Funny story: while reading this book, one of my colleagues actually came up to me and said "Stand on Zanzibar! That's a great book!" I'm usually pleased when this kind of thing happens, but in this case I'm calling it "funny" because I came within a few inches of throwing this book across the room when I got to the end.
I almost didn't make it past the first thirty pages. The book is a "non-novel," a formalistic experiment in trying to produce a book that's more or less like channel surfing. It's about overpopulation and new media, among other things; there's a thematic excuse for intentionally signal-overloading the reader. But when you keep having new characters and sound-bytes thrown at you every three pages, plus advertisements, propaganda, disconnected conversations, and other noise it is very hard to engage the book. I found myself skimming portions by about halfway through, and the disturbing thing is I suspect the author wants me to.
So the book started off handicapped. It looked for a brief while like it might have been rescued about two-thirds of the way through the book by plot developments, but the last thirty pages trashed any hope I had. The ending is essentially hopeless. 90% of the characters in the book have died, the one culture that has any redeeming value in the book is going to be not only eradicated but weaponized, and one of the characters has been Vietnam-warred in a disturbing and unnecessary way. I realize that this is the point; this is Brunner shouting at the world, trying to point out problems that could lead us all to ruin. But again, this didn't make it any easier to read. The fact that I had little sympathy for any character in the entire book may also have contributed to my dislike.
It's a pile of social commentary thinly disguised as a novel. I certainly wouldn't voluntarily read it again. It won the Hugo for best novel. Funny story.
Print date: 1968 (60s: 1, 00s: 1)
Page count: 650 (1256 total)
Verdict: Give away at first opportunity.
Next book due: Northshore, Vol. 1: The Awakeners by Sheri Tepper, 2/4/10