Peter J. Thompson/National Post
William Gibson, photographed at Blowfish Restaurant in Toronto.
Distrust That Particular Flavor arrived in bookstores this month.
“I worry that this book will give somebody ideas,” he says, during a lunchtime interview at a Toronto Japanese restaurant late last week. Gibson, who speaks languidly and shuns eye contact, confesses, rather sheepishly, that he’s been avoiding his editors at Wired, and the other publications to which he contributes, in recent weeks. “I’m dodging them desperately.” He distrusts the form. In the collection’s introduction, Gibson writes that working on these essays and articles “felt as though I was being paid to solo on some instrument vaguely related to one I actually knew how to play.” He’s a writer of fiction, first and foremost, and these pieces were written using “fiction-writing tools,” which, at least in his mind, banishes the results to some literary nether region.