On first read:
A surreal allegory with no clear referent. A novel of scattered but abundant ideas. More focused and less irritating than Robert Anton Wilson, and episodic, feeling like Don Quixote or Gulliver's Travels, but more cryptic and eccentric, and without dated colloquialisms.
Rebellion against convention is the theme. In the 2500s, on the exoplanet Astrobe, a utopian colony called Civilized Astrobe or Golden Astrobe. The so-called third chance for human beings to get it right, after the Old World and the New World. A utopia in which there perfect harmony, perfect pleasure, a single spirit, the living cosmos, but therefore no unconscious, no afterlife, no mystery, nothing concealed, nothing to strive for, no meaning.
It is revealed as an aside that most of the inhabitants of this perfect utopia elect to live oustide the utopia. They choose to live in brutal, nightmare-libertarian, polluted, diseased, poverty-stricken Cathead where thousands of rats prowl the streets at night, overrun people, cover them like blankets, and rend all the flesh from their bodies, leaving a trail of skeletons in their wake like the movie Critters. But at least in Cathead, life has some meaning.
The prose is unusual. Lyrical, competent, and atypical. Seemingly determined to avoid hack phrases and familiar rhythms. The voice is noticeably odd but never incomprehensible.
Like the main theme, perhaps? Avoiding utopic and meaningless convention?
The rulers of this world send to retrieve Thomas More from 1000 years ago to rule their current world. For me, the best part of this book is the reckless, soft-sf style. The disjointed, almost punk-rock, matter of factness, as Paul runs the minor errand of traveling back in time to retrieve a major historical figure. The law of conservation of psychic totality states that one who travels faster than the speed of light must still experience the same amount of psychic awareness during space travel as they would at sub-light speeds. And so, intense surreal dreams, hints of madness. Bizarre and lovely choices by the author.
But ultimately, apparently, plotless and diffuse. Nothing to hold on to. In finishing this novel, one senses the tension between plot and idea struggling for dominance in the text, just as the text itself represents a struggle between the emptiness of utopia and the worthwhileness of dystopia.
This may or may not be a device. A feeling of emptiness upon finishing. I became less and less interested the longer I read. There was a perfect peak of surreal, fuck-you worldbuilding in Act 1, followed by a not-too-long slide into bizarre plot points, ungrounded political conversations, and playfully ambiguous characters that feel like placeholders. It's unclear.
Cool ending. Cosmos-engulfing. An ending that unexpectedly impacts Being itself. That grandiosity, and the unpredictability of the prose, are the best parts.
The worst part: there are no stakes and no development.
It was nominated for the 1969 Nebula Award and the 1969 Hugo Award. It lost to Alexei Panshin's Rite of Passage and John Brunner's Stand on Zanzibar, respectively.