Sheri S. Tepper's "Raising the Stones" is sometimes billed as the second part of her "Arbai" trilogy, but that's a misnomer, as this book easily stands on its own. It shares the same universe as its predecessor, "Grass," but is otherwise set one thousand years later and with very few exceptions has no apparent connection to the earlier novel.
That said, it's definitely a thematic cousin to "Grass" and much of Tepper's other work in that it deals with religion and women and male privilege. Tepper is a feminist writer in the best sense of the word: she tells a deep and engaging story about women and their struggles in societies that are dominated by men and archaic world views. Her one failing is a tendency to be didactic, but it's a minor drawback at most; the story tells itself through its characters and, once it gets there, rocks on toward a conclusion.
There are two different stories that are not obviously connected. One concerns Sam Girat, the leader of an agricultural colony on the world of Hobbs' Land. The other concerns the land of Voorstod, a militant theocracy from which Sam's mother Maire escaped with Sam when he was young, and a conspiracy unfolding there to hasten their religion's end times.
Seemingly unconnected to these are the Gods of Hobbs' Land, a possibly intelligent form of life that was worshiped by the Owlbrit, an alien race on the world that died out shortly after humans arrived. The Gods have an uncanny effect on the colonists of Hobbs' Land, in that those people nearby live rather harmoniously with each other. When the children of the settlers pick up where the Owlbrit left off in building temples to the Gods, it's seen as a perfectly natural undertaking. It's only outsiders who consider this a threat.
The underlying theme of this book is, in Tepper's phrase, "fooling with your heads." The violent and patriarchal Faithful of Voorstod were obviously drawn from radical Islam. In 1990 when "Raising the Stones" was first published, this might have been seen as hyperbole. In this day of the Islamic State, however, the savagery of Voorstod seems ripped from the headlines. But if the Voorstod achieve their aims through violent repression of women and slavery, there are other forms of influence as well: the High Baidee, another religion, plays a significant role, and although their religion is specifically conceived as not authoritarian, the contradictions inherent in their doctrine -- as in all religions -- leave open wide opportunities for interpretation to achieve less-than-holy goals. Left unsaid is whether the God-worship of Hobbs' Land is a real religion, and whether its adherents' heads have been "fooled with," or even if free will exists in this world.
Against this background the drama unfolds through various characters: Sam Girat is a romantic idealist, acutely aware of being taken from his father and desperately seeking some kind of heroic narrative for himself, so much so that he begins to hallucinate. Jeopardy and Saturday Wilm are cousins on the cusp of adulthood who reintroduce the Gods to Hobbs' Land and take up the spread of this new system. Maire Girat, Sam's mother, is now old, but was once a famed singer in Voorstod. Maire wants nothing more than to care for the children of the settlement, and tries to impart a bit of knowledge to her willfully naive son. And on Voorstod, a group of fanatics hatch a plan to bring Maire back as a symbol to other women of Voorstod who would seek to escape.
In the telling, these various threads of the tale wend and weave their separate ways until it becomes clear how they are all intertwined. The book is rich, but starts slow, and only picks up pace about halfway in, when it becomes apparent where the lines of conflict are being drawn. It early chapters are quiet, pastoral even, with a bit of alien strangeness taking place that remains unexplained until much later. But as always, the real threat to peace and tranquility comes from other people. Initially the Voorstod conspirators come across as bumbling fools, in that their religion draws upon the most savage and worst stereotypes of radicalism; how could such a set of extremists accomplish a goal of domination of the universe when it seems they can barely get organized enough to carry out a simple kidnapping. And yet, even bumbling bad people can inflict a lot of damage when good people don't heed the warning signs.
If there's a lesson in "Raising the Stones," it's against all forms of authority, and the Gods of Hobbs' Land certainly seem to stand in for a kind of communitarian ideal. But that's secondary to what is overall a ripping good read. The menace of the Voorstod is similar in some ways to that of the hippae of "Grass," but all the more dangerous for the cold calculation that drives it. This book can be read both as a sequel or on its own. Either way, it's wonderful.