This book is an interesting read but it can get very confusing at times which all the tech jargon and the various interlinked plot elements and locations. If you can deal with focusing a bit more to absorb everything (as opposed to a relaxing causal read) this is a very interesting story. As a bonus there are things in modern sci-fi/cyberpunk that use references from this book since it appears to be very influential. One example is the cyberpunk card game "Android Netrunner". After reading Neuromancer I picked up on a few references here and there placed in the game from the book and that was very satisfying. I'm sure there are many other better examples but this is just one I encountered.
Date published: 2015-07-14
Rated 5 out of 5 by from A pageturner I've always heard about William Gibson and his Neuromancer. About how it coined new terms, new fashion and, more important, a hole new way of seeing the future. A future impossible to distinguish from the information technology evolution. Well, I finally have found time and opportunity to read the book. It was surprising to discover they were not exaggerating! :-)
Date published: 2015-02-05
Rated 5 out of 5 by from Second time as good as the frist I truly love this book if you have not read please do you wont be sorry you will be sad it took so long to do it.
Date published: 2014-08-23
Rated 5 out of 5 by from Great book Just want to get this off my kobo rec list
Date published: 2013-10-31
Rated 5 out of 5 by from A gateway novel This has to be my fifth time reading this and each time feels like the first time. This was also my gateway from fantasy to sf.
Date published: 2013-08-17
Rated 5 out of 5 by from Neuromancer Wow, wish I have read this in university, to envision the intersection of medical, social media and technological advances in 1983 is prophetic and truly cross disciplinarian.
Date published: 2013-02-12
Rated 4 out of 5 by from An iconic book This is what a good book is, but it is not a book taken lightly. This book will confuse, and it may be hard to get to the end, but it is worth it. Anyone who likes science fiction should read this because Gibson knew what the world would be with the internet and everything that ccomes with it. I re-read this a while back and saw that what is sci-fi today really could be real tomorrow.
Date published: 2010-03-05
Rated 5 out of 5 by from Genre Defining Gibson's master piece, Neuromancer, effectively created the Cyberpunk genre. Terms such as 'The Matrix', and Cyberspace originated here. It is also one of the most decorated books in all SciFi. A must read for anyone interested in technology, hacking or just an amazingly prescient view of the future.
Date published: 2007-09-18
Rated 4 out of 5 by from Cyberpunk begins William Gibson may disagree, but Neuromancer is the alpha work in the cyberpunk genre. Without this, there would have been no Matrix, Wired Magazine or even the term "cyberspace." What's most remarkable about the book is that Gibson was prescient not just about technology but about the culture that has built up around it. (As well, where the technology hasn't caught up to Gibson's predictions, there's a sense of disappointment on the part of reality; the body modifications are to this novel as jetpacks were to Buck Rogers).
Date published: 2007-06-02
Rated 1 out of 5 by from So confusing... I was really eager to get my hands on this novel. Winner of the triple crown (Hugo, Nebula, and Campbell award; only 1 of 4 novels to do so to date) and suggested to be the origins for the concept of "The Matrix", I expected a strong work of fiction. To my dismay, the comparisons with "The Matrix" are weak at best. The storyline is very confusing. I had a vague concept of what was going on, but had difficulty understanding the motives behind the decisions of certain characters and discerning reality from abstract settings. I wanted to put the novel down numerous times, but only forced myself through it because it was a gift.
Date published: 2007-02-06
Rated 5 out of 5 by from Gripping Gibson is in a class all of his own. Innovative and witty. People who think the Matrix was revolutionary need to read this book and realize where it all came from. In this case the book is definitly a better read then the loosely based movie.
Date published: 2006-07-19
Rated 5 out of 5 by from Groovy Baby!! Simply put, this book catapulted me into a distant state of mind. When I found out that the author had writen the novel on a typewriter long befor the home computer was a household necessity I read faster and harder than ever befor. I carried my passion for the novel idea's into every project in high school. Today I float and surf the net like a fish in the ocean. So long and thangs for treating the eggplant with the respect it deserves. ViniV out. Cheers!!
Date published: 2003-07-12
Rated 5 out of 5 by from WHACKED OUT!! This was one of the craziest books I've read in a while. It's all kind of confusing, with all this stuff about like flipping in and out of some kind of computer world. But it's really cool still. It's about this guy Case who is just like Neo from the matrix, and he's a computer person... and he has all these crazy missions... it's fun. I read it in my first year university course at u waterloo... I give it a two thumbs up, whacked review!
Date published: 2002-03-20
Rated 4 out of 5 by from This IS Cyberpunk Remember the Matrix? Remember how it presented a view of the world that nobody had seen before. Now find out who invented it. Neuromancer invented a genre, and we are only realizing now how ahead of his time Gibson was. A great story in a fantastic world that will leave you wanting more.
Date published: 2000-06-19
Rated 5 out of 5 by from Gibson's best work... If you are new to Gibson, start here! Pure art from cover to cover. A defining bible of the information age.
Date published: 2000-04-13
Rated 5 out of 5 by from The book that changed it all... This was the book that changed SF forever and forced it to evolve into a legitimate artform. Bound to change the way you look at technology, culture, and life, in some way or another. You'll wonder how Gibson saw ahead so early. This is the book professors use with students to teach the perfect blending of emotion, imagination, and literary perfection.
Date published: 1999-05-31

