This was such an interesting concept! Also, one of the few books I’ve seen being compared to Black Mirror that actually felt like a Black Mirror episode. It had the dark side of technology, but it also had the emotional & human side to go with it.

It felt very appropriate to read right now, with genai on the rise and technology taking over on our most human qualities like our ability to make art. While it criticises this, it also tackles the way it would interact with social causes like classicism, disability, ageism, etc. I thought that was interesting. There was even a little conversation about consumerism & capitalism and how we just buy things to buy things, but the rest of our lives feel meaningless, like we’re trying to fill a void (and that void is yearning for communication and connection, not stuff). Also, how we’re so overworked that we don’t have time to do what we enjoy to do anymore.

There’s discussions about the consequences of downloading into the cloud and what you’d be giving up. For example, collecting identities and not knowing who you are. Also, discussions about who can make informed consent, what decisions are being taken away from people, and who gets left behind when only the wealthy can afford to download themselves. There’s also a question about whether it’s really a choice for anybody, as their basic needs were taken away and they were forced to download themselves into the cloud and therefore obscuring their judgement.

I liked it and would really recommend it, I thought it was thought provoking, but my main issue with it is that the writing felt dry and was hard for me to get absorbed into. I think this might have been done on purpose, but the style wasn’t for me.

Thank you to Netgalley and publishers for the review copy!

Would you upload yourself into a virtual reality if you had the chance? That’s the dilemma the main ch racter, Tao-Yi, faces in this story.

Pitched as Black Mirror–esque sci-fi, I’d say it delivers. Set in late 21st-century Australia, Gaia - the virtual world where people spend most of their lives - feels both ridiculous and terrifyingly believable. You might drop £30k on a sofa that isn’t real, or insure your most precious possession: a video game storyline you’ve played for hundreds of hours. As the story develops, we see the shift as more and more people choose to abandon their bodies entirely and live on Gaia forever.

I found the premise convincing and appreciated the way it explored the ethical angles of such a society - privacy, consent, environmental issues, disability, age.

I preferred the second half of the book, even though the whole story is tinged with bleakness. At times it felt a little dry, perhaps intentionally so, when I wanted more emotion. I would probably have enjoyed the book more if I read it at a different time but it was very intellectually stimulating.

If you’re into speculative sci-fi or intrigued by the idea of uploading your life into a simulation, this is worth picking up.

⭐ 3.5/5

Thank you to NetGalley for the advanced copy in exchange for my honest review.

Grace Chan’s speculative fiction debut Every Version of You takes on what is becoming a common science fiction trope – the idea of the upload of consciousness. From the Black Mirror episode San Junipero, to the Amazon comedy Upload to the recent mind bending animated series Pantheon, plenty of creators have played with this concept in different ways. Chan takes an environmental spin and an Australian context to deliver her own version of these ideas.
Every Version of You opens in what can only be described in a classic cyberpunk mode. Protagonist Tao-Yi and her partner Navin are at a New Years Eve party in a virtual reality space known as Gaia. The pair and their friends access Gaia by immersing themselves almost fully in a kind of conductive gel, this allows them to move, sense and interact with the environment of Gaia. In the real world, the pair live in a heat-struck future Melbourne, Navin is struggling following an operation to address a genetic condition, and Tao-Yi’s mother is ageing and slowly deteriorating. Add to this the promise of eternal, digital life when the company behind Gaia announces that people can upload their consciousness to the virtual space and live there permanently.
Chan does not take an easy path through this philosophical minefield. Every Version of You is far from: upload bad. Rather she looks at the reasons why someone would and would not want to do this. The climate fiction elements depict a world that is clearly in a bad state. But she also then explores the real-world consequences of this movement on those left behind.
Every Version of You does not break a lot of new ground in the consciousness upload genre. But she does provide readers with a group of likeable complex characters through which to explore the issues associated with this idea. It is an ambitious debut novel which tackles some big issues and it will be interesting to see what Chan delivers next.

I really wanted to love this book based on the premise. It felt like such an important topic to explore given the digital transformation era we live in. Yet, I failed to connect with the characters to really sink my teeth into the book.

