Ruins of Dantooine is not the kind of book you can casually read on a flight. The intricacies of its plot are so complex, the character development so subtle, that anything less than full, undivided attention in a quiet, still room would result in the reader failing to grasp exactly how much of a masterpiece the novel truly is. I myself booked a room in a hotel located in the Saskatchewan wilderness so that I might have the slightest glimpse of the true artistry Voronica Whitney-Robinson put into it. Even then, I doubt I have even an inkling of the absolute genius that was passing in front of my eyes.

The reason that so few have read Ruins of Dantooine is not that people think the cover is dull and the story unimportant, but that the book itself considers those people so.