The cyberpunk subgenre of science fiction was rooted in the work of New Wave SF authors such as Philip K Dick, Roger Zelazny and JG Ballard. Its themes began to emerge in the late 1970s in SF comics such as Judge Dredd, and crystallized around the 1982 Riddley Scott movie Blade Runner, the Japanese manga series Akira, and, in particular, William Gibson’s novel Neuromancer (1984).
Gibson consolidated four elements that came to define the subgenre: technology (especially the internet, cybernetics and artificial intelligence), society (a dystopic near-future extension of neo-liberalism), an unending desolate urban landscape, and a hard-bitten noir style, building on authors such as Raymond Chandler and William Burroughs and the gonzo journalism of Hunter S Thompson.
The most striking aspect of Neuromancer was its prediction of the internet, which didn’t exist when the novel was published. Gibson, who knew very little about computers, called it cyberspace. Placed in the novel’s dystopic social and urban milieu and described in Gibson’s attenuated language, the invention provides a disturbing and powerful fictional presence.
Neuromancer wasn’t the first novel, though, to predict the internet. Versions were also described in The Shockwave Rider by John Brunner (1975), and in Vernon Vinge’s 1982 novella True Names.
Despite its billing, though, True Names isn’t genuinely a work of cyberpunk. Only one of the four core themes is addressed in detail: Vinge’s cyberspace, known as The Other Plane, is reached through EEG readings and a little bit of transcendental meditation. Full of magical tropes (castles, dungeons, warlocks and spells), its atmosphere is evoked in a detailed and reasonably convincing manner.
Vinge touches on two more of cyberpunk’s core themes. State security is pitted against subversive hackers, who, in a clever extension of the use of magical tropes, must keep their True Names secret for fear of being identified and penalised in the real world. The natty teenage security agents who appear late in the book, slightly reminiscent of the John Travolta character in Pulp Fiction, are also a nice touch. There’s little, though, to transmit the feeling of menace that comes across in Neuromancer and, indeed, in earlier works such as Philip K Dick’s Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep? (the inspiration for Blade Runner).
In addition, a short descriptive passage about the urban landscape in Providence is slightly suggestive of scenes in Blade Runner. It’s said that Vinge was unable to sit through the movie because it reminded him so clearly of the landscape he had been attempting to realise in the novella. If so, it’s a pity that he didn’t make more effort to bring it to life.
The element that is completely lacking, however, is style. In Neuromancer, Gibson captures the reader immediately with an iconic first sentence:
"The sky above the port was the color of television, tuned to a dead channel."
(It’s ironic that the image he intended to convey, the black-and-white static of an untuned cathode ray tube, would not have existed in the post-modern world intended to evoke, but the power of the language is still undeniable).
Gibson then continues in a noir style with short sentences that disdain nouns and even pronouns as subjects. The effect, if this was a first person narrative, would be something like a hastily scribbled diary; but, in the context of a third person account, the attenuated writing works to draw the reader into the perceptual framework of the protagonist, Case, so as to appreciate his experiences as if they were first hand.
(In some of Gibson’s later work – such as The Peripheral, published in 2014 - the technique becomes so attenuated as to become little more than an irritating and confusing mannerism).
In True Names, Vinge achieves nothing like this. The narrative style, detached third person, is flat. The tricks considered an essential part of modern creative fiction are largely absent; the narrative point of view sometimes wanders from the protagonist, Mr Slippery, to other characters (in particular, Erythrina), and there are large blocks of expostulatory dialogue unbroken by stage direction, so the reader finds it difficult to picture the speaker during these bouts of mansplaining. The objective, authorial account of Mr Slippery’s experiences is a hindrance to empathy. His motivations and responses lack complexity, and we never really get to know him as an individual person.
The same goes for the other characters: despite their obvious physical differences, whether they’re human or mechanical or, on The Other Plane, representations of people, robots, or fax machines, they’re all pretty much indistinguishable. The individual described in the most detail, Erythrina, lacks depth; the revelation of the contrast between her virtual and real physical habitus seems banal rather than shocking, and the associated explanation for her brief uncharacteristic hiatus during an action scene, apparently a key moment in the plot, turns out to be an anticlimax. The only character who strikes the reader as interesting is the tough-tender cop Virginia. A few nice touches hint at more depth to her character that we would like to hear more about, but, frustratingly, this isn’t explored.
True Names certainly deserves credit as a predictor of the internet. It isn’t, however, either a fully rounded work of fiction or a genuine example of the cyberpunk subgenre.