Grace Chan's debut, Every Version of You, focuses on a couple, Malaysian-Chinese Tao-Yi and Taiwanese-Chinese Navin, who already spend most of their time in a virtual reality called Gaia. When technology advances and humans are now able to upload their selves into Gaia, leaving their physical bodies behind to be destroyed, Tao-Yi and Navin, along with their friends and relatives, have to decide whether to stay or go. The idea of a fully immersive virtual world is a familiar one in SF, with the most famous recent examples being Ernest Cline's Ready Player One and the Black Mirror episode 'San Junipero', both of which treat the concept with ambivalence: there is worth in both real and virtual existence. Every Version of You, in contrast, goes dystopian, and this is both its strength and its weakness.

Chan has some interesting things to say about the rollout of this technology. I was especially fascinated by the idea that parents might choose to upload but refuse to take their children with them, believing that it's important that children have a real-world upbringing even if they upload as adults. So nursery robots ferry groups of kids around a polluted and ravaged Earth so they can spend time offline and visit their parents in the evenings. This social observation seems to me to be absolutely spot-on - we so often force ideals onto our children that we would love to live up to ourselves but aren't able to (see: the idea that children should be screen-free, while parents are addicted to their phones). The justifications people make about uploading themselves also ring true, with many of Tao-Yi's friends falling back on the idea that we have multiple selves anyway, and so even if the version of ourselves that is translated into Gaia is a bit different - with higher processing power but the loss of input from the body - this is the same kind of evolution that happens throughout our lives.

I wished, therefore, that this book had been paced differently. It takes us 40% of its length to reach the central dilemma, and that first 40%, while perfectly readable, treads very familiar ground about what the near-future might look like ('another spray of notifications [in her mind's eye]... a customer satisfaction survey for her new brand of vitamin pills; a medicentre buzz... a flood of new social media posts'). Then, when uploading becomes a possibility, the decisions made by Tao-Yi's group end up feeling rushed. I found it difficult to believe that literally everybody other than a few outliers would so eagerly seize on this technology and be happy to let their physical bodies die. Perhaps that was the point of the lengthy set-up - Chan depicts a world where people spend a lot of time out-of-body anyway and where real-world environments are grim - but if so, it didn't convince me. Tao-Yi's doubts end up making her feel too much like an extra-special protagonist rather than one of a larger minority who would surely have been uncertain. The other job of the first 40% is to make us invest in Tao-Yi's ties, and for me it was partially successful. Tao-Yi herself is compelling, and her relationship with her ageing mother is beautifully but not sentimentally depicted. Sadly, as so often in fiction, I felt that we were being told that she is in love with Navin rather than shown it. Apart from one vivid scene where we witness their first date, I just didn't feel their connection: indeed, Tao-Yi's scenes with minor characters like Zach and Isaiah were more convincing.

Many of my hesitations about Every Version of You are probably down to me rather than the novel, however, as I found myself wishing it was a different kind of book as I was reading, which is not a fair criticism. I do think we desperately need near-future stories that are more hopeful. SF proper is often good at this but speculative literary fiction - a sub-genre that I absolutely love - tends to be much grimmer. Every Version of You never admits that anything at all could be better in the future. To be fair, it builds towards a brave ending that echoes Arthur C. Clarke's classic Childhood's End and Tim Weed's recent The Afterlife Project, and there is a speck of hope there in the potential for Earth to recover from the damage humans have caused. The last chunk of the book is far more memorable than the first. Still, I wanted more messiness, more uncertainty, rather than the vast majority of humanity simply submitting to their fate, and I also want more novels to explore the benefits, as well as the harms, of new technologies, even if that's only a way of showing why so many people are beguiled by them. That wasn't what this novel was trying to do, and I do hope it finds the readers who will truly resonate with it. 3.5 stars.

