This was a surprise. I really really loved this novel. A fascinating snapshot of the 1990's tech industry from the POV of an early Gen X software tester and programmer. Doesn't sound like it would be entertaining? It blew me away, it was so fun and hilarious, from the pseudo-deification of Bill Gates (referred to only as "Bill"---said with the gravity of saying "God"), to the Lego decorated office, to the pet hamsters named "Look" and "Feel," to the typical 90's Gen-X conversations--philosophizing over pop culture (cereals, 70's TV shows, childhood toys, etc).

There were more serious themes too, such as finding love, how older generations are lost on the new tides of the technology boom, finding purpose and meaning in life after the success-driven 1980's. So, even though it was a fun book, it wasn't shallow.

A snapshot of a time not so long ago, these people are familiar, even if I was never one of them. They are filled, despite their constant craving for some "life" they insist they do not have, with optimism and joy. I don't think I view the modern tech world with that kind of hope and so the whole story reads like one of a bunch of rosy faced kids who have the luxury of not knowing about the current hell world the Internet is today. Oh, for that dream of the nineties!

See, so, at one point, Daniel (the narrator) explains another character's obsession over this device called an "answering machine." He is always anxious to see if he has messages, so he checks it with a zealous frequency. Meditating on this habit, Daniel envisions a world where we are all connected all the time, with no need to check messages or remember things because it will be all available to us automatically. He imagines this to be a key toward ultimate common understanding and peace.

He's just so adorable, I want to squish his naive little cheeks!

Anyway, I enjoyed this little piece of diary work probably more than I should have because it allowed me to live vicariously in this era that I let pass me by while I, I don't know, watched cartoons and read terrible fantasy novels. Also, as I've mentioned before, I'm a sucker for ensembles. At the beginning, Daniel gives us the run down on his housemates and I worried that that would be the end of each of these characters' development as I struggled to remember all of their names, but by the end of the first part, they are all distinct and memorable people.

And then it had a sobby ending which came out of that ol' left field. It's not a sad ending, so don't worry about that. I just didn't expect this book about wo/man-children to be capable of eliciting anything other than a knowing arch of the eyebrow. So, good job, Douglas! Maybe there was a reason I read your Eleanor Rigby, twice, in a row, after all.

Douglas Coupland’s Microserfs reads like a time capsule crossed with a nerds-only Breakfast Club. Focused on the California geek population who powered the late eighties/early nineties technology boom, the novel focuses so much on time and place that it could arguably be classified as historical. The CD-ROM and early internet references seem, like an AOL disc or heavy monitor, both quaint and annoying. Coupland transcends the period piece nature of Microserfs about 60% of the time, especially when he focuses less on era-only details and more on the way people interact with technology in concert with the way they interact with other human beings.

Dan, the narrator, works at Microsoft with a stock ragtag set of programmers that, if the book were filmed, would consist of actors you had seen before but you weren’t sure where. When the smartest of the group hits on the idea of creating a CD-ROM with on-screen Lego-like capabilities the group collectively leave the womb of Gates’ company and leap into the venture capital funded 1.0 world of internet, um, I’m sorry, CD-ROM start-ups. Coupland’s staccato delivery, propelled by short, blogesque paragraphs, works well within the frenetic nature and outsider quality Dan and his colleagues embody. The characters are significantly meta; they know they’re geeks, they’re unsure of what they want, and they talk a lot about the pros and cons of nerd-dom. They bond over Star Trek references and analyze the fact they all buy their clothes at The Gap. The creative and financial risks and rewards of the classic “one big idea that could make us all rich” leads the friends, especially Dan to address their strengths, shortcomings, and whatever it was that carried them, for better or for worse, to programming.

Coupland has mined this territory before. He’s comfortable (as in The Gum Thief) framing anonymous corporate settings as canvases that, in their bland structure, both impede identity development and provide the opportunity for one to step back and respond to the lack of stimuli. Dan’s hobbledehoy disposition is laced with strength and insecurity. He stitches his love of computers with the acquisition of his first real girlfriend and come to terms with the childhood death of an older brother. Does that make for an exciting book? No. But Microserfs contains some compassionate passages, especially when the nerds speak honestly, Breakfast Club style, both through email (which was probably still novel then) and face to face, or when Dan’s mother uses technology (don’t want to spoil it) to communicate from a far away place.

