As I’ve mentioned elsewhere today, I still don’t know why the world of Snow Crash hadn’t been taken over by people with locally-sustainable military technology and a taste for conquest. It’s still a great book, though – and subversive in a way that’s different from the usual, trite shibboleths. (The sort-of sequel The Diamond Age is even more so.) Neal Stephenson’s a great writer.
Why Snow Crash? Because…
Until a man is twenty-five, he still thinks, every so often, that under the right circumstances he could be the baddest motherfucker in the world. If I moved to a martial-arts monastery in China and studied real hard for ten years. If my family was wiped out by Colombian drug dealers and I swore myself to revenge. If I got a fatal disease, had one year to live, devoted it to wiping out street crime. If I dropped out and devoted my life to being bad.
When I write something that’s that good, believe me: I’ll let you know.
And so, adieu to Ringworld
Neal Stephenson, Snow Crash:
Until a man is twenty-five, he still thinks, every so often, that under the right circumstances he could be the baddest motherfucker in the world. If I moved to a martial-arts monastery in China and studied real hard for ten years. If my family was wiped out by Colombian drug dealers and I swore myself to revenge. If I got a fatal disease, had one year to live, and devoted it to wiping out street crime. If I just dropped out and devoted my life to being bad.
Hiro used to feel this way, too, but then he ran into Raven. In a way, this was liberating. He no longer has to worry about being the baddest motherfucker in the world. The position is taken.
And then there’s Roger Craig.
The position is taken.
Via Win!
And I don’t mean ‘gamer’ in this modern, I-have-my-own-Mt-Dew-flavor sense:
…and out of curiosity? Is the intent here really to suggest that the average World of Warcraft
No, I mean real gamers. Ones with multiple types of dice and more pencils than erasers. Well, here it is:
I own Champions
Moe Lane
PS:
You walk a mystical path, and are a creature of the spiritual and the supernatural. You are introspective and self-reliant, but nobody will ever question your bravery or commitment to justice.
Until a man is twenty-five, he still thinks, every so often, that under the right circumstances he could be the baddest motherfucker in the world. If I moved to a martial-arts monastery in China and studied real hard for ten years. If my family was wiped out by Colombian drug dealers and I swore myself to revenge. If I got a fatal disease, had one year to live, devoted it to wiping out street crime. If I dropped out and devoted my life to being bad.
From Neal Stephenson
Anyway. Universal truth, there – at least, it’s resonated with every guy I’ve ever shown it to – but there’s not really much you can do with the information, is there? Except wait for individual males to get past being 25, I suppose.
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