As we beat on against the currents of these fractious times, our civil norms beset by those who would discard them in favor of an absolutism based on an idealized past, it is easy to forget the audacity of the foundational American phrase: All men are created equal.

It was a radical declaration in an age of rapacious imperialism (as flawed as it was by its exclusion of women and enslaved people under the arc of  “all men.”) These five words launched a nation that, at its best, strives to grant (as its pledge promises) liberty and justice for all, but all too often woefully fails to do so.

Critics consider “I Cheerfully Refuse” a dystopian novel, a voguish genre. However, I came to see the story as less about some (near) distant plutonian reality and more a reflection of the retrograde momentum now afoot in the land and its possible outcomes.

Consider Merriam-Webster’s definition of “dystopian” – “relating to, or being an imagined world or society in which people lead dehumanized, fearful lives.” Interpreted strictly in the context of current political policies purposely intended to dehumanize and frighten, we don’t need to imagine the arrival of a dystopic tomorrow when its vanguard is upon us today.

This thinking occupied my mind as I read “I Cheerfully Refuse.” In the beginning, I struggled. There is an ample cast of characters, and the plot is as liquid as Lake Superior, in whose realm it sits. The main character, a musician, and his partner, a bookseller, live with such simplicity that little of significance happens even though constant references to a fractured society create an anxious foreboding. I wanted more speed. It’s going to get bad, I thought, so bring it on.

But then, a shocking turn. What follows is a story of flight and discovery, of the cold horrors of inhumanity (see above) and the magical warmth of humanity. It is a yeasty, enjoyable blend that eventually rises to reveal what I think is the book’s fundamental theme: the value of liberty.

“I Cheerfully Refuse” celebrates, in a misty, whimsical, but fully serious way, the audacity of individual freedom. It challenges the desire of despotic authority to control our lives and embraces liberty of choice, even should the option be the unencumbered existence of a bass-player and a bookseller. As the musician says at one point:

“… I remembered the future, reimagined a path of years with books to read and bass lines to explore. The idea was so tempting I set it aside, but it kept returning, wider each time. Long walks might be out there down unknown roads. Days of work, weary muscles, sores and ointments, goodwill toward creatures, questions to ask, birds to hear, and stars to watch.”