I don’t love Coupland but I count on him for breezy, thoughtful novels when I’m in the mood for something between light and heavy. Microserfs lives up to that expectation but doesn’t attempt to rise beyond the characters’ pursuit of quiet self-acceptance in the anonymous Silicon Valley. As I was reading I thought of getting lost, near Seattle, in what seemed like an endless landscape of strip malls and Olive Gardens. The sterile, clinical environment does not preclude a desire for identity. Dan and his colleagues would understand that desire as they ventured from their innominate apartments into the suburban night, probably stopping at a 7-11, grabbing something to eat, and talking about where to go next.

Uggh! As I type this review from my HP laptop on a hazy Sunday afternoon in Campbell, CA, I am reminded of 80s comedian Dennis Miller. You remember SNL cast member Dennis Miller? He's the snarky, pop-culture referencing smart ass that is funny in small doses, but grows tiresome quickly. With a pompous, look-at-all-the-esoteric-details-I-can-spew-out-in-rapid-fire-bursts pseudo-hip/intellectual flair, Miller consumes all the oxygen in a room and returns minutia and a few chuckles.

Coupland's band of geeks in "Microserf" are riding the first wave of the Internet boom circa 1993. They leave the safety of their Microsoft gigs and head south for the challenge of launching a Silicon Valley multimedia game startup. The migration is mostly a plot device from which Coupland can deliver a contrast between the Microsoft and Silicon Valley cultures. The sentimental story, and way overly sentimental story at that, is a loose fabric from which Coupland can tell a few nerd jokes and conduct an anthropological study of geek cultures in the two epicenters. Coupland fills the pages with inconsequential locale and technology references in order to time-stamp his findings. More than 25 years later, this time-capsule is opened and the items founds are painstakingly cataloged and documented. The time-capsule finder is bored with the 1993 references, whether to music, programming language, Silicon Valley restaurants and programming languages. So much of the content is inconsequential and uninteresting.

The book is told from the 1st person point-of-view of one of the geek programmers. It is in journal format. His entries are filled with dialog of conversations that are not credible, pranks that aren't funny, geek culture that isn't interesting, and technology references that aren't necessary. "As I Powerbook this entry..." is a favorite starting point for a journal entry. It's hard to tell if Coupland is mocking the geek narrator, truly thinks that is natural geek-language or simply wants to keep track of the technology being used at the particular time-period. In any event, the references get in the way of any natural rhythm and makes for cringy, annoying scenes.

The characters are ridiculous caricatures. The band of nerds encompasses a half-dozen or so geek archetypes from which Coupland can catalog and classify. Insert laugh-track here as he describes the Spock-like mating rituals of the "Michael" character. Relationships are one-dimensional and romanticized. The scenes are either banal or ridiculous.

I moved to Sunnyvale in 1993. Many of the stores, restaurants and technology references are accurate. That being said, all the local references and technology mentions does not produce excitement and nostalgia. Instead, Coupland's needless mentions prove extraneous and pedantic all these years later. There are some laughs and even prescient predictions of technology and business trends. Wrapped in this delivery package of unrealistic sentimentality and nerd-culture riffing, the effort falls short. It is more annoying than enlightening. Coupland is not a dumb guy, nor for that matter is Miller. They are quite talented in their own way. The trouble is that they try too hard to showcase their knowledge and wit. We feel trapped in an unprompted, one-sided dialog onslaught and pray for a pause in the inane chatter so we can escape to safer and more consequential grounds.

Those are my thoughts as I finalize this review on my HP Windows 10 laptop from my preferred Google Chrome browser on this Amazon-owned Goodreads review site, which I will now post with a click of my wireless, optical Logitech mouse on this 26th day of the year 2020.

