Happy birthday, Bob
Today would have been Robert A. Heinlein’s 100th birthday.
As a young tomboy I began reading his books before I turned ten. Between those books, Star Trek on TV, and a father who would sometimes take us girls outdoors to look at the stars my imagination was soon roaming the galaxy. It still often wanders there, in worlds opened by these things, and RAH gets a good portion of the credit. His books certainly helped influence part of my character, the part that sometimes contains a semblance of honor.
Rereading his books in recent years I have often groaned at how paternalistic he was His women were, if young, always sparky, horny and willing to step aside when the crunch came so the Hero could take command. They also wanted nothing more than to bear children to the Hero (or Heroes) and all too often went weak and mostly incompetent the minute a zygote had implanted. If older, they resembled a sexy and horny version of Miss Moneypenny, organized and rather mothering and did I mention horny? Heinlein’s women were always horny.
The men on the other hand were generally cast as Heroes or Not-Heroes. The former got to nail (and save) the horny chicks although they generally married them too. The latter were either venal rules-for-the-sake-of-rules following types or no-name red shirts doomed to die.
However, even with this “I was in the Navy and damned proud of it, you silly sheep citizens” 1950s gender role attitude his stories were still darned good reading, at least until he got sick with a transient ischemic attack in 1978 and went off his rocker. After that they were good/confusing/almost soft-core porn reading — I find it hard to believe that someone who started reading his work at that point without the earlier novels and stories could ever fully understand the devotion his many fans had.
And I was and remain one of them. A few years ago I received a very special gift from my father, who seems to understand how much these things meant to me: his and now my first edition paperbacks.
Several of these books are, frankly, wrecks. The binding glue from the 50s has deteriorated and dissolved and the pages are loose. You can see where someone (Mom?) taped them up. I remember reading these very books as a young girl, the loan of which was very generous of my father. In particular I recall the first time I read “Requiem” in The Man Who Sold the Moon. I was young, I was moved, I cried.
Under the wide and starry sky
Dig the grave and let me lie:
Glad did I live and gladly die,
And I laid me down with a will.
This be the verse you ‘grave for me:
Here he lies where he long’d to be;
Home is the sailor, home from the sea,
And the hunter home from the hill.
Thank you, Dad.
Well, that’s enough nostalgia from me. Here are some nifty Heinlein links:
Here is a concordance of the characters in many of his books and stories.
This is a story from the June 1952 Popular Mechanics which shows the house he and his wife Ginny had built in Colorado Springs. It’s sweet and kind of amusing to see its post-War hypermodern design and amenities. I guess built-ins were unusual at the time. Anyway it’s an interesting glimpse that I had never read before.
And finally, here is a collection of quotes for people like me who don’t remember word-for-word everything they’ve read like some people person I know.
July 8th, 2007 at 12:56 am
It took me three or four tries to get through THE NUMBER OF THE BEAST (written during his post-TIA period) because it was so damned…weird.