A new Neal Stephenson book finally hits the shelves, clocking in at 1,044 pages of sweet, crunchy goodness. If you haven’t read Neal Stephenson before, you should probably question your indie cred in the mirror for a while. Try investing in some horn-rimmed glasses, or delve into an obscure musical genre to make up for your sheer lameness to this point in life. Instead of occupying Wall Street, you should occupy your couch for a week with this book, for Neal is the The Hold Steady of modern writers. You’re a little sad to see him for sale in Walmart; you wish for the old days when it was j...
