Book: A million open doors
Apr. 7th, 2013 12:39 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
livAuthor: John Barnes
Details: (c) 1992 John Barnes; Pub 1993 Tor; ISBN 0-813-51633-8
Verdict: A million open doors is very much my sort of book.
Reasons for reading it:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
rysmiel talked about it in a way that made it seem like I really ought to read it, and now that I have I conclude that impression was right.
How it came into my hands: First thing I found and pounced on at an Eastercon dealers' table.
A million open doors has a protagonist from a planet where the culture is based on Mediaeval French troubadours, which already endeared it to me before I even started reading. A fairly convoluted set-up places him as a junior employee in the embassy to a planet where the culture is partly based on extreme Protestant northern Europe, as interpreted by internet Libertarians / Randians and rationality fans. So it's basically planetary surface type space opera, where the technology doesn't matter (the backdrop is that human-colonized worlds have discovered Star-Trek style matter transporters, bringing divergent cultures into sudden contact) and the plot hardly does, there are just some characters who showcase different cultures and have to deal with adjusting to new ones. Throw in a bunch of sex and death and melodrama, and a pinch of gender politics, and it's pretty much the perfect brain candy for me.
The writing is competent but not stunning. Barnes is pretty good at characterization and very good at intense emotional twists; the book grabbed me by the heartstrings in quite a few places. I was completely caught up in the story throughout, and rather sorry when it was over, even though the ending was entirely satisfactory. The protag, Giraud, is kind of a dick, or to put it more precisely, a self-absorbed twenty-something whose culture keeps him in an extended adolescence. Even though the narrative is first person, Barnes clearly signals to the reader that Giraud's POV is very limited doesn't admire his immature self-centredness. I enjoyed the psychological development of Giraud being forced to grow up, take responsibility and start noticing that other people are real, though it's not startlingly original.
In some ways the structure is a little bit like Le Guin's The dispossessed, only almost the opposite way round. Initially the Nou Occitan troubadour planet is portrayed as fairly Utopian, with unlimited resources and people using their leisure for the arts and romance, whereas Caledon is miserable and puritan and full of pointless, avoidable suffering for the sake of a twisted ideology. As the book progresses, it becomes apparent that Nou Occitan is decadent, backward-looking and sexist, whereas Caledon has a rugged beauty of its own and there is in fact some value in meaningful physical labour even if you do have robots available.
aMOD is recent enough that the gender politics look sensible. Not everybody is assumed to be straight, and there are several female characters showing a range of competences. The book even manages a Bechdel pass even though it's from the point of view of a self-centred and extremely sexist male protag. In fact, if there's a flaw I would almost say that aMOD is trying too hard. A major part of Giraud's character arc involves him learning that women don't in fact appreciate being placed on chivalric pedestals but would rather be treated like people, who knew? The symbol of his achieving self-actualization is that he falls in love with *gasp* an ugly woman. I did like the fact that the narration is careful not make its feminist point at the expense of pretty, feminine women; the airheaded bimbo turns out to be surprisingly competent when given the chance, and even the catty, hysteria-prone beauty is shown with some redeeming features. But even with all these positives, I must admit I felt a little preached at.
In some ways aMOD fits in the niche of books I could recommend to people who've devoured the Vorkosigan saga and want more like that. It's not as good as the best of Bujold, but it has some similar strengths, in that it makes fairly simplistic world-building seem rich by exploring the impact of technology and culture on three-dimensional characters. And the story is exciting and character-driven and offers a lot of political agency to middle-class, intelligent, sexually liberal women.
Details: (c) 1992 John Barnes; Pub 1993 Tor; ISBN 0-813-51633-8
Verdict: A million open doors is very much my sort of book.
Reasons for reading it:
rysmiel talked about it in a way that made it seem like I really ought to read it, and now that I have I conclude that impression was right. How it came into my hands: First thing I found and pounced on at an Eastercon dealers' table.
A million open doors has a protagonist from a planet where the culture is based on Mediaeval French troubadours, which already endeared it to me before I even started reading. A fairly convoluted set-up places him as a junior employee in the embassy to a planet where the culture is partly based on extreme Protestant northern Europe, as interpreted by internet Libertarians / Randians and rationality fans. So it's basically planetary surface type space opera, where the technology doesn't matter (the backdrop is that human-colonized worlds have discovered Star-Trek style matter transporters, bringing divergent cultures into sudden contact) and the plot hardly does, there are just some characters who showcase different cultures and have to deal with adjusting to new ones. Throw in a bunch of sex and death and melodrama, and a pinch of gender politics, and it's pretty much the perfect brain candy for me.
The writing is competent but not stunning. Barnes is pretty good at characterization and very good at intense emotional twists; the book grabbed me by the heartstrings in quite a few places. I was completely caught up in the story throughout, and rather sorry when it was over, even though the ending was entirely satisfactory. The protag, Giraud, is kind of a dick, or to put it more precisely, a self-absorbed twenty-something whose culture keeps him in an extended adolescence. Even though the narrative is first person, Barnes clearly signals to the reader that Giraud's POV is very limited doesn't admire his immature self-centredness. I enjoyed the psychological development of Giraud being forced to grow up, take responsibility and start noticing that other people are real, though it's not startlingly original.
In some ways the structure is a little bit like Le Guin's The dispossessed, only almost the opposite way round. Initially the Nou Occitan troubadour planet is portrayed as fairly Utopian, with unlimited resources and people using their leisure for the arts and romance, whereas Caledon is miserable and puritan and full of pointless, avoidable suffering for the sake of a twisted ideology. As the book progresses, it becomes apparent that Nou Occitan is decadent, backward-looking and sexist, whereas Caledon has a rugged beauty of its own and there is in fact some value in meaningful physical labour even if you do have robots available.
aMOD is recent enough that the gender politics look sensible. Not everybody is assumed to be straight, and there are several female characters showing a range of competences. The book even manages a Bechdel pass even though it's from the point of view of a self-centred and extremely sexist male protag. In fact, if there's a flaw I would almost say that aMOD is trying too hard. A major part of Giraud's character arc involves him learning that women don't in fact appreciate being placed on chivalric pedestals but would rather be treated like people, who knew? The symbol of his achieving self-actualization is that he falls in love with *gasp* an ugly woman. I did like the fact that the narration is careful not make its feminist point at the expense of pretty, feminine women; the airheaded bimbo turns out to be surprisingly competent when given the chance, and even the catty, hysteria-prone beauty is shown with some redeeming features. But even with all these positives, I must admit I felt a little preached at.
In some ways aMOD fits in the niche of books I could recommend to people who've devoured the Vorkosigan saga and want more like that. It's not as good as the best of Bujold, but it has some similar strengths, in that it makes fairly simplistic world-building seem rich by exploring the impact of technology and culture on three-dimensional characters. And the story is exciting and character-driven and offers a lot of political agency to middle-class, intelligent, sexually liberal women.
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