This was one of my formative SF books of childhood, and for the most part, still holds up well, especially in the sheer mind-boggling nature of the Ringworld itself and the true alien-ness of the puppeteers.

Where it fails in today’s eyes, of course, is his (and his characters’) treatment of the women. One is little more than an empty shell damsel in distress for much of the book (though he attempts to make this plot-driven, it’s still an issue); the other is a sex toy.

The scale of the (literal and figurative) world building (and probably some nostalgia for how this book influenced my SF tastes in my youth) is enough for me to keep this rated highly, but it definitely feels dated in its interpersonal relationships.