Anne McCaffrey (1926-2011) was one of the best-known American SF writers of the second half of the last century, winning both the Hugo and Nebula Awards (and the first woman to win either). Her best-known fictional corpus is her Pern series, of which this novel is actually the third book in the original trilogy, The Dragonriders of Pern. It is, however, the first one Barb and I read, neither of us having heard of the series or the author before. Barb stumbled on the book at a yard sale and was attracted by the cover. Through our reading, she fell in love with Ruth, the runt white dragon pictured there (who, oddly given his name, is a male). So we went on to eventually read no less than 15 of the Pern books, starting with the rest of the first trilogy (which she still periodically rereads to herself), and a few other books by the author. Since I probably won't review any other Pern books, this review can cover the whole series.
The setting here is a far-future one, in which humans have begun to colonize the galaxy. Pern is a distant planet, settled centuries ago by emigrants from Earth. But at that time, neither they nor the original surveyors of the planet were aware that it has a rogue planet neighbor, the "Red Star," the erratic orbit of which brings it relatively close to Pern for a few years every couple of centuries. While the Red Star is mostly uninhabitable, it is home to one life form: a carnivorous fungus species called "Thread," gray filaments whose acidic gastric juices externally digest any organic matter they touch (except other Thread, apparently) so the filaments can absorb it. Thread filaments have no brain and aren't sentient, but when the planet is "near" Pern (though we're talking tens or even hundreds of thousand miles away!) they somehow sense organic matter and launch themselves off their planet, escape its gravity and travel purposefully, powered by nothing, across the absolute-zero cold void of space to Pern, where they drop out of its sky and feed on any living flesh they touch. This is not simply "soft" SF; it's so "soft" it's colloidal, and likely to drip off of the page. :-)
However, Pern is home to an unusual species of its own, small flying reptiles called "fire lizards" that resemble miniature dragons, which (besides possessing telepathic and teleporting powers) can chew and swallow a phosphorescent native rock --though they can't digest and pass it-- which enables them to belch flames that sear and destroy Thread before it reaches the ground. (It's only dangerous on land; filaments that fall into the sea drown and die.) Although this knowledge was forgotten in Ruth's time (it's rediscovered in the course of the series, and detailed in a prequel volume Dragonsdawn), faced with the shock of their first Threadfall, the original colonists used genetic engineering to breed some of the fire lizard stock into full-sized dragons, who on hatching bond telepathically with a human dragonrider, and partner with him/her to fight Thread. But even with the dragons, the carnage of Threadfall destroyed Pernese high technology, cut off contact with the rest of the galaxy, and caused the settlers to regress to a feudal social organization and essentially medieval level of technology.
This series has legions of fans; Barb likes it much better than I do (and instructed me to note that her rating for this book is five stars!), though it would be fair to say that's mostly because of the appeal of Ruth. But it has its detractors as well; ratings in my friend circle range from five stars to one. My assessment is closer to the lower end, and I'll try here to indicate why. (Some of my specific criticisms have been noted by other readers and critics as well, on and off of Goodreads.)
I don't care if a science-fictional premise isn't actually grounded in extrapolation from known science, so appreciate soft SF as such (and often like it better than the "hard" variety). But I do want any such premise to be consistent with, or at least not wildly contradict, basic reality. So while I can accept that, for instance, FTL space travel, ESP, or time travel "exist" in a fictional story even though we don't know how they operate, I can't suspend disbelief in an obviously impossible premise like Thread. Considered as sociological SF, the world building of Pern's society leaves a lot to be desired. For one thing, it's an atheist society devoid of any form of religion, in which it's never occurred to a single person to question that naive materialism explains all of reality (and McCaffrey confirms in the nonfiction series companion The People of Pern that this was intentional). That gratifies the author's wishful thinking and animus against religious belief, but it's not credible in terms of how individual and social psychology operates. Moreover, it's a thoroughly unequal and stratified society, and a deeply sexist one. Land ownership is concentrated in the relatively few hands of the hereditary Lord Holders, who run feudal fiefdoms from their Holds, dug into solid rock to protect them from Thread; the rest of the agricultural population are their retainers/tenants or house servants (“drudges,” who are just part of the furniture). Dragonriders live in the various scattered Weyrs,and levy support from the rest of the population; the Weyrleaders are all male, and the dragonriders are almost all male. Other non-agricultural trades are organized into male-dominated craft guilds, each with a guild Master. The most important of these is the Harper Hall; the Harpers are minstrels, but their songs are also the educational curriculum of the society, preserving what they know of their history and passing on essential knowledge and socio-moral instruction to the young, as well as entertaining young and old. All of them are male except for one female character, Menolly, who becomes the planet's only woman Harper; but her break-through only affects her, not any of Pern's other females. There's no democracy, little opportunity for social mobility, enormous inequality of wealth and privilege, and (as I recall) limited literacy. In these respects, it's not an unrealistic type of society for flawed human to create. The problem I have with it in these areas isn't lack of realism, but rather the fact that the author apparently doesn't have a problem with it; there's no sense on her part of social criticism or feeling that things should be any different than they are. (And in the last series books, when high technology and past knowledge is beginning to be recovered, that development has zero effect on the planet's cultural ethos or socio-economic set-up, which actually is pretty unrealistic.)
McCaffrey's sexual attitudes, to put it mildly, are dissimilar to mine; she clearly doesn't have any problem with casual sex, and apparently has something of a fascination with non-consensual sex. The series books don't have any very explicitly described sex scenes, but it has some with limited descriptions, and more that are implied or stated. Both fire lizards and their dragon descendants have a marked numerical imbalance in the sexes, with many more males than females and very few egg-laying females, the Queens. When they bond telepathically with a human, he/she shares their mating drives; Queens bond with a woman, who (if she's bonded to a dragon rather than just to a fire lizard) becomes the Weyrwoman of that Weyr, and shares the Queen's heat periods. (Sterile females usually don't bond with any human; but by a fluke, in one of the books, one bonds with the girl Mirrim, who becomes a female dragonrider who's NOT a Weyrwoman. But again, that only affects her; she's not a trailblazer for her sex.) Male reptiles bond with human males, and when their Queen goes on a mating flight and one of the rutting males breeds her, their human partners rut along with them, and the partner of the Queen's mate mates with her human partner. (In the case of dragons, that human male becomes the Weyrleader.) This whole conceit was distasteful to me. Apart from reptile-related cycles, male sexual predation and the sexual double standard are alive and well in Pernese culture, and Lord Holders (who are apparently also sometimes polygamous) can sexually exploit their subservient female tenants, as protagonist Jaxom, the young lord who accidentally bonds with Ruth, does in this book (his dalliance serves as practice and virility-credentialing before he forms a romance with another Holder's sister). I found him an unlikable, entitled twit (and even one of the above-mentioned five star reviewers didn't care much for him, either).
Although the plotting in this and the other books held my interest, and this one succeeds as well as it does because of the endearing personality of title character Ruth, I'm not able to characterize it any more favorably than as “okay.”