I didn't actually finish this book. I read most of it, and it was OK, and I had about 50 pages to go. I wasn't inspired by it, so I figured I'd knock those off that evening and start something else. Sadly, at the end of a long train journey that evening, the 13th September 2009, I set it down on the concrete outside Andover train station and must have forgotten to pick it up when my lift arrived.
That was a little disappointing, but not very, which is really as good a verdict on the book as I can give. It didn't impress me but it was just fine. Thomson is a decent writer and his style fits nicely into the late 90s. Soft is hugely anachronistic, in fact, but not in a good way. Its big premise, that a group of people could be subconsciously programmed to become living adverts for a new soft drink product, has basically no shock value whatsoever ten years later. We're au fait with the notion of subliminal messages. Many of us realise advertising is increasingly using psychological theory. Soft shows a little foresight, predating viral marketing, but it's not surprising stuff.
I like Thomson's feel for London, for the grotty towns of the south, the everyday Britain he presents, and I think he was wise to delay playing his cards out - the book only contains one Big Idea, really. It's decently written, the characters are fine, but I just never saw why I should care.
There were a few tangential things Thomson made a big deal of that didn't really seem important. Maybe they became so, although I can't see why. I don't know why the girl had to have a bizarre relationship with an uber-rich american, or why her father was in a caravan in the grim north. I don't know what all the crime-in-St-Louis was about. I don't know why Barker's love interests matter. The problem is that Thomson's characters are fairly 3-dimensional, they do many things, but he placed them in such a constricted 2-d world, where these things seem meaningless, almost esoteric.
In short, if someone reads this and tells me that the last 50 pages of Soft are an unequivocal work of genius, I'll track down another copy. But I think I have to take it as a failure if I can read more than 200 pages of a story and not care too much what happens in the last 50.
And if by chance you found my copy, that's cool. It has a nice cover. I got it in a second-hand bookshop in Penzance, I think, and someone had written inside the front cover, in pencil.