Perhaps impossible to reconcile this book with its spiritual sequel, J-Pod, and Coupland’s increasingly stylish, bite-sized essaying and storytelling later in his career. This is vastly superior in nearly every way (excepting a single notable transphobic remark).

I've never been part of a social group like the one described in this book--a bunch of geeks who work together doing similar work and also live together dealing with each other's quirks. But I do have a lot of tech geek friends who probably know what it's like to work at a place like this, and I thought it was entertaining. There were a LOT of characters and they were hard to keep track of at first, but I appreciated that the author did not just assign a specific characteristic to each and then stereotype them by it. Sure by the end you're thinking okay Todd's a musclehead and Michael's autistic and Bug is the gay one, but they have all had other dimensions all along. I must say also that as a woman with a lot of stereotypically masculine interests, I appreciated that the women characters weren't treated disrespectfully by the narrative. I was honestly shocked that the bullet-point lists of character traits generally did not include physical description for the men OR the women. (And it was kinda cool that by the end a few of the female characters had banded together to make a women-in-coding organization and the protagonist didn't have to respond to it by getting offended, mocking it, or applying a bunch of stereotypes to it.)

I think the only thing I didn't like much was that a straight male character fell in love with someone whose gender, sexuality, and age were unknown due to him interacting with them only over the Internet, and he asked the protagonist to go visit this person and offer them a job, admitting that he was in love with them no matter who they were. The person of course turned out to be not only a woman, but a single woman in his age range who was also interested in HIM romantically. It would have been more interesting to me if Michael had to deal with having fallen in love with the soul of a person whose physical shell did not match his preferences.

I liked how it gave such an authentic picture of these characters' workplace. It felt very real and I could imagine how it looked and how the characters interacted. I liked their camaraderie and the way they all learned to know each other so well.

I wrote down some quotes and examples of stuff I liked from the book. I'll just share those here for the rest of my review.

Of course I like that they came up with the idea to slide flat food under the door for Michael.

I laughed at them referring to helping old ladies with their Christmas list on Works.

Rolling their chairs over bubble wrap is described as a stress reliever.

There was a really interesting anecdote about energy going into choosing the right car and how no one at Microsoft has bumper stickers.

The question is raised whether a vegetarian who dreams of burgers is a cryptocarnivore.

The group of geeks migrating to their new home honked when they passed roadkill but got tired of it.

I really liked that the protagonist's girlfriend Karla was mad that he casually called her stupid for burying the music they had planned to enjoy on the ride, and then we find out why--that her parents treated her like she was dumb and elevated her brother Karl to a status of more respect than her even though he wasn't as intelligent and didn't apply himself. Gross that she's named the femme version of her brother.

It was really striking that Karla didn't think she'd get to be interactive, and her family taught her that she should just do women's things, and she starved herself.

I LOVED the reference to banana stickers on computers.

I laughed really hard when they said they named the gerbils Look and Feel. They also named all their computers and servers.

There were a lot of funny lists and comparison charts. On a Microsoft vs. Apple comparison chart. Microsoft has better cafeterias; Apple has better nerd toys. Both have wacky titles on business cards.

The term [deletia] is introduced. It stands for everything that's been deleted in an e-mail, but feels more poignant when described as everything that was lost.

In discussing massage, the narration says everyone has a special place they store their tension, the same way everyone misspells the same words over and over.

In an e-mail conversation with Abe: "I think our e-mail correspondence has given us an intimacy that face-to-face contact never would have. Irony!"

It entertained me a lot that they referred to someone who had pinecones on the table "like an adult."

There was a list of cereals and reasons why they're decadent.

There was this surprisingly emotional description of a character whose key card didn't work and he felt like he stopped existing.

There's a reference to diseases that get transmitted to impatient type A's through the door-close elevator button.

One psycho for every nine stable people in the company is said to be a good ratio.

I liked a reference to the cartoon holes that people jump into. Does anyone ever wonder where they go? The narration said they come out here, this is the other side.

"[T]his feeling passed through me--this feeling of what a gift it is that people are able to speak to each other while they're alive. [...] It was strange to realize that, in one sense, all we are is our voice."

