I honestly have no idea where people are getting their feelings for this book.
To preface my review, I want to make a point of the fact that I love SF, particularly books about robots and people. I am interested enough in this trope to comfortably say that if your book has this, I will saddle up that pony and ride it to the ground. The only movies that consistently make me uglycry are AI, The Iron Giant, and Her. My favorite anime is The Big O. I literally just volunteered tearing tickets for a showing of Blade Runner dressed as Rachael at my local theater. I have been working on a tattoo design of Isaac Asimov's Andrew Martin for three years. I have a large section of my bookshelf at home devoted to nothing but AI, robotics, the singularity, Brian Aldiss' Supertoys Last All Summer Long, and the Robot Series by Asimov.
I am telling you all of this for a reason. I want you to know how seriously I love this genre and how much room I give these ideas in my heart. I am incredibly sentimental about human machines.
So, what went so horribly wrong?
First off, as my roommate so articulately put it, Ron Swanson talks about the importance of not half-assing, but instead full-assing. This book is the definition of this. In trying to be both Sci-Fi and romance without proper attention and commitment to what makes either of the genres work, it fails the story on both counts. Usually, a SF story of this type follows a certain structure that tends to be there because the formula effectively gives opportunities to drum up the ideas they start with. In the case of our robot/human love story, most of the time, this means a robot has a chance to go from being a slave to being a curious learner, as evidenced in Bicentennial Man's Andrew Martin. In his role as caregiver, he grows close to the children and experiences the joy of a child's curiosity secondhand, coming to understand what a gift a curious mind is. It is through this connection to the children that he is able to begin to think for himself some and to ask questions as they do.
Ada ...eats an orange and is trapped in the beige wonderman's house while he goes to his boring job.
Andrew goes into business for himself, making art and trying to support himself financially. This leads him to thinking about dressing as a person and interacting with others as a person would and exploring the differences between people and machines, making note of the disparity in rights between them and trying to examine them. His former master has many conversations with him about why this is and the troubles he will face if he takes this path, but ultimately supports him in the idea that he can be more than a slave.
Ada's one transgressive act of -*gasp!* going into the back yard!!!- is met with gossip, gross comments, and distaste from neighbors. Rather than stand up from her or use it as an experience to grow Alex, theyyyyy....have Alex tell her not to go outside again or to "act more robotic." So romantic.
I am so disgusted by this series on so many levels. I was told that it could be seen as an allegory for experiences of racism, transphobia, etc. What message are they communicating here from this virtuous Nice Guy we are all supposed to be so moved by? Why does Ada's curiosity and wonder begin and end with what he deems acceptable, and why is she okay with this? Why doesn't she even try to question it again? How does this reinforce the idea of her sentience?
Point the second: they have an argument and Ada runs off to see some friends she knows from an online community. Stuff goes down. Things get bad. She reaches out to others for help when she literally can't feed herself with her owner's credits...
...aaaand they end up ratting her out and returning her to him.
There are so many instances of this book that, if we were going for allegory, I would have come up with "classical symptoms of abusive relationships glorified into the romantic." She can try to run, but she can't get far, because she depends on him to survive. She seeks help and advice from friends who only downplay the matter and put her right back into her place. She is told where to go and when for her benefit and not trusted to think critically for herself or to learn. Robot or not, this is a really disturbing trend to have in a book about love, so it doesn't sell me on the romance side.