It’s 2048 and Tao-Yi and her partner Navin are dividing their time between real-life and an immersive, consumerism-first virtual reality utopia called Gaia. While their real, ageing bodies are suspended in cramped apartments, amongst a crumbling society and end-stage climate crisis, they log on, work, socialise and frolic in Gaia. The story revolves around Tao-Yi as she navigates a new technology – the ability to permanently upload a human brain to Gaia. Will she remain with her mother, who is resolutely offline and tackling health problems? Or will she embrace a digital future?

I am a big fan of speculative sci-fi that entwines with dystopia, and this one has plenty of that. As an elder millennial, I enjoyed the conversation of feeling torn between an authentic past away from screens, which cannot be returned to, and embracing a new, digital future. Oh, and I always love when I spot mentions of Ipoh – Dad’s hometown! – in books, since I have endless happy memories there. It turns out: Tao-Yi and her mother are from Ipoh! This opened up some lovely explorations of identity paralysis and the sense of home. Sadly, the book otherwise fell flat in a few areas for me: while, yes, there were many great topics included in Every Version of You, it didn’t go deep enough into any of them. Some ideas were introduced only to never be alluded to ever again, and others just didn’t fully hit the mark for me. I liked the exploration of human autonomy and being caught between capitalism and morals, as well as the debate on mortality and having control over your body when it came to health problems. Plus, as we step deeper into the AI revolution, I enjoyed the exploration of relationships in the age of AI and what is seen as normal or nostalgic. Yet, overall it could’ve been nice to have a fuller focus on at least one or two ideas.

This is a dystopia that doesn’t rely on action —it’s intimate, lyrical, and quietly devastating. The love between Tao-Yi and Navin is tender and real, even as they drift between realities, and the emotional tension between past and future lingers long after the final page.

Powerful, poetic, and unforgettable. A must-read for fans of dystopian fiction with heart.

I really wanted to love this one but I just never fully engaged in the story. I don't think it's a bad book but I wasn't invested the way I like to be.

I love speculative fiction and this is a great one. Really compelling and a bit too close to home at times! In par with station eleven and any John Marrs novel

I finished this book and couldn’t stop thinking about it, and I still can’t weeks later. I love speculative fiction, and this is one of the best I’ve read in a long time. In a society where we can’t get away from the threat of climate change and we’re always on our phones trying to get away from it, the topics in Chan’s novel felt scarily close - like a Black Mirror episode with more heart. I cared about the characters, and understood their motives. A brilliantly written novel, I can’t wait to see what else Grace Chan releases.

Literary science fiction of the best stripe
—
It’s two generations into the future, and everyone — bar the poor, the outsiders, the untechnological — lives their lives both in the polluted real world and the shiny virtual one. The book centres on Tao-Yi, a young Chinese Malaysian woman, and her romance with Navin, hampered by a poorly functioning cybernetic kidney. As the digital world begins to overtake the real one in almost every measure of livability, Tao-Yi begins to question what’s important in her life, if their love is enough or if it’s worthy of a digital forever.

This is literary science fiction of the best stripe, similar in feel and ambition to Anton Hur’s Toward Eternity, although ending in a different kind of hopeful resolution. The broken world of the future is lightly sketched, with enough detail to contrast and compare with the digital reality; but there’s a third reality that sits behind both, that of Tao-Yi and her mother’s past in real Malaysia, and the rituals, hopes and fears that emanate from there. Tao-Yi speaks near the end of a bridge between past and present, between ancestors and self, and how it might be broken, or perhaps only half-built, which echoes between her family and its scattered members, and between the flesh-and-blood humans and their possible descendants in the digital plane. Whether the bridge exists or not, whether Tao-Yi can find her way to it and over it, is what the book is about: whether we as human beings can hope to transcend our real world struggles into some shining future, or whether the whole edifice will come crashing down around our ears when the earth realises that we’re a momentary infestation, and not, as we believe, its eventual masters. Tao-Yi’s final decision is an answer, hopeful and beautifully realised.

This is a beautifully written book that prompts deep reflection on our world. It raises the question of our identity and our evolution in an era where a digital utopia appears to be the answer to our struggles. I give it a perfect 5/5; I loved every moment of it.