Extra Content

Read from the Book

Chapter 1 The sky above the port was the color of television, tuned to a dead channel.            “It’s not like I’m using,” Case heard someone say, as he shouldered his way through the crowd around the door of the Chat. “It’s like my body’s developed this massive drug deficiency.” It was a Sprawl voice and a Sprawl joke. The Chatsubo was a bar for professional expatriates; you could drink there for a week and never hear two words in Japanese.            Ratz was tending bar, h is prosthetic arm jerking monotonously as he filled a tray of glasses with draft Kirin. He saw Case and smiled, his teeth a webwork of East European steel and brown decay. Case found a place at the bar, between the unlikely tan on one of Lonny Zone’s whores and the crisp naval uniform of a tall African whose cheekbones were ridged with precise rows of tribal scars. “Wage was in her early, with two joeboys,” Ratz said, shoving a draft across the bar with his good hand. “Maybe some business with you, Case?”            Case shrugged. The girl to his right giggled and nudged him.            The bartender’s smile widened. His ugliness was the stuff of legend. In an age of affordable beauty, there was something heraldic about his lack of it. The antique arm whined as he reached for another mug. It was a Russian military prosthesis, a seven-function force-feedback manipulator, cased in grubby pink plastic. “You are too much the artiste, Herr Case.” Ratz grunted; the sound served him as laughter. He scratched his overhang of white-shirted belly with the pink claw. “You are the artiste of the slightly funny deal.”            “Sure,” Case said, and sipped his beer. “Somebody’s gotta be funny around here. Sure the fuck isn’t you.”            The whore’s giggle went up an octave.            “Isn’t you either, sister. So you vanish, okay? Zone, he’s a close personal friend of mine.”            She looked Case in the eye and made the softest possible spitting sound, her lips barely moving. But she left.            “Jesus,” Case said, “what kinda creepjoint you running here? Man can’t have a drink?”            “Ha,” Ratz said, swabbing the scarred wood with a rag, “Zone shows a percentage. You I let work here for entertainment value.”            As Case was picking up his beer, one of those strange instants of silence descended, as though a hundred unrelated conversations had simultaneously arrived at the same pause. Then the whore’s giggle rang out, tinged with certain hysteria.            Ratz grunted. “An angel has passed.”            “The Chinese,” bellowed a drunken Australian, “Chinese bloody invented nerve-splicing. Give me the mainland for a nerve job any day. Fix you right, mate…;”            “Now that,” Case said to his glass, all his bitterness suddenly rising in him like bile, “that is so much bullshit.”             The Japanese had already forgotten more neurosurgery than the Chinese had ever known. The black clinics of Chiba were the cutting edge, whole bodies of technique supplanted monthly, and still they couldn’t repair the damage he’d suffered in that Memphis hotel.            A year here and he still dreamed of cyberspace, hope fading nightly. All the speed he took, all the turns he’d taken and the corners he’d cut in Night City, and still he’d see the matrix in his sleep, bright lattices of logic unfolding across that colorless void…;The Sprawl was a long strange way home over the Pacific now, and he was no console man, no cyberspace cowboy. Just another hustler, trying to make it through. But the dreams came on in the Japanese night like livewire voodoo, and he’d cry for it, cry in his sleep, and wake alone in the dark, curled in his capsule in some coffin hotel, his hands clawed into the bedslab, temperfoam bunched between his fingers, trying to reach the console that wasn’t there.             “I saw your girl last night,” Ratz said, passing Case his second Kirin.            “I don’t have one,” he said, and drank.            “Miss Linda Lee.”            Case shook his head.            “No girl? Nothing? Only biz, friend artiste? Dedication to commerce?” The bartender’s small brown eyes were nested deep in wrinkled flesh. “I think I liked you better, with her. You laughed more. Now, some night, you get maybe too artistic; you wind up in the clinic tanks, spare parts.”            “You’re breaking my heart, Ratz.” He finished his beer, paid and left, high narrow shoulders hunched beneath the rainstained khaki nylon of his windbreaker. Threading his way through the Ninsei crowds, he could smell his own stale sweat.             Case was twenty-four. At twenty-two, he’d been a cowboy, a rustler, one of the best in the Sprawl. He’d been trained by the best, by McCoy Pauley and Bobby Quine, legends in the biz. He’d operated on an almost permanent adrenaline high, a byproduct of youth and proficiency, jacked into a custom cyberspace deck hat projected his disembodied consciousness into the consensual hallucination that was the matrix. A their, he’d worked for other, wealthier thieves, employers who provided the exotic software required to penetrate the bright walls of corporate systems, opening windows into rich fields of data.            He’s made the classic mistake, the one he’s sworn he’d never make. He stole from his employers. He kept something for himself and tried to move it through a fence in Amsterdam. He still wasn’t sure how he’d been discovered, not that it mattered now. He’d expected to die, then but they only smiled. Of course he was welcome, they told him, welcome to the money. And he was going to need it. Because––still smiling––they were going to make sure he never worked again.            They damaged his nervous system with a wartime Russian mycotoxin.            Strapped to a bed in a Memphis hotel, his talent burning out micron by micron, he hallucinated for thirty hours.            The damage was minute, subtle, and utterly effective.            For Case, who’d lived for the bodiless exultation of cyberspace, it was the Fall. In the bars he’d frequented as a cowboy hotshot, the elite stance involved a certain relaxed contempt for the flesh. The body was meat. Case fell into the prison of his own flesh.             His total assets were quickly converted to New Yen, a fat sheaf of the old paper currency that circulated endlessly through the closed circuit of the world’s black markets like the seashells of the Trobriand islanders. It was difficult to transact legitimate business with cash in the Sprawl; in Japan, it was already illegal.            In Japan, he’d known with a clenched and absolute certainty, he’d find his cure. In Chiba. Either in a registered clinic or in the shadowland of black medicine. Synonymous with implants, nerve-splicing, and microbionics, Chiba was a magnet for the Sprawl’s techno-criminal subcultures.            In Chiba, he’d watched his New Yen vanish in a two-month round of examinations and consultations. The men in the black clinics, his last hope, had admired the expertise with which he’d been maimed, and then slowly shaken their heads.            Now he slept in the cheapest coffins, the ones nearest the port, beneath the quartz-halogen floods that lit the docks all night like vast stages; where you couldn’t see the lights of Tokyo for the glare of the television sky, not even the towering hologram logo of the Fuji Electric Company, and the Tokyo Bay was a black expanse where gulls wheeled above drifting shoals of white styrofoam. Behind the port lay the city, factory domes dominated by the vast cubes of corporate arcologies. Port and city were divided by a narrow borderland of older streets, an area with no official name. Night City, with Ninsei its heart. By day, the bars down Ninsei were shuttered and featureless, the neon dead, the holograms inert, waiting, under the poisoned silver sky. --Reprinted from Neuromancer by William Gibson by permission of Berkley, a member of Penguin Putnam Inc. Copyright © 1984, William Gibson. All rights reserved. This excerpt, or any parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission. 

Editorial Reviews

"A mind-bender of a read." —The Village Voice

"Freshly imagined, compellingly detailed, and chilling in its implications." —New York Times

"Kaleidoscopic, picaresque, flashy and amazing virtuoso performance." —Washington Post