The concept of a Cheryllis double is an interesting one, and would repay thoughtful examination. This ain't it. The assumption seems to be that identity in physical characteristics (down to birthmarks) would result in identity in character, no matter what the circumstances of rearing and adult life. This is not only provably false (cf Stephen Jay Gould's discussion of the singular personalities of Chang and Eng Bunker, the original 'Siamese Twins'), it's implausible on the face of it. And the characters are so obnoxious that even the makeovers they undergo at the hands of the women they so spitefully use are only moderately successful. There's one point in which the Earth-human (actually a native of the Alpha colony) comments that it's always been death for men to spy on women's mysteries, which is why all civilized societies have banned women's mysteries. This is the same guy who was pathetically and helplessly rebellious against his own 'civilized' society, for what he perceived were conspiracies against males.
Some of the most cartoonishly realized parts of the book are the descriptions of Alphan society from the point of view of the self-loathing, misogynistic, and misanthropic Paul Harrel. Even allowing for Harrel's jaded mistakes, the described society is completely inconsistent. The 'rebels' are brought down by armed police officers (in a nonviolent society, why are there police officers at all? And armed, yet?). There's no real discussion of what Rehabilitation involves, but the fact that it exists at all implies that the society is not as uniform as Harrell thinks. Why would there be need to 'rehabilitate' those who'd been properly habilitated in the FIRST place? And a society that regards itself as 'humane' when it relegates its citizens to a living death (not physically painful, but does that matter?) on the assumption that if they're guilty it's no more than they deserve, and if they're innocent, there's 'no harm done', because they can be revived (with what compensation for their lost time? And what compensation would be adequate? One way or another, they lose time with their families, their hobbies, their vocations...and irretrievably) is an unintegrated society. At the very least, they haven't finished their own humanization--but Harrel isn't capable of acting as a legitimate critic, because it's evident that he hasn't done any real analysis. He seems to have no historical knowledge, nor any real understanding of what he's trying to achieve.
A useful comparison would be James White's description of Terrestrial society during the time of the Galactic Federation in Occupation: Warrior. The character Dermod romanticizes warfare, and he DOES have a fairly thorough knowledge of history (both of Earth and of other worlds). He's less thoroughly unpleasant than Paul Harrell, and he is capable of understanding his real experiences with what amount to fully enacted war games (with real deaths and injuries among the players). HIS rehabilitation is largely self-generated (though its precursors are set up by the 'Guard'), and he's a more
fully-developed character than the incurious (at least at first) Paul Harrell, who seems to have little capacity for introspection, and argues that he's more 'real' than his Alphan contemporaries because he's apparently taken no hand in his own construction.
Despite its serious flaws, there are some good elements in this book. There are children, for one thing. Despite the obsession of Darkovan societies with children, very few of them actually have any presence in the books. They tend to be offstage shadows, without any voice or circulatory systems. This book has several speaking children.
Then there are elaborations of things like the first germs of the Compact that plays such a big part in (chronologically) later books. Varzil the good is more than a ghost in this story--he's a human man with passions and comforts and greying hair. And there are details of the life of the priestesses of Avarra before they emerged from the Isle of Silence to merge with the Sisterhood of The Sword and become the Free Amazons (Bard di Asturien's contempt for holy virgins and his fear of their sorceries informs his view of wetlands, btw. Since when do frogs 'complain'?). And there's a mention of the archives of the monastery at Nevarsin--so evidently Father Valentine did not entirely collude with the bookburners of the original shipwreck. It's not a lot of use, however, if those histories are left to molder unread in archives. Darkovan society has evidently taken on itself the collective amnesia of the colonialist excuse for 'reforming primitive societies'--'since time immemorial'. Though there are some characters who refuse to be dragged any further than is convenient (several say that their ancestors didn't consult THEM), most don't actually try to research what DID happen.
The arguments for and against the Compact are made by fleshed out characters, but they tend to assume that other people are not reflective or sensible at any time. In Religio Medici Thomas Browne argues that 'we vainly accuse the fury of guns'; or, in this case, of aircars and clingfire. Warfare under the Compact may not include such horrors as bonewater dust and the burning of Hali Tower. But it's very far from the romanticized picture of honorable duels between champions that people try to believe in. As Richard Leakey once pointed out, warfare is not about human aggression. Truly aggressive people (like the Kilghard Wolf--now Darkover has WOLVES, too?), are very bad at warfare, which is a cooperative act, by definition. So why NOT cooperate on coming up with nonviolent resolutions for disputes? Varzil might not have gone far enough. Characters like Paul Harrell and Bard di Asturien who've outlived their violent phase tend to castigate themselves as weaklings for abandoning violence. At one point Bard, forced into laran-fueled empathy with others (and himself) wonders why he's so prone to tears, and fears that once started, he'll never be able to stop. Of COURSE he'll be able to stop. The floodgates have been opened, and the reservoir of tears he's dammed up for so long is gushing out. But in the end, the river will resume its normal flow, and he will cry when there's need, and not store up the stress and tears to poison his body and soul. If he hadn't built that dam in the FIRST place, maybe he might not have become so violent.
One minor note--Bradley was very fond of music, so it's not surprising that any gathering is subject to 'music breaking out' (as my uncle used to say). But I hadn't realized that there was also a strong tendency to storytelling around the campfire until this book.
Another thing that's left unresolved is, what happened to the Shire of Marenji? The land, as described, was a peaceful, unarmed, wealthy small nation (ala Monaco or Costa Rica). Armies passed across it, bought supplies, and went on. The Marenji traded with their neighbors, fought with nobody, and resented very strongly being taken over by Asturian forces. So what became of them? Come to that, how did they live before? After alien militias were quartered on them, armies would have to FIGHT through Marenji, destroying and killing as they went, and others would no doubt be killed or despoiled by 'friendly fire'--and then there's the costs of upkeep for the alien forces the Marenji neither wanted or needed. In the US Constitution's Bill of Rights, one of the less-discussed amendments is the 3rd Amendment, which forbids the government from quartering troops in private houses. This Amendment was put in place by people who still had vivid memories of just such abuses as were visited on Marenji. Marenji just disappears from the story later, and is only mentioned once (in passing) toward the end. It would have been nice to know how they fared afterward.
Rereading the book as part of a review of the entire series brings out more problems with chronology. The entry calls this the seventh in the Darkover series. Either I've missed several books, or I don't understand the enumeration system, because I make it about fourth in the series. I don't think I warned sufficiently in the first review that this is a book about a serial rapist, whose redemption is more than a little scarifying. His double has a somewhat easier transformation--which puzzles him. At more than one point Paul Harrell argues that women are for one thing ONLY: yet there's little discussion of what he thinks that one thing is. Reproduction? Not hardly, since he never seems to think that sex will result in children. Sex? But as several Darkovans comment, heterosexual sex is hardly a basis for the creation of a separate category of humans. So what, then?