The debut novel from Australian author – and psychiatrist – Grace Chan who’s already established herself as a respected SF short-story writer. Her novel follows Malaysian Australian woman Tao-yi who’s based in late 21st century Australia, a member of what’s often referred to as Gen Virtual. Tao-yi and partner Navin spend most of their time, like their friends, immersed in a virtual world known as Gaia. A VR sim released seven years earlier in the midst of catastrophic climate change on Earth. The air is so polluted that lung disease is rife, water’s rationed, trees are a distant memory and sightings of animals or birds are rarer than rare. But in Gaia Tao-yi’s avatar has access to new horizons, there she can work, party, even if she desires buy property kitted out with designer furniture. At first, it’s a welcome respite particularly from Tao-yi’s anxieties about her flailing mother who’s struggling with her health, while for Navin it distracts from a chronic, debilitating condition. But then Gaia moves into a new phase, one Tao-yi is reluctant to embrace, threatening to sever her ties to friends and to Navin.

Chan’s atmospheric, moving narrative shifts backwards and forwards in time, charting Tao-yi’s relationship with Navin, growing up in Malaysia with her mother, and her feelings about herself as someone caught between identities and countries. Tao-yi’s experiences open up an underlying commentary on issues around the nature of existence and what it is to be human. Chan touches on consumerism and capitalism – the poor are excluded from Gaia. She also reflects on aspects of the mind-body problem and Bostrom’s simulation hypothesis. But this is less about philosophy and science as it is about attachments and emotions – Chan cites Ishiguro’s Never Let Me Go as a key influence, although I much preferred Chan’s book. So this is very much speculative fiction of the literary variety – I suspect that hardcore SF fans may find Chan’s worldbuilding too hazy or restricted at times. I found myself wondering, for example, about the economics of Gaia which is clearly a capitalist venture not dissimilar to Peter Thiel’s vision of futuristic, private cities. As well as wondering about the finer points of what had happened in Australia and elsewhere.

However, I found Chan’s story fluid and immersive enough to carry me past any uncertainties. It’s sensitively told, tender and insightful. And works well as a variation on the conventional migrant narrative. I also thought Tao-yi’s character was exceptionally sympathetic and relatable: her confused attempts to reconcile her love for Navin with her own wants, her rootedness in what he dismisses as “meatspace.” For Tao-yi the real world links her to her heritage, the generations that came before her, something alien to Navin. And I’m already hoping for a sequel to find out what's next for her.

I really enjoy the cover, it's sleek🖤, futuristic 🏎️ and makes me want to frame it.

The story—this is basically Ready Player One🥽 if it wasn’t about gaming🎮 but instead about living inside a digital📱 world. Like, imagine leaving your physical body behind and just fully existing in an online utopia.😱

I enjoyed the concept and parts of this story📖, however I didn't find it compelling enough to like it👍🏽. The storyline wasn't basic📸, but I felt that the characters were😔. They just weren't exciting enough for me. This was a story I want to like but couldn't.

Thanks Netgalley for the ARC ☺️❤️‍🔥🐸

This book was the first sci-fi I'd read that had this very intriguing setting of a highly technological world and people doing really mundane things in it.

It made me think a lot about the ways in which tech makes it way into our daily lives and sometimes subtly but drastically changes how we navigate our existences, and how companies and the hyper-capitalistic society push products and force their normalization to the point of discrimination and violence that is not always the most obvious but definitely present.

Every Version of You isn't categorized as horror but there was this very scary undertone to it because of the familiarity of the characters' struggles with the new tech. We see them struggling to make space for their own emotions, values, selves against this very rapidly evolving technology that promises them a world free of pain, with this sense of urgency that keeps them from grappling with the true cost of it whether it be for themselves or for the rest of the world.

It's eerily reminiscent of our current relationships with technology and for me, a reminder to always slow down and always take time to understand the tech I'm using and it's impact.

There was also the beautiful exploration of different perspectives on the Uploading technology and I loved the way the book allows us to witness Tao Yi's internal conflicts and the growth of her feelings regarding it overtime. The way that this book incorporated the themes of love, belonging, intergenerational trauma and illness was also really interesting, emotional and often brought my heart to ache.

