At one point in Cory Doctorow's Down and Out in the Magic Kingdom, the main character, Julius, launches into a brilliant analysis of how to choose which line to stand in when several options present themselves. Julius first smugly puts down a myth foolishly adopted by all but the best crowd beaters: "The classic, of course, is the unladen citizen, a person naked of even a modest shoulderbag or marsupial pocket. To the layperson, such a specimen might be thought of as a sure bet for a fast transaction, but I’d done an informal study and come to the conclusion that these brave iconoclasts are often the flightiest of the lot." No, says Julius, it's not the unladen swallows:

[F]or my money, I’ll take what I call the Road Worrier anytime. Such a person is apt to be carefully slung with four or five carriers of one description or another, from bulging cargo pockets to clever military-grade strap-on pouches with biometrically keyed closures. The thing to watch for is the ergonomic consideration given to these conveyances: do they balance, are they slung for minimum interference and maximum ease of access? Someone who’s given that much consideration to their gear is likely spending their time in line determining which bits and pieces they’ll need when they reach its headwaters and is holding them at ready for fastest-possible processing.

The Road Worrier analysis is one of Doctorow's cleverest segments in an exceedingly clever novel, which is filled with all sorts of casually slung but jazzily catchy ideas. In the world of Down and Out, scarcity is a myth, money is a legend, and death is still inevitable but easily restored: just boot up your backup into a quickly grown clone. In the Bitchun Society, as this post-scarcity society is wittily known, the most valuable commodity is Whuffie, basically prestige points that you collect when others think highly of you. Of course, even Whuffie-less Bitchun citizens don't starve; they just don't get the extra benefits of life, like trips to space, more elaborate foods, and membership in one of the ad-hocracies that run Disneyworld.

That's right: in the land of Bitchun, the Magic Kingdom is no longer just a theme park. Instead, it's now a cheerfully balkanized conglomerate of "ad-hocs," directly democratic organizations that each control part of the park. Julius is part of the Liberty Island ad-hoc, with responsibility over Tom Sawyer Island and, more importantly, the Haunted Mansion. One day he wakes up in the hospital and discovers to his dismay that he's been murdered: the self who is learning the gory details of his death is a backup booted into a clone that was awaiting just such an eventuality. Suspiciously, a neighboring ad-hoc takes over a part of Liberty Island during the confusion over Julius's death. Will the Haunted Mansion be next? Will the murderer strike again? Will the Bitchun Society prove itself to be really bitchin', or just a bitch?

It's impossible to evaluate Down and Out without mentioning the background of its publication. As most online readers know, Down and Out was released with great fanfare in both print and online versions--but the online version was completely free. (And still is, if you care to download it.) Down and Out was supposed to be Doctorow's answer to the Copyright Term Extension Act (CTEA), which extended copyright terms to ridiculous extremes. Doctorow, already a well-respected author of short fiction, seemed to be claiming that authors should be perfectly happy to release books into the public domain well before their copyright terms technically expire, and to prove that point he would release his right away. "Trust the reader" was his mantra. And so Down and Out was snatched up by the anti-CTEA crowd with relish, a way to Fight the Man by proving Him wrong.

Well, I honestly don't know what the fate of this experiment has been. I haven't been able to find the print version of Doctorow's book at any of the bookstores I've been to, including places like Barnes & Noble and Borders, and smaller places as well. But, caught up in the initial wave of excitement, I too downloaded Doctorow's novel--but I couldn't get past the first chapter. Only this summer, with more time to spare, did I force myself to sit down and plow through the book.

The first chapter is still hard to get through. It is, unforgivably, one of the hoariest of science-fiction devices: non-stop exposition disguised as a dialogue between two helpfully explanatory characters. The thin veneer of plot hiding the exposition only makes things worse; it seems to say that here's a writer who's good enough to know how not to be awful, but awful enough not to know how to be good.

Fortunately, things swiftly improve. The mystery of Julius's murder builds up steam as Julius becomes ever more paranoid about the ad-hoc that is encroaching on Liberty Island and takes matters into his own hand. His increasing torment becomes an almost palpable oppression, as unexpected betrayals buffet him (and deprive his Whuffie). And throughout, Doctorow intermittently dazzles with clever passages on both perfectly mundane subjects--like the Road Worrier passage from above--and on the bizarre utopia that he has crafted.

Doctorow is perhaps most successful in helping readers to internalize the value system of the Bitchun Society. We know, because we have seen it, that death and poverty mean nothing. But Whuffie is still important--and there is always friendship, and love, and the disintegration of both. When Julius is stymied in his quest, Doctorow shows us--indeed, almost forces us--to feel his pain. In the absence of all other wants, the few deprivations that are left hurt even more.

Unfortunately, Down and Out still reads like a first novel. Much of the dialogue creaks rather than crackles, with the characters saying little more than necessary--and with as little style as possible--to keep the plot moving. Several plot twists seem incredibly contrived, as if the author intervened just to keep things interesting. With the exception of Julius, with whose paranoid mind we become intimately familiar, the characters are either shallow bags of character traits or inscrutable players: Dan in particular is utterly baffling, and his relationship with Julius is one that rings hollow to me. Finally, though Doctorow begins the novel badly, he ends it even worse, with a sudden reversal of fortune due to a key revelation that tidily wraps up all the mysteries and gives the protagonist a faintly happy ending.

Down and Out is often rough going, but Doctorow's enthusiasm shines through on every (digital) page. And while it is not even close to the best novel I have ever read--though it is just barely one of the better ones--I can with great confidence say that it's one of the best values I have ever gotten for my money.

Copyright © 2003 Steven Wu