Okay, so pretty much everybody thinks they can write a YA novel now, and it annoys me. It's bad enough that well-known authors leave the rest of us squeezed for shelf space and book group time on the adult side of things, but then they have to come and horn in on YA territory too. (Yeah, Chabon, I'm talking to you. You too, Nick Hornby, though I did hear two teens talking about how Slam was "off the hook" in the bookstore the other day, which of course made me seethe.) (Jealousy has prevented me from reading Slam. It may well be off the hook. But still--like you don't sell enough adult books? I wrote a YA book for boys last year too, and you got prominently displayed in every bookstore in the English speaking world while the chains wouldn't even stock my hardcover. a-hole.)
I give speculative fiction authors a bit of a break on this score, mostly since they appear to be pretty good at it: China Mieville's Un Lun Dun and Neil Gaiman's Coraline are both fantastic.
So when I saw Cory Doctorow had a YA book out, I figured maybe I'd buy it.
Except I didn't have to buy it because he gives it away for free here, and my Kindle (Awesome Xmas gift. My wife rules) allows me to read it without hunching over a computer all day.
Mr. Doctorow is pretty evangelistic about the benefits of giving your books away online. And hey, it works for him---he sells a lot too and appears to have a pretty dedicated fan base. His argument is also pretty compelling, and he says it over and over and over in many venues: "For most authors, the problem isn't piracy, it's obscurity." I only wish enough people wanted my books that they were trying to pirate them. Of course, whether you can actually do this and still succeed if you aren't a science fiction author with an inherently tech-savvy and, let's be honest, geeky fan base and, oh yeah, editor of one of the most popular blogs on the internets remains to be seen. (I know--blogs have editors?)
All that aside, though, the book, Little Brother, looked awesome-- can one pissed-off teen bring down an intrusive homeland security surveillance apparatus? This is the "Little Guy Versus the Big Machine" plot that has been used to such great effect in Three Days of the Condor, War Games, The Bourne Identity, etc. etc. It's an awesome plot, probably superior even to "Ragtag Band of Misfits Make Good, Thus Redeeming Their Coach/Mentor" as an engine of popular entertainment.
But Doctorow's got more than entertainment on his mind. He wants to both indict the stupidity of the "spy on everybody all the time" response to terrorism and also provide some how-to tips on how to protect yourself against and subvert such unconstitutional behavior. So Little Brother is not just a novel--it's a manifesto about privacy rights and the power of computers to guard as well as invade our privacy.
Here's the thing about manifestos, though: they make really crappy novels.
And so it is with Little Brother. Cory Doctorow is so concerned with getting his Really Important Ideas across that he's neglected to write a good story around them, or, rather, he's killed what should have been a good story with them. "Little Guy vs. Big Machine" should be a nonstop, action-packed ride, but here, it's more of a local train, with frequent stops for speechifying, history lessons, and how-to's on insuring your privacy on the internets and in the world.
Let me be clear: I agree with the politics of this book. What I disagree with is the didactic tone, the turgid prose, the cardboard characters, and the wrecking of a perfectly good plot engine with lots of well-intentioned information conveyance. I've read some of Doctorow's nonfiction pieces, and I think he's a very good nonfiction writer. Maybe this book is an aberration , or maybe he's just not much of a novelist.
What's kind of sad is that in an effort to inform and radicalize the youth of today, he's written a book that very few young adults will actually want to read. Oh, I'm sure a lot will own it: I see many Linux-addled bachelor uncles presenting this book to their nephews and telling them it's a really important read. And the nephews, eager to stay on the good side of the guy who lets them play M-rated games at his house without telling Mom, will probably open the book. And they may even hang in past the first lecture and all the contrived "arguments" with dad that serve to present the debate about privacy versus security. But I predict very few will make it past the lecture on the history of countercultural activism in San Francisco that takes place in the main character's history class and that pretty well kills the book.
Doctorow spends most of the book praising the intelligence and insight of teens, but forgets this crucial point: they know when they're being lectured at, and, take it from someone who taught high school for ten years, they don't like it.