I was left with the feeling that nothing actually happened until the last ten pages of this book, and I never connected with any of these characters.

I read several books in a row that made me cry, and this was one of them.

God knows why - it's not like Coupland is attempting to write a great tragedy. I think I just really liked the characters, liked the way they interacted and how much they cared about each other. The book does a great job capturing the Silicon Valley nerd culture in the 90s, how it seemed to exist suspended in its own bubble world. It's science fictional without being science fiction - showing the way lives can come to be mediated by technology, the way it changes (for worse and for better) the way people find connections with one another. It can be hysterical at one moment and very sad the next.

I like the way Coupland writes.

Addendum: I was going to leave it at that, after trying and failing to describe exactly the effect the book had on me, then I went and read some other reviews of it, and David's hit it right on for me: "I think Coupland's work... recognizes a landscape dominated by disposable culture, and neither revels in it or reviles it, but instead takes a straight Buddhist approach, accepting it as spiritual matter because it is there, the way the mountains or rivers are there; Coupland is on the spearhead of writers grappling with spirituality in late-stage capitalism, as the Plastic Age turns mercilessly into the Electronic Age."

Douglas Coupland è stato il mio scrittore di riferimento per un periodo durato qualche anno a cavallo del 2000. Avevo scoperto quasi per caso “Fidanzata in coma” e mi aveva entusiasmato: per la situazione paradossale e vagamente distopica (un mondo narrato da un ragazzo morto di leucemia, in cui tutti da un certo momento in poi cominciano ad addormentarsi e morire, tranne i suoi amici che curiosamente scampano a questo bizzarro destino per poi trovarsi soli e abbandonati a loro stessi), e per l’incredibile capacità di definire mondi, situazioni e stati d’animo con pochissime parole; in sostanza, di radiografare la contemporaneità con pochi uguali (per me, che considero i libri intoccabili, è stato l’unico caso in cui ho fatto delle - leggere, eh - sottolineature a matita, tanto mi parevano piene di verità e di sintesi certe sue frasi). Solo dopo ho letto il suo primo libro e più grande successo, “Generazione X”, diventato anche un modo di dire che ha di poco preceduto la definizione di “Millennials”; si raccontava anche lì di un gruppetto di amici che voltavano le spalle al mondo pretestuosamente felice e produttivo per andarsene a vivere nel deserto californiano facendo lavoretti di sussistenza e passando il tempo raccontandosi storie. Non può che venire alla mente un celebre precedente della letteratura italiana del tardo Medio Evo, molto citato, pochissimo letto.

Ho letto poi anche le sue pubblicazioni successive, e poco per volta il mio entusiasmo per Coupland ha perso colpi. Intendiamoci, è bravissimo e rimane sempre un vulcano di idee, ma a parte “La sacra famiglia” i libri successivi hanno cominciato a soffrire di una certa ripetitività e mancanza di struttura, un po’ come se la sovrabbondanza di idee (spesso tutt’altro che stupide e comunque scritte benissimo) sopravanzasse la necessità di una trama e di un adeguato intreccio narrativo. Per dire, in “Hey nostradamus!” si fa un mischione i cui si parla di stragi scolastiche, manipolazione dei fatti e persecuzione dei non allineati da parte di fondamentalisti cattolici, conflitti familiari, animaletti immaginari, finte medium che parlano coi morti e mafia russa. Troppe cose per farle stare tutte in un unico libro.

Sapevo dell’esistenza di “Microservi”, il suo terzo libro pubblicato in America nel 1995, e mi incuriosiva assai per l’ambito tecnologico, ma mi ha sempre sorpreso il fatto che, come molti altri (compresi quelli precedentemente citati) nonostante Coupland sia un autore indubbiamente di successo e di fama, Feltrinelli non l’abbia mai ristampato, a differenza dei libri di *** (inserire nome di autrice sudamericana a caso). Come al solito, le fide bancarelle che non bisogna mai perdere di vista mi sono venute in soccorso, e così finalmente, dopo svariati decenni, ho potuto leggerlo.

