No question that the plot of The January Dancer has promise. A whiz-bang opening that consists of a spaceship crew discovering the remains of an abandoned and massive pre-human city, and escaping with an artifact with sentient qualities, hooks the reader early on. The unfolding of the remainder of the tale uses the device of a beautiful female harp player listening to the tale of the the artifact (the Dancer) being spun by a grizzled and scarred spacefarer.
As the story unfolds, the dedicated sci-fi reader will find many familiar way marks along the road: battles in space, a corp of highly trained super agents (the Hounds), competing empires, detailed descriptions of the physics of space travel, and a moderately twisty ending. Good ingredients, but does the final product thrill your literary palate, or leave you reaching for mouthwash? Depends on your tastes. Here are some of the flavors you'll have to choose from among.
If you like a story that is thoroughly embellished, and leisurely, you'll enjoy the book. Lengthy descriptions of local civilizations, local cuisine, local customs pervade this book. Fifty pages might be devoted to a civil war that in the end has no detectable relevance to the outcome of the story. If you get pleasure from the meticulous construcion of well fleshed out extraterrestrial civilizations and are patient with pace, you'll enjoy Michael Flynn's creation. If you prefer stories that are spare in detail and long on action, you'll conclude, and rightly so, that The January Dancer consumes roughly twice as much printer's ink as would be needed to tell the story coherently.
Two personal comments. First, I found Flynn's writing style to be a bit on the sonorous and ponderous side; florid is not too far a reach. Some people love their stories told with a baritone voice and in language that borders on flowery: if so, you'll love the telling of this tale. If you like your stories lean and muscular, I suspect you'll struggle with The January Dancer. Secondly, male/female relationships in this book fit in the caricature realm. Cold and hormonally driven, there was no more romance in Flynn's descriptions of lovers than there is in an exercise in planetary orbit mechanics. I'm sure there's not a Worst Wrought Romance category in Sci-Fi lit, but The January Dancer would be a contender.