The story behind Hugh Howey's "Wool" is the stuff of legend in the self-publishing world. The novel began as an online short story, but Howey slowly expanded it to over 500 pages and sold hundreds of thousands of copies before selling the rights to a traditional publisher.

In "Wool," Howey brings a "1984" sensibility to the post-apocalyptic genre. For reasons that are never fully explained, the Earth's surface has been scorched and the air has become unbreathable. Life on Earth is confined to an enormous underground silo, ostensibly governed by a mayor and sheriff, but the true power lies (no kidding) with the head of the IT Department. As in "1984," unacceptable thoughts are punishable by death: Merely expressing the desire to leave the silo is a capital offense.

The character at the heart of the story is Juliette, a mechanic who is thrust into the position of sheriff after her predecessor, Holston, inexplicably demands to leave the silo and is executed. Juliette's efforts to understand why Holston would commit suicide in this way lead her to a terrible secret about the silo's past and sets the stage for an armed uprising against IT. Howey thus tells a thrilling story but also touches on some significant ideas.

For all its successes, however, "Wool" suffers from serious flaws. In the opening chapters, Howey offers a beautiful and heart-wrenching portrait of unacknowledged love. The fact that the characters are elderly only deepens the reader's sense of despair when it becomes clear that they will not live happily ever after. Oddly enough, the novel's other romantic relationship, which plays out over hundreds of pages and is at the center of the story, is far less compelling.

The second flaw lies in the book's unconventional roots, for "Wool" is a novel in desperate need of an editor. In the final section, when the action should be reaching a climax, Howey sends Juliette on a dangerous mission intended to accomplish . . . nothing very useful. Ironically, Juliette's heroic struggles bog down the story at the worst possible moment.

Finally, there is Howey's writing style. While some would argue that "Wool" is more about plot than prose, the fact remains that his writing is wincingly bad at times. In the opening pages we meet happily playing children who (despite their happiness) "thundered about frantically." Things get no better in subsequent pages, as paint clings to stairs "in feeble chips" and we hear children "dripping happy sounds down the stairwell."

In the end, it is difficult to know how to judge "Wool." It would be a notable book if only for its unconventional route to publication. But fans of the post-apocalyptic genre will also enjoy immersing themselves in a world that is both familiar and strange, and the plot's twists will keep readers turning the pages until the exciting climax.