Unfortunately, while they were well-woven in, I felt like the themes could've been explored more deeply. Towards the end, there's definitely more of that but not enough that made me really ponder upon the book for long even though there was a lot of potential. But I will definitely be looking forward to the questions section in the published book to see if there's something I missed.

Overall, this was a very interesting book with an world that's simultaneously similar and different to ours. I think if you're into sci-fi media that explores the ethics and feelings around technology taking more space in our lives, you'll definitely enjoy this.

A huge thank you to VERVE Books and NetGalley for the e-ARC!

This was incredibly well written and executed. The characters and story alike were so wonderfully developed and rich, I find this type of story usually doesn't work for me, but this one got me

Every Version of You is speculative story set in the 2080's. We meet Tao-Yi and her partner Navin, who are mainly living in a virtual reality, like the millions around them. The real word is disappearing fast and technology is developing rapidly. When the opportunity comes to upload into Gaia permanently there's a choice to be made, but at what cost.

The writing is stunning and wholly evocative. It's like being in a celestial dream, I found the story completely absorbing and provocative.

The premise and concept is so interesting, intelligent and thought provoking. You find yourself lost in this other world. It's utopian but it's terrifying. It's gorgeous but its ugly. It's a joy to read but it's utterly unsettling. I've not read anything quite like this book and I can't get it out of my mind.

The nods to climate change really shook me - a devastatingly stark warning. The barrier reef is gone, the air is unsafe, the temperature extreme. Going outside is dangerous. Speakers warn of the need for personal protective equipment.

"In some places, the earth is split by a network of yawning cracks, as though pulled apart from the edges by unseen hands."

The nonchalance of humans who don't want to be left behind technological advances struck me. No questioning what they might loose. As AI is evolving in our world, it's very pertinent. There's a really touching moment where Navin reflects on his first meeting with Tao-Yi. She can watch it back on her Re-Vision, but he only has a memory ...

"His imperfect recollection, which, he says grows hazier and rosier and lovelier each time he remembers"

As the story progresses, more of Tao-Yi's friends upload, her mothers health worsens, and her despondency and reticence becomes even more palpable. The final sections are emotional and raw, yet tentatively hopeful as we cross desolate landscape and encounter the remains of humanity as we know it. Tao-Yi will stay with me for a very long time.

A mind blowing read, that I will remain mulling over for some time to come and heartily recommend.

I’ve never read anything quite like Every Version of You! It’s one of those books that’s sat on my radar for a long time, and I’m so glad I finally picked it up. Stunningly written, immersive, and thought-provoking, its futuristic premise is the kind that lingers in your mind long after the final page. I thought it was accurate to present this like a blend of Black Mirror, Ready Player One, and Ex Machina, with a touch of Murakami’s surrealism—a unique mix that feels both fresh and eerily plausible.

I ultimately loved the concept of Gaia, a digital utopia, and the idea of 'uploading' consciousness. It makes you deeply reflect on what life could look like in 2080. I was also drawn into Tao-Yi’s personal journey: her introspective look at the past, the relationships that shaped her, and the weight of the choice she faces. The book tackles big themes—identity, love, memory, and what it means to be human—and does so with a quiet, contemplative intensity.

I would say the pacing felt a little slow in some parts, and the story only really gripped me once 'uploading' was introduced. At times, it was hard to tell what was real and what wasn’t, which made the narrative a bit disorienting. Tao-Yi’s decision to go on her ‘journey’ also raised a few questions for me, and thought there were plot holes that left me wanting more clarity.

But all in all, this was an unforgettable reading experience for me.

Every Version of You is a thought-provoking exploration of identity, technology and what it means to be truly alive in a world that’s increasingly virtual. Grace Chan’s writing is sharp, emotional and insightful, weaving a tale that is both haunting and hopeful, set in a future where the lines between the real and the digital are dangerously blurred.

