I first read Gibson sometime in high school, when it was originally published, and loved it purely for its entertainment level. Knife blades! this weird consensual hallucination called cyberspace! cloning! the Sprawl! Twenty years later, Gibson's ideas have so permeated reality as to give the futurism an oddly worn feel, which in some ways only ads to the novel. Reading more critically this time, I'm blown away by how well constructed this novel is, weaving themes and metaphors deftly and concisely. His prose still has the casual pastiche of future idiom, and you can feel how often his weary, urban style has been imitated to poor effect since this novel was written. Really good, bloody, and redemptively inhuman.