Despite the difficulty I had eliciting expansive responses from Gibson in 1993, I still recall the interview with special fondness, because the article that resulted was the first thing I wrote that did not appear in hard copy until it rolled off the presses. I was on the road, myself, when I talked to him by phone, and filed my copy by modem without ever printing it out. I had just become hip to the Internet that summer, and it seemed all too appropriate that my Q and A on Gibson would be so enmeshed in the information matrix. I even began the interview by noting to Gibson that fans of his work were sharing pirated copies of "Virtual Light" in Usenet newsgroups. How did one of the original cyberpunks feel about that? (He was only mildly interested.)

In 2001, the glamour of the Net has faded somewhat. But at the same time, technological change has raced forward so fast that the cyberpunk visions of just 10 or 15 years ago are now passé. In "No Maps" Gibson acknowledges that the pace of change -- and the fundamental absurdity of the change -- makes it increasingly challenging to do what he does, to imagine a future somehow off-kilter from the present. He recalls another writer sending him a note with the news that Michael Jackson had married Lisa-Marie Presley. "This makes your work harder," read the note.

Why would a cyberpunk science fiction writer care about who Michael Jackson has married? In 1993, oddly enough, Jackson's name never came up when talking to Gibson. But by 1996, he was already writing about virtual pop stars (in "Idoru"), and by 2001, the world Gibson envisioned in "Neuromancer" had merged seamlessly with the world of pop culture.

Gibson believes modern life is inseparable from mediated interpretations of that life. The Internet is well on its way to becoming the vehicle by which all media is distributed or at least somehow refracted. So Gibson's current preoccupation with "media" rather than cool hackers zipping through virtual realities makes perfect sense.

As Gibson notes in "No Maps," "younger readers" of his find this disappointing. They read "Neuromancer" and then they want to read "Neuromancer II." But Gibson is not the same man who wrote "Neuromancer." And he says he can't access the same wellspring that gave birth to that novel. Nor does he want to.

In "No Maps," Gibson suggests that the author who wrote "Neuromancer" was, in some very real sense, crazy. But the Gibson who toodles around town in a limousine getting filmed by Mark Neale is no longer crazy. Judging by how often he smiles, and how relaxed he appears on camera in the back of an automobile, he's a pretty well-adjusted guy.

And maybe that's the weirdest thing about "No Maps." Visually, the documentary could be considered the kind of hyper-kinetic avant-garde work one would expect from a music video director who is profiling a cyberpunk. But amidst all the motion, the constant change, the unknowability of the now, the culture of infinite mirrors, Gibson is cool and calm. Maybe the future isn't that scary, after all.

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