It is the distant future, a galaxy far far away, yadda yadda yadda. And is mankind living in some kind of shiny techno-utopia with its every whim fulfilled? Not a bit of it. I mean, yes, we've done all the stuff that enables science fiction novels to take place in locations other than Swansea, i.e. invent faster-than-light travel and all that jazz, but there's still this outbreak of flesh-rotting plague to deal with that may be the cause of the actual end of humanity if left to spread unchecked.
The actual end of humanity being an unpalatable prospect to those nominally in charge of humanity and its welfare, a cure is a priority. And so a keen interest is being taken in the planet of Grass, pretty much the only location in the known universe which seems to be free of the plague and the limb-rottage and associated unpleasantness. Grass? Pretty strange name for a planet, if you ask me. Well, I would ask you to note that a) nobody asked you and b) perhaps give some consideration to the name of the planet you're currently sitting on.
Anyway, a party is rounded up from those still free of the plague on Terra, i.e. Earth, still very much Humanity Central in this particular future, albeit ecologically ravaged. The party basically consists of some high-ranking officials, largely chosen because they are horse-riding types and it is understood from the limited interaction the Grassians have with the outside world that they conduct some form of largely ritualistic activity akin to fox-hunting which the party may be able to join in with to ingratiate themselves into Grassian society.
And so Rodrigo ("Rigo") and Marjorie Yrarier, their two children and a retinue of flunkeys (plus a whole stableful of horses) find themselves on Grass. They don't exactly get a warm welcome from the fox-hunting fraternity. though: these guys, the "bons", who consider themselves the aristocracy, are unhelpful, snobbish and weirdly twitchy and tight-lipped about anything that goes on outside the boundaries of their country estates ("estancias"), in particular any details of what happens on the hunts. By contrast, the horny-handed proles who inhabit the planet's only major town (and spaceport) are considerably more friendly, helpful and more generally knowledgeable about the planet and in particular its non-human life.
Most of the preconceptions that the Yrariers (and the reader) have about the hunts are blown away when they are (probably reluctantly) invited to witness one - not only are the "hounds" not really hounds but great slavering beasts the size of a small horse, but the "mounts" are also great slavering beasts the size of, erm, a freakin' massive horse, with deadly neck barbs that require the rider to stay out of their way or be impaled. Those humans who participate seem to enter a weird kind of trance where they remember little of what happens during the many hours they're out in the high grass which covers most of the planet, and there seems to be a kind of willed blindness among the bons to the fact that people occasionally arrive back minus limbs, or occasionally don't arrive back at all. Those who don't arrive back at all seem to include a disproportionate number of teenage girls, including, very recently, Dimity bon Damfels, a member of the family hosting the hunt when the Yrariers arrive.
Marjorie Yrarier, a bright and resourceful woman freed by her remoteness from the strict religious society that exists on Terra and stifles opportunities for women, makes enquiries in the town and starts to piece together a picture of Grassian society and wildlife, some of it wilder than she expected. Basically 90% of the planet (the grass-covered bit) is off-limits to humans and anyone venturing more than a small distance into it can expect never to be seen again. The town seems to be safe because it is located on a rocky ridge surrounded by a swampy forest and whatever lethal dangers exist elsewhere can't seem to get through.
Marjorie also discovers that there is a small sect of monks based in another grass-free location on the planet, mainly concerned with investigating the remains of a previous civilisation, the Arbai, who lived on Grass long anough to leave plenty of buildings and artefacts behind but who seem to have mostly died off in an abrupt and unspeakably violent fashion a long time ago.
Marjorie investigates further, being in the unique position of being able to hob-nob (to some extent, anyway) with the bons, talk to the townspeople and have enough resources at her disposal to have representatives of the monk fraternity brought to her. She also goes out riding on her horses, far in excess of the range deemed safe by most sensible people, and observes some of the ritual and lifecycle of the Grassian fauna. In particular she observes the hounds and the "mounts", known as Hippae, and determines that they are different developmental stages of the same organism. The Hippae are also clearly highly intelligent and able to exert some kind of telepathic hold on creatures in their vicinity, not least their human riders.
The time for careful investigation comes to an end, though, as Rigo and teenage daughter Stella participate (after much intensive riding training) in a hunt and, inevitably, Stella fails to return. Marjorie decides that the time for action has arrived and gets a posse together comprising her, various religious types and Sylvan bon Damfels - seemingly the one member of his family concerned by his sister's disappearance - and saddles up for a trip into the grass to find out what's going on. This is highly dangerous, as you might imagine, and the group is soon menaced by a group of Hippae, but manages to escape into the swamp where the Hippae do not generally venture. But why not?
