At the age of almost 54, I don’t cry a lot.
I did reading the last few pages of Cory Doctorow’s magnificent Makers, a book that is far better than the reviews it has gotten so far – and the reviews aren’t bad at all.
You can read the plot summary through the link, but briefly it’s the story of two hardware hackers, a reporter, the world they create and everyone who gets caught up in it. It takes place over many years, and if this were hard sci-fi, you’d call it a space opera.
Why I cried, and you might: the book is about making meaning. Why does your life matter? Who do you care about? How do you get up in the morning and go forward? What’s the second act? The third? Who is your family?
That Doctorow can so perfectly bring the deep feelings behind those questions to the surface in a novel of big ideas is what gets to me – you care about The Future, as he sees it, and you care even more about the people. It’s human scale science fiction and I am in awe of it, in the same way that Wm. Gibson set me back on my heels many years ago – it’s that good.