Neon Seam

I liked parts of this — especially the sensory writing (fried algae crisps, the humming loom) and Mochi’s ridiculous goose — but overall it felt a bit too tidy. The conflict with templated competitors and the ‘sharp-eyed liaisons’ is introduced as a threat, but the stakes never really escalate; compromises feel negotiated off-page. The plaza demonstration is a great idea, yet it’s treated more as a neat vignette than a turning point that reshapes the city. Also: the overlay tech is handled poetically, which I appreciated, but some readers might want firmer rules. How durable are overlays? Who polices them? There’s a whiff of convenience in how obstacles are resolved. Still, I enjoyed the characters and the warm community scenes, but I wanted firmer consequences and a less predictable arc.

Neon Seam is one of those rare pieces where atmosphere and idea reinforce each other so thoroughly that the book becomes an experience rather than just a story. The city’s neon is present but never overwhelming; instead the narrative lingers on tactile moments — the loom humming, the grease-stained fingers, the precise two tight pulls before the servo settles. Those details make Cass’s work feel sacred. I admired the ethical core: consent as a craft to be taught, bargained over, and defended. The plaza demonstration that reclaims consent as tactile felt like a smart, tangible revolution; later, the workshop-school shows how change can be granular, communal, and deliciously everyday (food stalls, neighbors sharing overlays). The antagonists — cheap templated competitors and sharp-eyed liaisons — are credible and let the reader focus on the real conflict: what it means to repair identity in a commodified city. If there’s a complaint, it’s minor: I wanted a bit more on the technical limits of overlays (how fragile are they? What's the legal risk?), but that curiosity is also a compliment — the world felt lived-in enough to make me want more. Overall, a warm, clever, humane take on cyberpunk that values people and craft above flashy tech. Well done.

Delightful little gem. I wasn’t expecting to laugh out loud at a projection drone, but Mochi’s stubborn goose (and the disco duck) broke the tension perfectly 😂. The story manages to be cozy and cyberpunk at the same time — food stalls and solder, apprentices learning how to sew code into fabric, people sharing curated overlays like recipes. Cass is quietly badass: patient, meticulous, moral. The scene with Edda in the armchair, the overlay folding light into shadow, was tender without being saccharine. I loved the community vibe — it feels lived-in, messy, warm. Short, sweet, and full of heart. Would read more about Cass and her little, noisy workshop-school.

Measured, careful, and quietly radical. What impressed me most was how the story treats identity as a material practice — tailoring overlays as much as teaching consent. The plaza demonstration is a brilliant hinge; it reframes political action into a tactile craft, and from there Cass’s modest workshop-school becomes a believable site of resistance and repair. The prose balances techy detail and craft vernacular nicely: ‘splice a filament the same way I splice a hem’ is a neat distillation of the book’s thesis. Competitors and liaisons provide real pressure without turning the piece into melodrama; the threats feel practical rather than cartoonish. I also appreciated small recurring motifs, like Mochi’s pixelated goose and the loom’s hum, which give the city personality. A thoughtful, well-paced cyberpunk that’s more about community than spectacle.

This one hit me in the chest. Neon Seam reads like a love letter to small, stubborn craft in a city that wants everything tidy and templated. Cass Vale is such a vivid protagonist — the scene where she threads that filament and waits for the servo’s obedient click had me holding my breath. I loved how the overlay doesn’t erase Edda’s map of years but frames it; that line about framing for easier passage through a city stuck with me. The sensory details are gorgeous: the smell of fried algae crisps and solder, the loom humming like a satisfied animal. And Mochi — the tiny projection drone that insists on geese — is pure joy, especially the disco duck moment. The community-school, the food stalls, the tactile reclaiming of consent after the plaza demonstration... it all felt humane and hopeful. This is cyberpunk that makes room for tenderness. I finished it smiling and a little teary. Highly recommend.