I have a horrible confession to make. The last time I read a book, a piece of
fiction, for pure self-gratifying entertainment, was a very long time ago.
That’s not to say I don’t read, I get my daily dose of words through magazine
articles, newspapers (when I feel like being misinformed) and the plethora of
news websites I read through every evening.

Even then, I’m probably over-exaggerating, I do get some reading time in now
and then, but it’s generally “serious” playtime… unless I’m reading a
Shakespearian tradgedy I don’t consider very many things worth my valuable
time. (Im kindof a nut about my time… I’m always absorbing, 100% of the
time, and it bothers me to look back and wonder if I’ve wasted it.)

All of that’s changing this evening, I’ve been sucked, brain first, into
another book by Neal Stephenson. Diamond Age recounts the story of Nell, who
is in the posession of a very wonderful book, which radically transforms her
life.

Turns out that Neal has done his homework, and the more I read the more I
want to chase down his derisive allusions to societal reform, educational
systems, xenophobia… The most ironic thing, in my opinion, is that his ink-
on-paper book in my hands is easily more engaging than the “ractive” one Nell
has… this is the third night in a row that I’m going to bed late with the
book laying open beside my pillow.