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Noir (novel)

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Noir (novel)

    In his acclaimed novels Dr. Adder, The Glass Hammer, and the Blade Runner books, K.W. Jeter masterfully re-created the grim and gritty world of Ridley Scott's classic science fiction film masterpiece. Now Jeter returns with a startling and stylish new vision of the future as only he could imagine it, a dark and disturbing universe that can be described with one word...

Welcome to the Pacific Rim, the new center of the civilized world. As the rest of the planet sinks toward economic and social disaster, the cities on the coast have become a neon-lit, high-tech paradise. Chief among them is Los Angeles, a sparkling metropolis attracting lost souls from across a shattered continent.

But beneath the sleek surface lies a labyrinthine underground feeding on the darkest human desires. Here the wealthy seek forbidden thrills through an anonymous on-line computer system that makes use of prowlers--masked simulations of human users programmed to delve into the most taboo of the hard-core sexual underworld and bring back exotic and erotic experiences to their safeguarded users. For most people, the prowlers are a way to indulge in their wildest sexual fantasies. But for others, they are something far more dangerous.

When a young executive of one of the world's most powerful corporations is found brutally slain, a retired ex-cop is called in to find his missing prowler. The corporation believes the young man's prowler is still "alive" and they want it found, but they don't care to reveal why.

McNihil was an information cop forced into early retirement. He knows he is walking straight into a trap, but he has no choice. He must descend into the noir underground, his only companion a ruthless female operative named November who has a desperate agenda of her own. Together they will uncover a web of evil far more extensive than McNihil ever imagined...a vast conspiracy that threatens to blur forever the line between the sane safety of the daylight world and the dark, dangerous world of noir.

Noir is K.W. Jeter at his very best, a dazzling and inventive futuristic drama of mystery, menace, and sexual terror set in a society of glitter and sinister darkness in which no one can be trusted and everything is far worse than it seems.

Author:K. W. Jeter
Published:1998
Genre:Science Fiction
Tags:Publication, Book, Novel, Science Fiction, Third Person, Augmented Reality, Crime, Detective, Noir, Read
Comment:The main character of Noir (1998) by K. W. Jeter has eye implants that alter his vision of the world, rendering them into the style of a black and white movie. (e)
Viewpoint:Third Person
Library:Titles N (Library Box Cross Ref)
Box:B37 (e)
ISFDB:title entry, cover gallery
Amazon:Paperback
Goodreads:Noir (novel)

Quotes

He dipped his hand in the water in the sink, then ran his fingertips across the surface of the just-warming coffeepot. The wetness made a slightly shinier mirror out of the curved metal. Shiny things worked better for this than real mirrors; anything big and intentionally reflective got absorbed too quickly into this world’s firmness. But in little bits of chrome and silver, sometimes the back of a spoon or a polished doorknob, he saw a scrap from the other side, a bit of optical leak-through, colors bleeding into the monochrome.

This time, he saw the girl sitting on the couch. McNihil turned the metal pot slightly, angling the wet reflective patch’s shot through the kitchen doorway and toward the apartment’s living room. Seeing her this way, the girl didn’t look like a young Ida Lupino anymore. The curls against her pale cheeks had vanished, along with the general air of brave vulnerability and period early-forties outfit from Raoul Walsh’s High Sierra that’d been laid over her in McNihil’s world. The worn-and-mended woolen skirt, the thin unbuttoned sweater with a zigzag decorative pattern around the bottom and at the cuffs showing her tiny wrists, the plain high-collared blouse … all that McNihil had already seen her in had been replaced, at least in the percolator’s distorted mirror. Replaced by what was sadly real.

More skin; that was what was mainly noticeable. Still in a skirt, of some kind of black plasticky stuff with the slick sheen of fetish enthusiasms. But hiked nearly pudenda-high, with correspondingly bare arms and cleavage. The neoprene highlights shimmered with the slow fever gleam of neon on a rain-wet nocturnal street. Over on the other side, where the colors were, a girl could freeze to death in an outfit like that, not so much from air temperature as the coldly assessing gazes of men.

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