Too many books packed into one, and (for the most part) a tedious slog at that. It just feels like Stephenson is trying so hard, to show how smart and well-read and clever he is, that the story has to take distant second place to the author. I could go on for pages about what I liked, disliked, paused to reflect on, and/or rolled my eyes at... but there’s no need. I’m glad I read this; I’m glad it’s over; and I’m unlikely ever to read his books again. Move along.