Ancora una volta sono rimasto allibito della straordinaria capacità di Coupland di isolare con precisione chirurgica scampoli di realtà mettendoli sotto il microscopio delle sue parole. Stavolta la realtà è quella di un mondo che ancora esiste e che ha pesantemente influenzato e continua a influenzare le nostre vite, quello della rivoluzione informatica e dei suoi artefici. I protagonisti, come abituale per questo autore, sono un gruppetto di amici “young adults”, in questo caso informatici che lavorano per la Microsoft a Redmond facendo stressante e noioso debugging, da cui si licenziano per trasferirsi nella Silicon Valley e lanciare una startup per la modellizzazione object-oriented.

Per cominciare, bisogna cogliere una strana dissonanza temporale, almeno vista da qui. Il libro fu scritto nel 1995 e ambientato nel due anni prima, mentre da noi tutta la retorica sulle startup, i laboratori nei garage e i geek ragazzini che con le loro idee diventano miliardari è cominciata solo verso la fine del decennio. Oltre tutto, quelli erano anni in cui probabilmente c’era già molto ma ancora pochissimo rispetto a ciò che si sarebbe visto nei decenni successivi. I computer giravano sotto DOS, le prime versioni di Windows non erano un sistema operativo ma solo un’interfaccia grafica, Internet c’era già ma era una robetta per addetti ai lavori che serviva al massimo a spedire e-mail, trasferire file e discutere sui gruppi di Usenet. Anche Apple c’era e su tante cose era pure più avanti di Windows, ma si era persa Steve Jobs per strada e paradossalmente era a rischio di fallimento non avendo ancora evidentemente scoperto il target dei fighettoni che si vogliono distinguere. Il web, se c’era, era puramente sperimentale, ne usufruivano giusto il CERN e altri quattro gatti. Un grafica che andava oltre le schermate di testo c’era già ma avveniva in contesti che non erano quelli del PC, per il quale non era ancora chiaro che futuro avrebbe potuto avere sia negli uffici che nelle case private. I telefonini erano pochi, carissimi e, incredibile, servivano solo per telefonare; i social, gli smartphone e le app erano qualcosa che probabilmente non esisteva nemmeno nella mente di Steve Jobs, tanto che le chiacchiere sulle tanto glorificate “autostrade elettroniche” creavano nel gruppetto di “geeks” di cui qui si parla vere e proprie crisi di esasperazione.

(Tra l’altro fu proprio a fine 1993 che io comprai il mio primo computer pagandolo tipo un paio di stipendi - sostituito 5 anni dopo quando ormai poteva essere usato solo come fermaporta, considerate che non aveva nemmeno il lettore di CD-rom - ma il mio intento era, come fu, di usarlo per elaborare testi e pochissimo altro. Quindi sorprende che certi modi di vivere, e soprattutto certi disagi esistenziali, fossero presenti con tanto anticipo rispetto a quella che, almeno per noi, appare l’epoca dei fatti; o almeno Coupland ha avuto uno sguardo ferocemente profetico).

Un altro aspetto interessante del libro è la differenza della, diciamo, cultura aziendale delle varie situazioni lavorative descritte. Alla Microsoft ci si aspetta o si induce una dedizione totale al lavoro e un’adorazione incondizionata per zio Bill fertilizzata a colpi di stock options sulle azioni societarie, tanto che qualsiasi concetto di tempo libero e di attività extralavorative viene guardato con sospetto; è da questo mondo e da questa cultura che il protagonista e i suoi amici fuggono a gambe levate . Alla Apple, vissuta solo “di striscio”, bisogna invece essere creativi e divertirsi. La IBM rappresenta la cultura aziendale “old style”, quella del posto fisso, del lavoro routinario e della sicurezza economica, ma che è pronta comunque a buttare in mezzo a una strada il padre di Daniel, io narrante del racconto, quando non gli serve più (e che ti aspettavi? Siamo negli USA, non esistono prepensionamenti né cassa integrazione). Forse è proprio questo poco più che cinquantenne personaggio uno dei meglio riusciti: prima cade in un baratro di depressione in cui riesce solo a dedicarsi ai suoi amati trenini elettrici, poi, con la complicità degli amici del figlio, aiuta a mettere in piedi la sede aziendale della startup, poi cerca di reingegnerizzarsi come programmatore facendo un corso da cui fugge in quanto i suoi compagni, studenti diciannovenni, lo guardano con vaghi sospetti di “giovanefilia” (non proprio pedofilia, ma insomma…)

