I did not like this book. It is literary fiction, purporting to be science fiction. One reviewer is cited in the front matter as likening the author to a 'female Orwell'. That in itself should have been a warning. Likening any author to an other-gendered version of some dead white classic is suspect. Sure enough, this book is indeed somewhat stuck in the 1940s when "1984" was published. There is no sense of what has happened in the sci fi genre in the past 20 or even 50 years. There is not even a sense of what happened in the _world_ in the past 20 years. The novel, though published only ten years ago in 2009, is stuck in a binary dualism more reminiscent of Cold War Hollywood than of our post-2001 multi-dimensional planet. The one-dimensional focus on goodies (individualistic rebels) vs baddies (colluders with an oppressive state) means that no character is rounded; all are cardboard cut-outs who sprout abstract dicta and long-winded political tripe ad nauseam and at the drop of a hat. The main character who is described as reticent and a loner nevertheless manages to stand up in court and deliver a perfectly thought-out polemic to a room full of hostility.
This is the future (mid-21st century) but the one-dimensional focus on the future's main (only?) instrument of state oppression, "health", also means that some key aspects of what worries us about the future are left out, to wit: the health of our planet. And yes, ecological disaster was on the agenda in 2009. Indeed, it has been on the agenda since the 1970s and certainly has precedents in sci fi writing. But then, this is the sort of science fiction of people who never read science fiction so they think George Orwell is the last word in sci fi and have no clue as to genre tropes, genre nuances, genre world-building, genre anything. The world-building is very poor. Do these people never do anything besides obsess about "health" and "the right to be ill"? Does nobody ever go to the movies, wash a dish, knit a jumper, squee, chat, obsess over their Star Wars figurine collection?
Isolating the main obsession from all else (to wit: poor world-building) means that the "health" focus makes no sense. Everybody is constantly spraying disinfectant and worrying about microbes -- but there is no sense that we need microbes to survive and stay healthy, that what we do to nature is a danger to our health, that it's not as simple as positing the squishing of mud between one's toes as the antidote to all OTT cleanliness mania. And no sense that some sort of health regulation may be a good thing: if you are in favour of "health", you are, in this book, a baddie by default.
And even so, even just reading this as literary fiction: I hated the lack of nuance and roundedness. I also hated the lack of female friendship and the unthinking dominance of men in politics and the judiciary. Three female characters (neighbours in the MC's house) are described in the most ridiculously hysterical effeminate way, and I did not discern any irony here.
Finally, what’s with the screaming? Whenever anyone (and especially any women) get upset, they start SCREAMING. (“Schreien”, in German) I dislike these sorts of histrionics in my novels. I prefer quiet understatement that leaves space for the reader’s own emotions.
Format: A pleasant, small, fits-into-my-bumbag size, with a pleasantly semi-floppy cover that is half-way between a hardback and a paperback, covered in some sort of pretend-cloth which is pleasant to touch. Nice smooth paper, clear font, a ribbon to mark the page.
Read in German.
I feel angry after having read this.
ETA Jan. 2021: As many parts of the world enter a second or third lockdown, this book resonates even more awfully. The "right to be ill" has a terrible ring to it during this corona pandemic, and smacks of anti-vaccer rhetoric. Zeh could not, obviously, have predicted covid-19 but the underlying Weltanschauung of this novel can be appreciated as suspect even more so in 2021.