This was my first reading of Consider Phlebas, and it felt odd to ponder that it's the first of the Culture books. In particular: if this had been my first exposure to Banks, I'm not sure I would have had a second. This is a very, very weird sensation! It's not that my life would feel hollow—for how would I know—but the Me who has read the Culture books shudders to think of a Me who hasn't.

It's a decent book, and offers glimpses of the writer Banks is to be, but it's just, well, off somehow. Too-pat characters. Too many improbable coincidences. Too shallow, too preachy. So weird, in fact, that I've waited almost a month to write this review. I had to wait to read another Banks ([b:The Player of Games|18630|The Player of Games (Culture, #2)|Iain M. Banks|http://photo.goodreads.com/books/1166984450s/18630.jpg|1494157]) to restore my balance.

If you're a Banks fan you'll need to read it; but if you are you're not asking me for advice. To the rest of you: you don't need to read this one. (And if you haven't read Banks, try starting with [b:Against A Dark Background|422452|Against A Dark Background|Iain M. Banks|http://photo.goodreads.com/books/1174599757s/422452.jpg|809748]. That still shines out as my favorite. I'm on a Banks kick, though, and am eager to find out if it survives rereading).