Ma è ovviamente la cultura californiana della Silicon Valley quella che viene dissezionata con più attenzione. Il rapporto con il lavoro, che ci si aspetta essere non lo strumento che ti permette di vivere, ma la vita stessa, e che ti deve rendere felice in quanto per vivere fai le cose che ti piacciono; la consapevolezza di essere dei geni, i più intelligenti e i capofila della società, quelli che hanno le idee “unopuntozero” che diventeranno le radici del futuro, e soprattutto il rapporto con i soldi. Il denaro non è un bene in sé o un simbolo di successo, ma è visto piuttosto come la dimostrazione tangibile della propria intelliigenza, al punto di arrivare a non godere nemmeno più degli oggetti che con il denaro ci si può comprare ma a considerarli una specie di dovere, un tributo da pagare per dimostrare che la propria intelligenza ha meritato remunerazione, e quindi essere degni di stare in un certo ambiente. Un caso esemplificativo è quello della Ferrari, che, così dichiara uno dei personaggi, ogni “unopuntozero” deve comprarsi obbligatoriamente non appena arrivato a una certa soglia di ricchezza e successo, pur non vedendo l’ora di venderla per comprarsi una macchina più comoda e utilizzabile, magari giapponese. L’idea di tirare i remi in barca e godersi il dolce far niente con i milioni guadagnati è del tutto esclusa: il denaro deve essere prontamente reinvestito in altre imprese ed altre idee. (Detto tra noi non ho mai avuto troppa simpatia per le persone che diventano ricche con la loro intelligenza; in qualche modo ho come la percezione che questa ricchezza la sottraggono a chi è meno intelligente di loro. Preferisco le persone ricche di famiglia, la cui ricchezza l’hanno ereditata e non l’hanno sottratta a nessuno - magari le colpe sono in capo ai loro genitori o nonni, ma le colpe dei padri non ricadono più sui figli almeno dalla fine dell’Antico Testamento). Ovviamente non sfuggono altri aspetti della cultura californiana come quello del fitness e della forma fisica. I personaggi sono sempre in dubbio se autodefinirsi “nerd”, “geek” o “techie” in un’epoca in cui queste parole definivano impallinati tecnologici del tutto privi di abilità sociali. Oggi si è visto che essere “nerd” eccetera garantisce un successo sociale ben maggiore che essere un campione universitario di foot-ball, come sostiene David S. Platt in “Perché il software fa schifo”, tanto che dare nel nerd (sinonimo di grande passione/competenza non solo più tecnologica) a una persona non è più un’offesa ma un complimento, soprattutto se rivolto a una donna per la quale non significa più sottintendere qualsiasi mancanza di bellezza fisica o cura di sé.

La storia, forse troppo prolissa e contrappuntata da pagine di “parolibero” che sembrano scritte da Marinetti se fosse vissuto alla fine del millennio nella Silicon Valley, tace sull’aspettativa creata fin dall’inizio della storia (la startup farà il botto?) ma, come altri libri dello stesso autore, esalta l’amicizia e la solidarietà tra persone.

