Hélène Landemore has established herself as one of the key figures in current democratic discussions. In Politics without Politicians, she clarifies a theory already presented in her previous works: in order to make room for ordinary citizens, the representative paradigm of contemporary democracies must be transcended. In this pedagogical book, combining personal narratives, empirical observations, and normative reflections, Landemore calls for an expansion of our democratic imagination to free the exercise of power from the monopoly of professionals. The book thus explores new institutional designs capable of challenging the modern division of political labor.

The first chapter lays out this general ambition. Starting from the observation that representative systems no longer seem ‘capable of delivering either democratic or good governance’ (1), the author proposes envisioning an alternative democracy, ‘constrained but not determined by what is’ (9). Her approach rests on two orientations: on the one hand, the elaboration of a democratic horizon freed from the electoral principle; on the other, the identification of concrete opportunities for citizen participation less dependent on the control of politicians.

The argument begins with a critique of representative government. Chapters Two and Three extend and radicalize a well-known thesis in political theory, according to which elections function as a principle of distinction (Manin Reference Manin1997), separating politicians from the mass of ordinary citizens. Although somewhat simplified, this reading clearly suggests that a permanent upper class tends to retain political power for its own benefit.

Landemore advocates overcoming this form of political exclusion to ‘bring the shy people out’ (6). Chapters Four and Five revisit her now well-established defense of sortition, drawing on both its historical uses and contemporary revivals. Random selection appears as a tool capable of limiting the capture of political power by a minority, fostering more evenly distributed participation ‘across all classes’ (102). Moreover, although often criticized as lacking accountability, such assemblies are shown by the author to be compatible with various mechanisms of answerability. Through public justification procedures or the review of their proposals via referendums, citizens can hold their randomly selected peers accountable. More broadly, by encouraging a plurality of forms of participation, Landemore argues for the possibility of greater ‘collective intelligence’ (109), as illustrated by the Icelandic constitutional process (2010–2013). This analysis strengthens both the normative and instrumental significance of sortition-based institutions.

The final five chapters extend this momentum by exploring the specific circumstances under which such innovations can arise, focusing on two French participatory experiments: the Citizens’ Convention on Climate and the Citizens’ Convention on End of Life. As an observer of the former and a member of the ‘Governance Committee’ of the latter, Landemore shows that ordinary citizens are capable of deliberating on complex and controversial issues, even though their agency remains shaped by organizers and experts. While these bodies do not constitute full-fledged citizens’ parliaments, they nonetheless sketch the figure of ‘citizen-legislators’ (132). Numerous interactions among participants, which the author recounts, testify to the civic bonds renewed through such experiences. In a context of political distrust, they foster cooperation among individuals with diverse trajectories. However, this inclusive dynamic is neither automatic nor evenly distributed: even when selected by lot, some participants may feel excluded, politically illegitimate, or simply uncomfortable expressing disagreement. For ‘open democracy’ to be a ‘jolly hostess’ (197), it is therefore necessary to design institutions attentive to these inequalities and capable of ensuring the effective inclusion of the most vulnerable.

At a time when participatory imperatives are often mobilized as instruments of governmental legitimation, Landemore highlights the potentially transformative dimension of these experiences for our modern understanding of politics. While the book partly reiterates well-established arguments in democratic theory, it stands out for the richness of its empirical observations, which capture the specificity of each participatory device – too often treated as interchangeable.

From beginning to end, the text is guided by a certain optimism. Yet while the idea of a politics without politicians is appealing, its relevance deserves to be questioned. The problem lies neither in institutional feasibility nor in citizens’ competence, but in the very value of such a proposal. In a debate often structured by a sterile opposition between so-called ‘lottocrats’ and ‘anti-lottocrats’, the author’s ambition risks becoming trapped in this dualistic framework insofar as it relies on a systematic, somewhat Manichean opposition between ‘shy people’ and ‘political leaders’ (33). Moreover, in advancing this project, Landemore does not sufficiently confront one of the central challenges facing ‘open democracy’: widespread citizen disengagement and persistently low levels of participation across many democratic innovations (Jacquet Reference Jacquet2017). This dilemma highlights a central problem for any democratic theory: how to avoid complacent realism while advancing an alternative political imagination that does not collapse into blind idealism. Landemore does not appear to fully overcome this difficulty. Her work, however, remains an inspiring contribution, inviting us to question the deceptive comfort of our dysfunctional democracies.