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7 of 13 people found the following review helpful:
1.0 out of 5 stars
Incoherent burble, ruining what could have been good history, 30 Jan 2001
By A Customer
SOMETIMES, when women write about women, I wonder if I'm a woman at all. Take this book. I was expecting a history of women and machines; what I got - and if I'd read the jacket blurb, I would have known - was a "provocative and inspiring manifesto". Provocative? Certainly... and just when I wasn't in the mood.The book begins by showing all the signs of being a history: Countess Ada Lovelace working with Babbage on the Difference Engine, the emergence of the earliest computers and the curious affinity women had with them. So glamorous a character as Ada Lovelace (daughter of Byron, hysteria sufferer and ground-breaking mathematician) makes an excellent beginning. Plant describes the politics of fashionable thought that blamed her hysteria on "over-exertion of the intellect", to the point where Ada herself thought "too much mathematics" had resulted in her "derangements". But with a few exceptions - on Turing and Bletchley, for example, and an interesting account of how the Western counting system came to be - Plant soon loses her didactic position and the rest of the book becomes increasingly woolly and less enjoyable. The style is the main problem; it's suggestive, non-specific, and loosely structured. It consists of mini-chapters entitled things like "Grass", "Holes", "Amazone", that never conclude anything; they just hint, wafting past like kitchen smells in a restaurant, leaving people to guess their food without the benefit of a menu. When direct statements are made, they are sometimes left hanging: "the picture's [Mona Lisa] composition is completely obscured. As if it had come complete, intact a ready-made interactive image slotted into the read only memory five hundred years too early." That means next to nothing to me. If only Plant were more forthright in her assertions. She's obviously an expert in her field, and I wanted to know less about what she felt and more of what she had found out about her subject. And now sex. There's so much sex that the title truly misrepresents the book by excluding it. At best, Plant's commentary is clever and subtle, if far-fetched. At worst, it's long-winded, silly and really, really wimmin-ish, with references to weaving, Freud and pubic hair. Don't ask... You either love all that stuff or you don't, and I don't. As for cybersex, it's as meaningless a word as cyberfeminist. Cyber this, cyber that. The Guardian recently dubbed Plant a cyberwarrior. I wish I'd known before I read this.
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