Si potrebbe dire, ironicamente, che questo libro ha un seguito, anche se non è stato Coupland a scriverlo. Si tratta di “Io odio internet” di Jarett Kobek, scritto un paio di decenni dopo e ambientato negli stessi posti, in un mondo che è diventato molto più simile a quello inn cui viviamo; libro che purtroppo non sono riuscito a trovare il tempo di recensire a causa della sua complessa struttura a contrappunto. Molte delle cose che Daniel e i suoi amici non immaginavano, o immaginavano come sogni impossibili, si sono realizzate. Non sono più Microsoft e Apple a farla da padrone, ma Google e Facebook. La comunicazione e la dimensione “social”, spesso usate più per distruggere che per costruire, sono divenute molto più importanti di tutto quello che gli sottosta, tecnologia compresa. Le startup vengono create non per realizzare idee “unopuntozero” ma con l’intento premeditato di spillare soldi agli investitori. La produzione diffusa di contenuti comporta che i medesimi siano pagati molto meno, o non pagati del tutto. La ricchezza e la speculazione hanno devastato tutta la situazione immobiliare della baia di San Francisco rendendo praticamente inabitabile un areale immenso a chi non ha stipendi principeschi o rendite di posizione.. Qualsiasi cosa si faccia o si voglia fare, si devono sempre fare i conti con la Cina. Che il sogno si sia fatto incubo?

I thoroughly enjoyed this novel centered around a group of brainy computer code writers in the early 90s. Coupland infuses pop culture and philosophical musings into a tale that begins at Microsoft's Redmond, Wash., campus and ends in Silicon Valley. Parts near the end were genuinely moving, to my surprise. The diary format made this a very fast read, and references to 1990s technology at the dawn of the oft-referenced Information Superhighway seem like just another part of history at this point. It's a love story and life story about geeks, but no real techspertise is necessary to grasp and enjoy this page-turner.

This book is one of my all-time favorites, a bildungsroman of the techie world set between its two 1990s axes: Microsoft and Silicon Valley. My friends hear me make quips from this book far too often, perhaps my favorite being "Microsoft hired 3000 people last year and you know not all of them were gems."

The quick summary is: boy goes to work for Microsoft, boy leaves Microsoft for startup in Silicon Valley, and lives and learns as he and his friends -- his coworkers -- struggle to ship product. But it's not about the technology, and it's not about the business.

The technical aspects of the plot (such as it is) were laughable then and even more ridiculous now, but the dreams and aspirations and the surreality of life in both places -- and ages, as the characters grope through their 20's and growing up -- come through clearly. The book is an odd mixture of straightforward events, weird vignettes, and stream of consciousness observation of the totems and symbols of this weird, weird world, and somehow it works.

I can't tell you if this is really a good book, though, because I spent time at Microsoft in the early 1990's and I was a 20-something then and I moved to Silicon Valley in the late 1990's and this book just got it -- it understood what it meant to be in this weird culture and this weird place and this weird age where anything could happen if you just worked hard enough and you let your health go to hell and you got to be in on one-point-oh (1.0). It might be less a novel of growth for our times than a historical artifact, capturing that experience that was the 90s, or it might just be the novel that somehow captured my life.

All I know is that I keep reading it again and again and I still think it's good.

For Microserfs, I am straddling these two reader-type extremes: those who know nothing about geektech culture, and those who 100% techie, geeky nerds. I am in between. I feel this is the right place to be, because the book evoked lots of "Yeah...it really IS that way, isn't it?" and "Oh those geeks!" Yet I'm not so into the culture that I feel it was misrepresented.

I can't ever seem to attempt to write an approximation of some sort of "objective" review (lulz) so I'll just leave you with my idiosyncratic impressions: 1) I felt computer programmers in Silicon Valley in the 90's were really like how they were portrayed in the novel, and that made me happy and a little bit jealous that I was born in 1988, because the culture was presented so well. Almost like an ethnography. 2) Character Michael's short monologues were my favorite part, but looking back they were just simple summaries of theories I'm reading about all the time. I guess I liked ID-ing with someone so much. My other favorite moments were catching obscure references, though I know I didn't understand about 66 percent of them. 3) It may just be that I read this in San Diego, but this is what I would define as my perfect beach book. Juuuust the right about of thinking required.

I also met a 30ish security guard who had just worked ComicCon, who showed me his 3-foot animatronic Lego robot, pictures of the garage he lives in (at his parents'), drawings of his comic/future videogame storyboard, etc. etc. etc. and I mentioned this book and he FLIPPED OUT. I had just started the book, so our conversation was a total emotional and contextual amplifier for my Microserfs experience. I'd pay for that kind of thing to happen during every book I'm reading.