I just picked up all of MacLeod's first 6 (or so) books, started the first, The Star Fraction, earlier tonight. Good stuff. The prose is better than average for scifi; it's not incandescent, he's no Samuel R. Delany (the most underappreciated American novelist since 1965; or, better: the most underappreciated because genre ghettoized) but that's not really a criticism at all.
I'll modify Justin's commendatory terms a bit: How can I hate books with epigraphs from Engles and Dietzgen, and with chunks of pseudo-programming language (looking sorta Algol-cum-Smalltalkesque) sprinkled throughout?
A few philosopher friends of mine use scifi pretty heavily to teach epistemology, philosophy of science, political and social philosophy, and MacLeod's stuff is among the newest additions to their reading lists.
On the subject of scifi recommendations, you can do vastly worse than adding Delany's Nova, Dhalgren, Babel-17, and Empire Star to your reading lists, all of which have been recently reissued in attractive new editions by Vintage. The most recent of Delany's two memoirs, 1984, contains, among other riches, an articulate, revelatory social microhistory of gay Manhattan at the onset of the AIDS pandemic. His Trouble on Triton is, well, I'm still not sure *what* it is, other than a thrilling, very complex and intellectually satisfying read, the most fully realized utopian (subtitled "An Ambiguous Heterotopia") thought experiment I know, written as a kind of dialogue between Delany, Le Guin, and Foucault. His Times Square Red, Times Square Blue -- in turns memoir, sexual ethnography, and urban theorizing -- eloquently demonstrates what the Disneyfication of Times Square has meant to real people.
Sorry to ramble on, but I hate to miss chances to spread the word about such a powerful, original and neglected writer.
Best, Kendall Clark