If you have enjoyed other books by Jo Walton but haven’t heard of this one, it’s probably because it was published by a small press. It’s one of those books which is so odd and quirky that only a relatively small fraction of the total possible readers will like it. But the nice thing about those sorts of books is that the people who like them at all tend to like them a lot.
Lifelode is a quiet, pastoral book, and not much happens in the first half other than people going about their daily lives in a closely observed domestic setting. I love that kind of thing when it’s done well, and it’s done very well. In fact, I preferred the first half, in which the big events concern meals and childcare and discussions of etymology, to the second half, which has battles and relationships falling apart and magical duels. However, the book does work as a whole, and the battles and so forth don’t come out of the blue, but arise from what was set up in the beginning.
Like Pamela Dean’s marvelously strange The Dubious Hills, it’s a book in which most of the action consists of the daily lives of people in a fantasy world whose extremely weird attributes are worked out with the sort of rigor fans like to see in hard sf. In Dean’s world, knowledge is divided among different people, so you have to go ask the person whose sphere is the knowledge of emotions if you want to know what it is that you’re feeling.
In Walton’s world, time and free will and magic, among other forces, vary depending on where you are. The farther you travel west, the less free will and magic you have, and while years may pass for you, only weeks will have gone by for the people in the village you left. The farther east, the more magic and the more free will you have… to a certain cool and also spoilery point which I won’t reveal. But also, time passes much more quickly for the people you left than for you.
And so Hanethe returns from the east to the placid village of Applekirk, over a hundred years after she left, and shakes up the quiet lives of the inhabitants. Because one of the main characters, Taveth, can see people at all stages of their lives at once, past and present and future, the book is told in present tense but we see the events much as Taveth does, as all happening at once. This is skillfully done and I didn’t find it confusing.
Many of the characters are members of a large, complicated polyamorous family. (This is completely normal in Applekirk.) Walton tried to avoid the usual pitfall of presenting the particular family arrangement she’s writing about as practically perfect in every way, and succeeded to some extent: even open relationships are not necessarily free from jealousy, even the most carefully set rules of operation can’t prevent people from breaking them, and not even a person who has dedicated her life to the pursuit of serenity can avoid pettiness and pain.
That being said, the family and characters may not have been practically perfect, but many of them skirted close to that mark. I would have liked a little more rawness and sharp edges, and children being immature. (The children are wise in the way that real children sometimes are; I have no quarrel with that. It’s that all of them are usually wise and mature, and even when they’re not, none of them are ever whiny or hyper or having inexplicable emotional meltdowns.)
There are a number of invented words, most of which work. Raensome (people being characteristically themselves) is lovely and fits with the setting, though frubbled (the opposite of jealousy) sounds cutesy-modern. On a similar nitpick, I was startled by the mention of edamame in a book which has no other Asian words or referents, unless I missed something. I expect it was supposed to indicate that the characters are descended from many different cultures of our world (I don’t think they’re all what we would consider phenotypically Caucasian, though it was hard to tell because the characters don’t make those kinds of distinctions) but for the sake of consistency and not jerking readers out of the story, either there should have been more non-western references, or there should have been none.
But those are, as I said, nitpicks. The prose is lovely, the descriptions are vivid, and it’s a type of novel not merely not often done well, but not often done at all. If you like books like Rumer Godden’s In This House of Brede, an evocative and intimate portrait of daily life in a nunnery, or Ursula K. Le Guin’s anthropological sf about life in an unfamiliar culture, you will probably like this book, and you may well like it a lot. Even with war and death and so forth, this is a very cozy book. I read it in bed during a cold night, and the only way the experience could have been better would have been if I’d had a fireplace instead of a space heater.