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It's the eve of the 22nd century and the beginning of the end.
Humanity splinters into strange new forms with every heartbeat: hive-minds coalesce, rapture-stricken, speaking in tongues; soldiers forgo consciousness for combat efficiency; a nightmare human subspecies has been genetically resurrected; half the population has retreated into the ersatz security of a virtual environment called Heaven.
And it's all under surveillance by an alien presence that refuses to reveal itself.
Daniel Bruks has turned his back on it all, taking refuge in the Oregon desert. As an unaugmented, baseline human he's an irrelevance, a living fossil for whom extinction beckons. But he's about to find himself an unwilling pilgrim on a voyage to the heart of the solar system that will bring the fractured remnants of mankind to the biggest evolutionary breakpoint since the origin of thought.
'If you only read one science fiction novel this year, make it this one!... it puts the whole of the rest of the genre in the shade... It deserves to walk away with the Clarke, the Hugo, the Nebula, the BSFA, and pretty much any other genre award for which it's eligible. It's off the scale... F**king awesome!' Richard Morgan.
'State-of-the-art science fiction: smart, dark and it grabs you by the throat from page one' Neal Asher.
384 pages, Kindle Edition
First published August 26, 2014
“Life was a struggle to exist at the expense of other life.”A few weeks ago I read Blindsight and emerged from that reading session breathtakingly (even if slightly confusingly) fascinated and dazzled by the far-reaching hard SF and existential questions. (I also mostly managed to filter out the vampire character from my clearly suboptimal consciousness). And I felt strangely disturbing empathy for Siri Keeton- a weird and supposedly unlikable enhanced-human protagonist whose struggles hit a strange chord with me.
As Watts himself states in the “Notes” section at the end of the book - the part that I actually liked:————
“[…] the neurological condition of echopraxia is to autonomy as blindsight is to consciousness.”
“Truth had never been a priority. If believing a lie kept the genes proliferating, the system would believe that lie with all its heart.”
“What—what is this mission, exactly?” Brüks asked softly.
“Mmmm.” Sengupta rocked gently back and forth. “They know God exists already that’s old. I think now they’re trying to figure what to do with It.”
“What to do with God.”
“Maybe worship. Maybe disinfect.”
The word hung there, reeking of blasphemy.
“How do you disinfect God?” Brüks said after a very long time.”
“Dan, you gotta let go of this whole self thing. Identity changes by the second, you turn into someone else every time a new thought rewires your brain.”
“A fifth of the world’s energy supply, in the hands of an intelligent slime mold from outer space.”
“It actually did remind him of a spider, in fact. One particular genus that had become legendary among invertebrate zoologists and computational physicists alike: a problem-solver that improvised and drew up plans far beyond anything that should have been able to fit into such a pinheaded pair of ganglia. Portia. The eight-legged cat, some had called it. The spider that thought like a mammal.”But while Rorschach in the previous book was endlessly fascinating to me, the quiet menace of Portia - even after that ending - was just underwhelming enough to continue persistent confused monotony.
