At first, I really liked this book because I really appreciated the detail on software design and how software played a role in the Apollo program (and is the only reason this book gets more than one star). But as I read the book, it dragged, and dragged. The author described every last opera he went to, and name dropped every actor and musician he listened to live. (The only part about his life in Boston that I found interesting was that September 1st (what I would call Allston Christmas) dates back to at least the mid-20th century. Otherwise, total snooze-fest.) The author went on long divergences about his sex life and how much pot he smoked. I stopped caring. The extremely detailed notations of each memo that was sent at MIT, or on extreme nuances of "his" software became less and less interesting. By the end, the author's grandiose language and casual misogyny (literally, the dude describes Margaret Hamilton as attractive in this book, without any sense of toxic masculinity whatsoever) just got to be too much. Somehow, I read this book to the end.… (más)
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