Tao-Yi, our protagonist, is a character I could easily relate to. She finds herself caught between two worlds: the hyper-immersive virtual reality of Gaia, where she and her partner Navin spend their days, and the real world, where her mother stubbornly resists the allure of digital life. When a technology emerges that allows people to upload their consciousness permanently into Gaia, Tao-Yi is forced to grapple with an impossible choice: embrace a digital utopia or remain tethered to a tangible, yet fading, reality.

What makes this book stand out is its deep emotional core. Tao-Yi feels like a real person, and her relationships – with Navin, her friends and especially her mother – are beautifully written and add a layer of humanity to the speculative elements. I found myself fully invested in her struggle and the choices she faces. The tension between the digital allure of Gaia and the authenticity of the real world is expertly drawn, and the way the technology is explored feels both grounded and believable.

The closing chapters, which depict the post-Gaia world, left me with a mixture of melancholy and hope. There’s something poignant about seeing a world that has lost its digital escape but still clings to its last, fragile sparks of hope. It reminded me of other books like Chosen Spirits and Moxyland, but with a stronger emotional punch and a plot that feels both relevant and deeply human.

Every Version of You is a remarkable book that not only delves into the impact of technology on our lives but also asks profound questions about memory, connection and what makes us who we are. I loved it.

Read more at The Secret Book Review.

Every Version of You is a meditative, unsettling, and thematically rich exploration of humanity’s relationship with technology, identity, and grief. Grace Chan crafts a world that feels all too plausible: a near-future Australia where society has almost entirely transitioned into Gaia, a fully immersive virtual reality where users can upload their consciousness permanently. In Gaia, people are free from the limitations of the physical body — aging, illness, and even death are no longer concerns — and yet, there is a strange eeriness in how closely this digital world mimics the real one.

What I appreciated most about this novel is how Chan resists the temptation of turning this into a fast-paced dystopia or high-stakes thriller. Instead, she keeps the narrative intimate, focused primarily on Tao-Yi and Navin — a couple trying to navigate their diverging perspectives on Gaia. Tao-Yi’s reluctance to fully commit to this digital afterlife is palpable, stemming not only from fear of the unknown but also from a deep attachment to her cultural heritage, familial bonds, and the irreplaceable texture of real life. Navin, on the other hand, embraces Gaia almost unquestioningly, symbolizing a more common societal desire to seek convenience and transcendence through technology. Their relationship is at the core of the story, and the tension between them serves as a strong emotional undercurrent throughout.

The book shines when it grapples with themes like the meaning of embodiment, the compromises we make when choosing convenience over authenticity, and how even in a world without limits, humanity still seems bound to recreate the familiar. There is a particular moment where characters reflect on how Gaia, despite its potential for infinite creativity, is still just another version of the real world — orderly, recognizable, and predictable. This passage stood out to me and gave me chills.

That said, I did find parts of the world-building frustrating. The premise raises incredibly compelling questions — questions that are begged by the story — but many are left untouched or underdeveloped. For instance, if Gaia is a paid service, how has the entire world transitioned into it so smoothly? Wouldn’t class, access, and inequality deeply affect this process? Why are so few characters critical of the technology? The novel hints at these concerns but often pulls back before fully engaging with them. Similarly, the psychological implications of living in Gaia, especially regarding identity fragmentation (as briefly shown in the origami-themed episode), could have been more thoroughly explored.

Stylistically, Chan’s writing is quiet, contemplative, and at times beautifully sparse, but the beginning may feel overwhelming as the reader is introduced to many concepts without much time to absorb them. That said, this disorientation works thematically — echoing Tao-Yi’s own discomfort and confusion within this hybrid world. Once I accepted that the book prioritizes mood and introspection over exposition-heavy explanations, I found myself more immersed.

Ultimately, Every Version of You is a solid read, with valuable insights and moments that will stay with me, even if I wish it had pushed some of its ideas further. It left me feeling a satisfying but slightly infuriating unsettledness — the kind of story that lingers precisely because it doesn’t give you all the answers.

I recommend this to readers who enjoy quieter speculative fiction with literary undertones and don’t mind when the most haunting questions are left for you to sit with long after you’ve closed the book.