Clues are provided when the party reaches an island in the swamp which houses a complex deserted treetop village, evidently an Arbai outpost, and also a group of "foxen", in their infant form the apparent target of the hunts, but in their adult form great giant cat-like creatures with even more well-developed mind-control capabilities than the Hippae. Marjorie strikes up a relationship with their seeming leader, whom she calls First, and learns more of the planet's history. Very briefly: the foxen are themselves the culmination of the hound-Hippae lifecycle, but the Hippae have evolved, as well as a destructive streak towards strangers, the ability to bypass the foxen stage of their complex lifecycle, and, the foxen being generally peace-loving and well-intentioned creatures, have decided to wipe them out with the largely unwitting help of the bons (i.e. hence the whole performative Hunt rigmarole). Not only that, but it was the Hippae who wiped out the Arbai, and not only that but it's the Hippae who were the source of the plague, using infected bats as a vector and the teenage girls as a delivery mechanism, their minds being seemingly just at the right delicate stage for wiping and re-programming, though the actual process is hand-waved somewhat, and probably just as well as there seems to be some slightly queasy sexual element to it.
There's a lot to process here, but precious little time to do it as it becomes apparent that the Hippae's merciless sweep of the planet is going to be extended to include the town, an extension of hostilities more than likely provoked by the Yrariers' presence and activities, and that a climactic battle is going to ensue. And so it does - the Hippae have managed to construct tunnels under the swamp to facilitate an invasion of the town with the inevitable savagery and killing, but are partly thwarted by a somewhat Dalek-like distaste for stairs (enabling the townspeople not ripped apart by the initial onslaught to take refuge on higher floors), and properly thwarted by eventual involvement from the foxen, once Marjorie has persuaded them that a cerebral distaste for killing must sometimes be overridden by a pragmatic view of the greater good.
While all this is going on the Grassian scientists have come up with an explanation of, and a cure for, the plague - some hand-wavey stuff involving right- and left-handed protein isomers which also accounts for the Grassian fauna's immunity - all they have to do now is avoid being sliced into tiny pieces by the Hippae or thwarted by religious fundamentalists and the universe is saved.
As with The Anubis Gates there's a tremendous amount going on here, and there really isn't room in an already quite long post to include it all. The book itself suffers from the same problem; as this review astutely notes it's got a beginning where all the world-building happens (and which is clearly the best bit) and an end where it all Kicks Off and much excitement happens, but arguably no middle, presumably just in an attempt to avoid it being 800 pages long (it's a pretty beefy 500 already). The observation that the sciencey bit of the plague stuff reads like something Tepper read in New Scientist the week before is spot-on as well, and the last-minute cooking of up some ancient (but miraculously still working) Arbai Stargate-esque teleportation portal as a beefed-up delivery mechanism is all a bit convenient, as if Tepper realised that naked teenage girls sneaking dead bats onto spaceships didn't really work very well on its own.
None of that particularly matters, though, as this is tremendous stuff, and in any case as with much speculative fiction what it's ostensibly about is only partly what it's actually about: there's a strong feminist slant here with Marjorie clearly being the most intelligent and dynamic individual character, held back by notions like tradition and religious observance on her home planet. Commendably this doesn't mean that Rigo is portrayed as completely useless or an irredeemable bastard; yes, he has mistresses and a bit of a short temper but he is a fine and courageous horseman, offs a couple of Hippae in spendid fashion at the bon Damfels' estancia, and recognises Marjorie's newly-developed authority during the climactic battle. The feminist slant is quite reminiscent of Ursula K Le Guin, though it must be said that the one novel of hers I've read, The Dispossessed, still featured a male protagonist.
There is also much being said about organised religion, xenophobia, race and class struggle and the messy business of what happens when high-minded philosophical principles (like, for instance, thou shalt not kill) meet reality (like, for instance, Hitler), and action is required without, perhaps, the time to analyse all the possible courses of that action to determine with complete certainty which one is best.
There is also a really good usage of a classic narrative trope which I see I have cited here a few times before, usually using what in my mind is the canonical example, William Golding's The Inheritors (Rashomon would be the filmic equivalent I suppose): a second viewpoint of the same scene or sequence of events throwing a completely new light on it. We are offered a description of the hunt from Dimity bon Damfels' perspective early on which certainly hints at Something Not Quite Right going on but is very sketchy about the details (as befits everyone's addled mind-state), and it's only when we get the Yrariers' un-addled perspective that we get a glimpse of the full terrifying reality of what's going on: drugged-up riders unwittingly doing the malevolent bidding of a bunch of freakin' velociraptors.
The other canonical example of a narrative trope which I would have assumed I'd mentioned here but don't seem to have done (although I've mentioned its parent book a couple of times) is Cowslip's warren from Watership Down: a society which functions OK as long as no-one mentions The Thing which occasionally claims one of its number and which even then we look the other way and Don't Talk About. Speaking of what would generally be considered a children's book, Tepper started off as a writer of children's fiction - other writers on this list to have taken that route include Penelope Lively and Russell Hoban.
Anyway, it's really good, but, for all that, the news that it's the first of a loosely-connected trilogy doesn't fill me with an immediate desire to go and read the others. I'm sure they're all fine, though.
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