Book Review: Liberty's Daughter, by Naomi Kritzer
An Anti-Heinleinesque YA adventure.
Fairwood Press, 2023, 264 pages
Beck Garrison lives on a seastead - an archipelago of constructed platforms and old cruise ships, assembled by libertarian separatists a generation ago. She's grown up comfortable and sheltered, but starts doing odd jobs for pocket money.
To her surprise, she finds that she's the only detective that a debt slave can afford to hire to track down the woman's missing sister. When she tackles this investigation, she learns things about life on the other side of the waterline - not to mention about herself and her father - that she did not expect. And that some people will stop at nothing to keep her from talking about . . .
That this book was inspired by, and a reaction to, Robert A. Heinlein, is patently obvious even if there are no overt call-outs or references. I haven't read anything by Naomi Kritzer before and don't know what her feelings about Heinlein are, but this book could not be more Heinleinesque if it added a few spankings and some Bugs.
I love Heinlein, skeevy spanking fetish and all. But Liberty's Daughter has the feel of a classic Heinlein juvenile - its protagonist is a smarty, spunky, capable girl whose father "runs" things in a vague, behind-the-scenes kind of way on their seastead home. Beck Garrison is an independent gal just trying to earn some pocket money, like most teenagers, but her part-time job as "finder" of miscellenry leads her to the dark underside of the seastead home where she has spent her entire life.
Which is where Liberty's Daughter is clearly also a response to some of Heinlein's other books, especially The Moon is a Harsh Mistress. Many of Heinlein's books depicted societies, on the moon or in near-future Earth enclaves, that run on anarcho-libertarian principles. There was a lot of philosophizing, and there was always present the uber-competent Heinleinian Male, a stern, wise, yet loving patriarchal figure, and the equally uber-competent Heinleinian Female, as brilliant and capable as her man but always ready to do the dishes and then throw off her clothes for some proper servicing.
I'm being a little cheeky, and a little unfair to the old man here. Talking about Heinlein always invites the Great Heinlein Debate. The man has passionate fans and passionate haters, and after reading this book, I honestly don't know which one Naomi Kritzer is. Maybe both.
The seastead is a collection of separatist anarcho-libertarian communes in the Pacific Ocean, made of floating platforms and spare ships all tied together and turned into a collection of micro-states, not really recognized as governments by the rest of the world, but allowed to exist more or less autonomously. The United States and some other countries have "outreach offices" there, but since the seasteaders exist in international waters, as long as they don't give the U.S. or anyone else a reason to send in the Navy, they are mostly left alone.
Rebecca Garrison's father is a rich guy who brought her to the 'stead when she was four, after her mother died. We never learn exactly what he does or where his money came from, but he's a Big Deal on the seastead, which means Beck has grown up living a fairly privileged life. Through her eyes, we learn how life in this libertarian utopia works. People can "buy in" with a full stake on the stead and an apartment if they have enough money, but many people arrive as "bond workers" - basically, they sell themselves into indentured servitude, hoping to eventually earn their way to freedom and enough money to buy a stake of their own. Technically, there is no "slavery" on the 'stead, only because countries like the U.S. probably would get involved if their citizens were literally being enslaved. But as we (and Beck) learn, "technically" has a lot of wiggle room. While conditions on the 'stead have clearly become normalized for her, even she is shocked to discover that where the "laws" are basically that anything you can get away with is legal, people can and will get away with a lot.
After trying to find a bond worker who disappeared, Beck is recruited to help a producer who's arrived from Hollywood to run a reality show on the 'stead. This leads to Beck discovering even more of the stead's dark side, and running into direct opposition with her father, who wants to maintain the status quo and doesn't want his daughter stirring up trouble. Unfortunately, he learns that when you raise a Heinleinian juvenile on an anarcho-libertarian commune, you get an independent-minded troublemaker.
Her father, Paul Garrison, is an archetypal Heinleinian Male: brilliant, wealthy, and in Kritzer's version, completely amoral. The relationship between Beck and her father seems awkward and true to what growing up with this kind of a father would be: he appears to feel some affection for her, but it's hard to tell whether his "love" extends beyond seeing her as an extension of himself, and he doesn't take it well when his progeny turns defiant. He starts out just being kind of an aloof, authoritarian d-bag, but Beck learns more and more about the dark side of her father, and the seastead where they live. Beck, in turn, seems a pretty normal teenage girl, but whether with her father or with her boyfriend, she seems almost emotionally stunted and we never get any deep insights into how she feels about them.
There was a lot to like in Liberty's Daughter, whether you love Heinlein or hate him (or have never read him). As a near-future SF novel, it's barely science fiction, and presents teens doing things in an almost-today setting. Beck is smart and likeable, and gets her way by being clever and having a lot of moxy, and while sometimes her ability to get away with things seemed a little too easy, she does run up against the limits of being a teenage girl in a world run by adults. As social commentary, it's both a critique of the Heinleinian archetype of competence and individualism, and of libertarianism.
There were also things that annoyed me. Beck is a bit flat as a character, and the ending - really, the last third of the book - seemed to be a series of escalating consequences and abrupt transitions that Beck continues to react to in a rather muted way. The end just sort of trails off, though in a way that would certainly allow for a sequel.
I also have to say that I was appalled by the editing. I've heard that publishers have been cheaping out on editing lately, and this showed it; I spotted typos and grammatical errors every few pages. Not entirely fair to judge a book by its editing, but I do, dammit.
