Oh thank goodness, she remembered how to write a story. Or at least ninety-eight percent of one.
Most of my problems with Tepper stories hasn't had anything to do with the writing or the world-building, both of which seems to be her strengths, but her tendency to ram social commentary down our throats like paramedics in a race to see who can intubate the fastest. When that side of her writing personality comes to the fore, you tend to get characters who exist merely to make certain points and scenarios geared to tell us exactly what is wrong with our society and what can be done to fix it, or at least how she would fix it. You can't deny the passion or the sincerity but sometimes it's less thought provoking than the cranky professor in the front of the room lecturing the captive audience on how everything would be different if they ran the world.
Here, she mostly gets out of her own way and lets the plot do things that stories are supposed to do. We come upon an America several hundred years in the future after it has been hit with a great catastrophe that seems to rhyme with "meteor". The country has become fragmented and forgotten how things like "science" used to work, cobbling together mythologies based on scraps and unsurprisingly letting a authoritarian ruling class oppress the heck out of everyone it comes into contact with. Oh, and did I mention the ruling class is based around religious ideals and uses doctrine and dogma to enforce its bizarre rules? Hey, we're still in a Tepper novel.
But for once it's not eye-rolling. We follow the story of Disme, who would love to have a better family than she currently has, or at least the one she has after her rather unpleasant step-sister takes care of things. She lives in a city ruled by the Regime, who craft rules from the Dicta. The countryside is surrounded by demons, who help create "bottles" that people are stored in when they die or when people stop liking them. When people really stop liking you but don't want to kill you, you're assumed to have "The Disease" and are put into a Chair, which is not at all an enjoyable experience.
As odd as this all sounds, the strangeness works in the story's favor, giving it an otherworldly feel that seems appropriate for a country that had to reconstruct itself from fragments several hundred years down the line. Disme attempts to navigate this world, staying out of her sister's way while in the background various demonic type forces seem to be getting ready to go to war. There's a dream-like ambiance to the proceedings, in that we should be in a SF type of setting (future dystopia) but instead we're gone into a fantasy world, where the rules are a bit more ambiguous and magic seems to be possible, except when science says it isn't. But science doesn't even know what science is saying.
What works here for me is all the inter-connectivity. For once we're treated to actual characters that don't easily fall into her "women traits good" and "man traits bad" categories, with people of both genders acting like people of different stripes, both good and bad, with the goodness and badness determined more by their actions than what restroom door they walk through. It's refreshing because instead of having to filter out all the usual layers of commentary that often mark her work, I can just enjoy the story and the shifting plot, with various people all conspiring separately, giving the impression of a world with quite a few moving parts, some of which are acting in concert and others in opposition. She even includes journal entries from a scientist that worked to preserve the world before the Big One hits, and it provides a nice contrast to the main action, even connecting later (and when the scientist's husband abandons science for the placid embrace of religion, it's not even as grating as it could be).
I should point out that her actual prose is near a peak here, hardly rivaled by her other novels in terms of richness and descriptiveness, carrying everything along so smoothly you hardly notice that it's a step or two better than her usual standards.
Everything has been going so well that it's hardly even a disappointment when it turns out she's not sure how to wrap it all up. As the book chugs along it begins to get more and more muddled, introducing guardians of the world that may have been made up but seem to be real. Once they start possessing people the book loses a lot of the mysterious intensity that characterized the early chapters and instead it becomes more like a gathering of the socially conscious super-friends, as people move from place to place, someone else is revealed to be super while an army gathers nearby. The idea of advanced science seeming like magic isn't new but it seems like she wants to take that theme and not use science at all (at some points it seems like she read Zelazny's "Lord of Light" and thought "This is great!" while missing the point of it entirely) which means things get quickly incoherent. There's nothing wrong with using magic as a framework for a post-apocalyptic novel, nor does everything have to be explained in a satisfying fashion. But there has to be some sense that everything is operating under some rules or else it just seems like the author is making everything up as she goes along depending on what is convenient for the plot.
So like a camera dropped in the ocean, the book starts to lose its focus entirely, concentrating on aliens and a living meteor and a monster converting people into other monsters and by the time you get to the cyborg people you start to wonder if Tepper has a child or grandchild who took over the plotting for her. Whatever point the book was trying to make becomes lost entirely as everyone plows through as if hoping that a point will appear if they hack away at it long enough. To make things worse, she introduces a . . . we'll say "entity" that gives a long John Galt style speech about how we can improve society that stops the book cold so it can lecture at us. It's as if, having behaved for most of the novel, Tepper can't help herself and while the restraint is welcome, it runs the risk of leaving a bad taste in the mouth of an unsuspecting reader.
It ends up a mess but the first two-thirds to three-quarters of it is so decent and immersive that you want to take all the available copies, mail them back to her and have her do just one more draft to hammer out all the weak spots. If nothing else, it shows that she's capable of introducing social commentary without bludgeoning us to death with it and while she's so assured here for most of it that you can't write it off as an anomaly ("Grass" alone proves this wasn't a fluke) but with the results being so much more successfully you wonder why she doesn't put the effort in to achieve this kind of thing all the time.