Imagine a future where scarcity and death are obsolete concepts that no longer apply to the human race. Everyone can obtain food and drink, shelter and transportation, for free; if you die, your mind (current to the most recent computer backup) can be restored into a cloned copy of your body. Or, if the burden of consciousness is too great for you to bear, you can “deadhead” and be stored in a database until you choose to assume corporeal form once again. And do the humans of the future take advantage of these miracles of technology to achieve great things, to live a life of the mind, to contribute to the sum total of humanity’s accomplishments? Hell, no! They clap on black plastic ears and go to Disney World, the one relic of the long-dead twentieth century that still survives. And no, technology hasn’t managed to eradicate those hour-long lines. There are some things even science can’t accomplish.

Jules has been around for over a century – long enough to personally remember the Bitchun Society’s rise to power, when the “ad-hoc” groups overthrew all the old institutions and replaced them with self-governing ad-hocracies. Though he’s earned four doctorates and written three symphonies, Jules’s dearest dream has always been to live at Disney World, among the marvelous rides and dazzling animatronics. Now, he does precisely that, and shacks up with a pretty young thing one-sixth of his age – Lil, a “second-generation castmember,” born and raised in the cheerful fakeness of Disney World. If not well-liked, Jules is at least grudgingly respected, and maintains an acceptable level of Whuffie (the WOT-like running total of social status accorded to you by your peers and detractors; Whuffie points are used to obtain extra goodies beyond the basic necessities that are free to all).

It’s an ideal life, until the arrival of Dan, a ghost from Jules’s past. Old friends from college days, Dan and Jules rarely agreed with each other but loved to argue; Dan worked as a missionary, subverting the last few independent tribes and assimilating them into Bitchun Society, and he did it all for the Whuffie. Now, Dan looks like crap, has zero Whuffie (which instantly makes you an untouchable in Bitchun Society), and is ready to burst with existential despair. Dan is so sick of what the world has become that he’s ready to kill himself, but he’s still vain enough to want to be remembered in a positive light. If he commits suicide with no Whuffie, people will just think he’s another loser who couldn’t hack it; therefore, Dan must stay alive long enough to build up Whuffie, so his death will have meaning as an act of protest. Jules is bemused by the logic and horrified at his friend’s deterioration, but readily agrees to put Dan up and give him a job at the Haunted Mansion.

The Haunted Mansion, you see, is where Jules and Lil work, as much out of love for the ride as for the Whuffie. The Mansion has been carefully preserved in all its low-tech splendor; modifications to all rides must be approved by the ad-hoc before being implemented. But trouble looms on the horizon in the form of Debra, a ball-busting visionary fresh from Disney World Beijing, where she made a name for herself by replacing the old rides with cheaper and more efficient simulators. The simulators make a neural connection with the user, “flash-baking” sensory impressions and information into the user’s mind instantly; it’s incredibly powerful and almost hallucinatory, but lacks the cogs-and-gears romance of a real ride. Now, Debra’s on Jules’s turf, and she has her eye on the Haunted Mansion for her next takeover. Jules gets gunned down in the middle of Disney World – though death isn’t permanent, somebody clearly wants to send a message. Can Jules reveal the diabolical scheme in time to save his beloved ride from destruction? Or is he himself a pawn in some greater and more nefarious plan?

Down and Out is insufferably coy from start to finish, delighted with its own supposed cleverness. The backstory is full of holes (who are the Bitchun Society, and how did they take over so swiftly? How and where did they obtain their revolutionary and undoubtedly expensive technology? Why would they make immortality available to everyone, for free, without restricting birth rates, thus creating an ever-expanding population base of non-productive mouths to feed?), and only the most perfunctory of explanations is given for the technological achievements that make all the Really Cool Stuff possible. The rapid-fire plot twists and shifting allegiances repeatedly lost me; the identity of Jules’s assassin becomes a major plot point – but since he’s immediately regenerated, good as new, what difference does it make? I suppose the easy response to all this is that it’s satire, it’s social commentary, so the setup doesn’t need to hold water like it would if it were in earnest, but that doesn’t cut it for me.

The writing doesn’t even come close to justifying the sloppy premise; it’s not only painfully unfunny, but plagued with inside jokes meant to show how cutting-edge the author is (the theme park stages a Snow Crash parade, featuring the “JapRap sounds of the comical Sushi-K and...the brave Hiro Protagonist” – it may have been intended as homage to Neal Stephenson, but reads as a pitiful attempt to establish geek cred). Similarly, the characters are cardboard cutouts pushed around according to the author’s whims; the few attempts at character development are so unconvincing that it’s a relief when Doctorow simply gives up. By turns bewildering and infuriating, Down and Out in the Magic Kingdom is as ostentatiously showy and lacking in substance as the futuristic Disney World it mocks.

Recommended: No