My complete list of book reviews.
Fairwood Press, 2023, 264 pages
Beck Garrison lives on a seastead - an archipelago of constructed platforms and old cruise ships, assembled by libertarian separatists a generation ago. She's grown up comfortable and sheltered, but starts doing odd jobs for pocket money.
To her surprise, she finds that she's the only detective that a debt slave can afford to hire to track down the woman's missing sister. When she tackles this investigation, she learns things about life on the other side of the waterline - not to mention about herself and her father - that she did not expect. And that some people will stop at nothing to keep her from talking about . . .
That this book was inspired by, and a reaction to, Robert A. Heinlein, is patently obvious even if there are no overt call-outs or references. I haven't read anything by Naomi Kritzer before and don't know what her feelings about Heinlein are, but this book could not be more Heinleinesque if it added a few spankings and some Bugs.
I love Heinlein, skeevy spanking fetish and all. But Liberty's Daughter has the feel of a classic Heinlein juvenile - its protagonist is a smarty, spunky, capable girl whose father "runs" things in a vague, behind-the-scenes kind of way on their seastead home. Beck Garrison is an independent gal just trying to earn some pocket money, like most teenagers, but her part-time job as "finder" of miscellenry leads her to the dark underside of the seastead home where she has spent her entire life.
Which is where Liberty's Daughter is clearly also a response to some of Heinlein's other books, especially The Moon is a Harsh Mistress. Many of Heinlein's books depicted societies, on the moon or in near-future Earth enclaves, that run on anarcho-libertarian principles. There was a lot of philosophizing, and there was always present the uber-competent Heinleinian Male, a stern, wise, yet loving patriarchal figure, and the equally uber-competent Heinleinian Female, as brilliant and capable as her man but always ready to do the dishes and then throw off her clothes for some proper servicing.
I'm being a little cheeky, and a little unfair to the old man here. Talking about Heinlein always invites the Great Heinlein Debate. The man has passionate fans and passionate haters, and after reading this book, I honestly don't know which one Naomi Kritzer is. Maybe both.
The seastead is a collection of separatist anarcho-libertarian communes in the Pacific Ocean, made of floating platforms and spare ships all tied together and turned into a collection of micro-states, not really recognized as governments by the rest of the world, but allowed to exist more or less autonomously. The United States and some other countries have "outreach offices" there, but since the seasteaders exist in international waters, as long as they don't give the U.S. or anyone else a reason to send in the Navy, they are mostly left alone.
Rebecca Garrison's father is a rich guy who brought her to the 'stead when she was four, after her mother died. We never learn exactly what he does or where his money came from, but he's a Big Deal on the seastead, which means Beck has grown up living a fairly privileged life. Through her eyes, we learn how life in this libertarian utopia works. People can "buy in" with a full stake on the stead and an apartment if they have enough money, but many people arrive as "bond workers" - basically, they sell themselves into indentured servitude, hoping to eventually earn their way to freedom and enough money to buy a stake of their own. Technically, there is no "slavery" on the 'stead, only because countries like the U.S. probably would get involved if their citizens were literally being enslaved. But as we (and Beck) learn, "technically" has a lot of wiggle room. While conditions on the 'stead have clearly become normalized for her, even she is shocked to discover that where the "laws" are basically that anything you can get away with is legal, people can and will get away with a lot.
After trying to find a bond worker who disappeared, Beck is recruited to help a producer who's arrived from Hollywood to run a reality show on the 'stead. This leads to Beck discovering even more of the stead's dark side, and running into direct opposition with her father, who wants to maintain the status quo and doesn't want his daughter stirring up trouble. Unfortunately, he learns that when you raise a Heinleinian juvenile on an anarcho-libertarian commune, you get an independent-minded troublemaker.
Her father, Paul Garrison, is an archetypal Heinleinian Male: brilliant, wealthy, and in Kritzer's version, completely amoral. The relationship between Beck and her father seems awkward and true to what growing up with this kind of a father would be: he appears to feel some affection for her, but it's hard to tell whether his "love" extends beyond seeing her as an extension of himself, and he doesn't take it well when his progeny turns defiant. He starts out just being kind of an aloof, authoritarian d-bag, but Beck learns more and more about the dark side of her father, and the seastead where they live. Beck, in turn, seems a pretty normal teenage girl, but whether with her father or with her boyfriend, she seems almost emotionally stunted and we never get any deep insights into how she feels about them.
There was a lot to like in Liberty's Daughter, whether you love Heinlein or hate him (or have never read him). As a near-future SF novel, it's barely science fiction, and presents teens doing things in an almost-today setting. Beck is smart and likeable, and gets her way by being clever and having a lot of moxy, and while sometimes her ability to get away with things seemed a little too easy, she does run up against the limits of being a teenage girl in a world run by adults. As social commentary, it's both a critique of the Heinleinian archetype of competence and individualism, and of libertarianism.
There were also things that annoyed me. Beck is a bit flat as a character, and the ending - really, the last third of the book - seemed to be a series of escalating consequences and abrupt transitions that Beck continues to react to in a rather muted way. The end just sort of trails off, though in a way that would certainly allow for a sequel.
I also have to say that I was appalled by the editing. I've heard that publishers have been cheaping out on editing lately, and this showed it; I spotted typos and grammatical errors every few pages. Not entirely fair to judge a book by its editing, but I do, dammit.
My complete list of book reviews.