The main character in Pattern Recognition is allergic to logos. I am reasonably certain that this concept ties in to the plot of the story, given the title. Patterns, logos, etc. However, since I didn’t finish the book, I would like to explore this concept in isolation.
I could find no record of any disorder in the world that would qualify as an allergy to logos, however, it must be theoretically possible. Our minds are obviously capable of recognizing logos as logos, because we recognize them, and likewise, our minds are capable of expressing significant revulsion and sensitivity to purely visual stimulus. This revulsion can be so strong that we feel physically ill. If you doubt this, imagine someone licking and eating a tissue that has been recently soiled by a victim of the flu. The kind of flu-like sickness that leaves your sinuses swollen with snot that constantly trickles into your throat, leaving you gagging on your own mucus. Just imagine heaving out a huge gob of that festering ooze into a wad soft paper and then having someone wilfully ingest it.
Grossed out? Good. And that’s not even visual, it’s just words on a page, nor is it the most disgusting thing I could think of writing, but I chose to limit my example for the sake of the reader. The point is, someone, hypothetically, could be averse to logos if the right wires got crossed, and that is a fascinating premise.
Unfortunately, the premise somewhat falls flat when it comes to carrying the story. The main character is on a quest to stitch together a series of video snippets that are being delivered to the internet, piecemeal. Simultaneously, they are working as a consultant for a design company while visiting London. I really wish there was something more exciting to write here, but all of what I read centred around Cayce, the main character, meeting people for work and reading internet forums. To put it bluntly, business meetings are boring and internet forums are how I idle away my time when I’m already bored. Reading about someone doing these things is even more boring.
I gave up at 102 pages into the book when I realized that I was forcing myself to read it. Part of that reluctance stems from the fact that I strongly dislike the writing style. It’s not bad, it’s just bad for me. To phrase it crudely, it’s like masturbating with words, which is a perfectly healthy and natural habit to have as a writer. Just don’t smear your expression all over every page. In general use, I could acclimate to it, but when the author has two characters conversing with each other in emails, employing this flowery style, it ripped me out of the book. No one corresponds like that. In many scenes, it really felt like the author just wanted to show off their knowledge of fashion labels, which consequently left me baffled, as a label is either known or not, and since I live among the ignorant nots, the words might as well have been made up. I have since moved on to Guards! Guards! by Terry Pratchett, where everything is made up but I will still have less trouble following it.
On the good side of things, this book was written in the early 2000s, and the author presented an extremely clear vision of what our modern world would become. The concept of viral marketing is especially on point, and masterfully presented.
As this is one of many books that I have abandoned, I felt it was appropriate to contemplate my primary motivator in this regard. To find the pattern, as it were. I have since discovered that I lean heavily on Vonnegut’s eighth commandment, perhaps more than any other. If I do not feel a strong sense of purpose to a story within the first fifty or so pages—that is, a goal for the main character to achieve—I will rapidly grow bored of it. Curiosity alone, in anticipation of a revelation, is not enough of a reason for me to continue reading. This is why I don’t watch soap operas.