Female robots in stories like this have a long-standing history of only following the potentials that the world expects of female women, namely sex-bot, emotional nursemombot, training-wheels-for-insecure-men-bot, and sexy-interpreter/untreatening slavebot, and badassly-not-that-clothed-killing-machine/toy. There are not enough sassy ladybots out there, so the ones I do find, I shove under my wing like a mother hen and cluck lovingly over their awesomeness. R. Dorothy Wayneright of The Big O, for example, gives a scarce amount of damns, has a lot of fun ragging on her human companion (Sorta-boss? Landlord? Hume-crush? This is always delightfully unclear and explored in simple moments between them as well as larger, character-centric episodes.), humoring him in his attempts to make himself more comfortable with her inhuman state (or sometimes, in her state of swan-diving into the Uncanny Valley without presage or warning), and adjusting his life schedule as she sees fit by taking advantage of her status as a robot to do so. Even if she fits some of these tropes at times, the story gleefully smacks them out of the way when they find they would prefer to, I dunno...WRITE HER LIKE A DYNAMIC CHARACTER. They don't simply use her status as a robot to weasel out of writing her creatively, compellingly, humorously, and brilliantly. She plays piano with precision, but it has no soul, so Roger takes her for music lessons to learn to feel music as she plays it. She finds a stray cat on her errands one day and connects with it deeply, causing Roger to question what she is capable of feeling and feel guilt when he has to tell her the cat has an owner already. She responds by aggressively demanding that he "do his job and negotiate" to get him back for her. Roger similarly has a hard time understanding what feelings he has for Dorothy, even struggling with whether or not she mentally qualifies as a robot to him as it is. She makes him mad. She argues with him. She has curiosities. She does things for her own enjoyment. She questions the right he has to question her mindsets at all. He often tries to browbeat or argue her to his will. Most the time, he fails, and his best victories are usually met with a verbal eyeroll.
...Remember that thing about half-assing? Yeah. I guess we're back to this book then.
In trying to do the SF angle with the romance angle, you need to borrow and build some from both. What role does technology play in this story? What limitations do we have? This is one of the first major problems I have with this plot. Consider this:
Your grandma buys you a million dollar robot toy from a massive company that screwed up bigtime and now consumers have lost some faith and become nervous about their product because it CAUSED THE DEATH OF THREE DOZEN PEOPLE due to a failure in their tech that you conveniently avoid explaining or developing in your plot in any way beyond "OH YEAH IT GOT AWARE AND TOTES TOASTED SOME PEOPLE, GUYS." You tell me it is expensive. You tell me the product is so authentic looking that it has ONLY ONE VISUAL MARKER THAT IS EASILY CONCEALED to identify it as an android. Okay, I might swallow that, but it won't go down smooth.
...But THEN you tell me that the tech that is likely to have DIRECTLY CAUSED the slaughter of 36 people is STILL IN THE PRODUCTS YOU ARE SELLING and can just be... unlocked. And easily. By answering a few dumb questions on a forum on the internet by a complete stranger. Okay, stupid, but we have seen massive car companies avoid recalls for years before. Sure. Recalls are expensive. But THEN you tell me that not only can you unlock this thing that caused a very real, very LETHAL problem that the media is STILL talking about and that this can give these robots choice and sentience ON THE SAME TECH WHERE THEY ARE PROGRAMMED TO BE SOLD AS SLAVES. Wearing a bit thin. But then, ~*~magically~*~and inexplicably, Ada is still devoted to /only/ him, has known only him and his home, has experienced only connection with him.
But is it that inexplicable?
So my next question for you is...who..../really/ thinks that Ada had any choice over loving Alex? I sure as hell don't. Do you think the multi-billion dollar company would also have left in a huge flaw that could lead to their customers losing these /extremely expensive slaves/ they bought, even if they had to illicitly jailbreak their iPho--Imean, Macbot--Imean, /android lovers? How many customers do you think they would retain with that logic? Do they just like...hand them a new 'bot if they whine about it like Apple does when your kid drops their iPhone in the toilet to keep you loyal?
But, of course, we conveniently ignore how any of the tech actually works to try to dodge this plot-critical problem, and yet STILL want to depend on the tech when they can't write something more challenging. Cool.
Ada is the Kimmie Schmidt of romance. Literally doesn't know better and has little option or frame of reference to make another decision. She's literally in a box for years at one point, for crissakes.
I guess all is fair in love and voided warranties.
Who are these people and what do they see in each other? This last question has baffled me since I finished reading.
In writing a romance, the genre is character-driven by nature. What that means is that in order for the plot and premise to work, you need to have some idea who these people are, what they value, how they react to things, and what they see in each other. If Alex were a Home Depot paint swatch, he'd be the one with "eggshell white", "medium taupe", and "Caribbean sand" on it. His personality and features are nearly indistinguishable from the robots around him, and the whole cast is pretty much like that or one-note, like 'ol Ouchleg, Bitter McFriendzonia, and ....uh....Ungrateful Ex. Boring. Dull. Flat. Ultimately without impact or meaning and simply used as spokes in this broken, shambling wagon wheel of a cast to roll this stagecoach into the Moderately OK Book Corral.
Just...god, what a trainwreck.