Reading the reviews you could have been forgiven for thinking that this was one of the greatest science fiction novels ever written.
It isn't.
However, it is moderately well written, suitably downbeat, dirty and very, very English, with pessimistic politics and an enjoyably anti-climactic ending. If the book had been better it could have been described as Maureen F. McHugh remixed by Jeff Noon, dosed with a bit of Christopher Priest. In common with the McHugh and Priest, Ings does well at describing the confusion and boredom engendered by technology. Like Noon, he has a reasonable handle on 'the street'.
However he is not as hip as he likes to make out, a quality which he also shares with Noon. And, linked to this is an irritating superficiality. Take the continuous name-checks: we know from the author description he used to write for 'Vogue', does he have to mention the magazine at every opportunity? Unfortunately this and the blatant attempt to tie into the current trend for bland 'his and hers' London relationship novels diminshes the impact of the book, and renders it ultimately average.