Gibson's parties
Just finished William Gibson's All Tomorrow's Parties, which I read at Borders, between coffee and conversation.
Must say that, after reading the last chapters I was swept into an alternate reality: Things stopped making sense, and for a while I was expecting somehow to transport myself to that interstitial space being documented by Tessa, not wanting to identify people and friends - just lost in the space provided by the story.
No I was not expecting the bridge nor the characters. Just that everyday reality seemed to acquire a different hue after the intensity of purpose of the characters, the single point of their existence being that particular instant.
Afterwards, everthing unravels, melts, and the story vanishes in the air. Superb.