One last post from Gibson at the end of his book tour in Dublin, pondering hyper-branding, the oddity of soba noodles near the Liffey, and…
… winding up where I always eventually do if I’m jetlagged in Dublin: peering throughy the fence at the tiny, deeply strange Huguenot Cemetary on Merrion Row, c. 1693. Grave-markers like Shaker tables carved from stone. Bluebells growing up through boxwood. Litter-spillage from the Merrion Row bus-stop: tall tinnies of Guiness and Linden Village Strong Cider. Deja-vu of soul-delay.
Man, I’m going to miss hearing new words from that voice every day. But the next novel will be worth it.