Number9Dream: A Novel

damage. Not

All Japan has been concreted over. The last forests are now discarded chopsticks, the Inland Sea is covered and declared a national parking lot, and where mountains once stood apartment buildings vanish into the clouds. When people reach the age of twenty their legs are amputated and their torsos are fitted with interfaces that plug directly into s

An alcoholic, she says, is three things: a wounded person who desperately needs love and support; a person controlled by a parasite that lives in that person but is not that person; and a wounded person who will devour love and support until nobody and nothing remain.

“For sure. Ethical cyberexplorers are responsible, yeah? We are friendly ghosts in the machine, not poltergeists or hooligans. We are a growing breed. Over sixty-five percent of top-flight systems explorers are ethical.” Ai gives Suga a black look. “And over eighty-five percent of all statistics are made up on the spot.”

“Buntaro, I—” “I was watching a baby video earlier. Maternity is . . . beyond belief. Ever wondered if embryos get thirsty? They do! So they drink up the amniotic fluid, and then pee it out again! The same as being hooked up to a never-ending supply of Budweiser. Except amniotic fluid tastes better. Waiting to be born must be nine months of bliss,

After the head of the thunder god vanishes into the ocean, I skirt the ridge above my grandmother’s house. No light is on. An autumn morning, when rain is always ten minutes away. I climb. Waterfalls without names, waxy leaves, berries in jade pools. I climb. Boughs sag, ferns fan, roots trip. I climb. I eat peanuts and oranges, to make sure I can

Her breathing changes as she walks. “I was thinking earlier . . .” “About?” “I changed my mind about the meaning of life again.” “Yeah?” “You look for your meaning. You find it, and at that moment, your meaning changes, and you have to start all over again.” “But that means that you never actually—Ai?” Her footsteps echo and static blows, then the

Life never labels the last time you do something.

“Dreams are shores where the ocean of spirit meets the land of matter. Dreams are beaches where the yet-to-be, the once-were, the will-never-be may walk awhile with the still-are. You believe I am an old woman hoary with superstition, and possibly deranged to boot.” I could not have put it that well. “If I were not deranged, how else could I know w