Robert A. Heinlein

To Read in 2005

December 31, 2004

Matt Mullenweg posted his end-of year tasks. Right now the only tasks I have are making lists of stuff to do in the new year, one of which is reading the unread books in my personal library. First up (but not necessarily in this order) are the following:

Good Omens by Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett (already started)
The Moon is a Harsh Mistress by Robert A. Heinlein
Stanley Park, which was the 2003 selection for One Book One Vancouver, and which I picked up at the local library's annual book sale for a couple of bucks.
The 9/11 Commission Report: Final Report of the National Commission on Terrorist Attacks Upon the United States, which I bought at the end of a date (yeah, I know) and which will go against my effort stop caring about politics in the coming year.
Magritte by Jacques Meuris, about the Belgian painter, because I'm all about the René Magritte references.
Planet Simpson: How a Cartoon Masterpiece Documented an Era and Defined a Generation by Chris Turner. Heard about it through Joey DeVilla, saw the book discounted at 40% off, and since I have a weblog about things in real life that remind me of episodes of The Simpsons, I figured the $20 it cost me was better off in the grocery store's hands and the book better off in mine. Evidently I missed the book tour as it rolled through Vancouver, but the Planet Simpson weblog is regularly updated, so I shouldn't miss too much news about it while I'm waiting to read it. Or, more likely, keep it as a reference book for when The Simpsons Archive doesn't have the quote I'm looking for, which is surprisingly often.

See also: my other stack of unread books, which I may or may not get to in the new year, though one of them I recently finished reading, finally.

tags: Halldór Laxness, Jacques Meuris, Neil Gaiman, One Book, One Vancouver, René Magritte, Robert A. Heinlein, Terry Pratchett, books, unread books

Friday by Robert Heinlein

October 9, 2004

Finished reading Friday by Robert Heinlein.

Other than the idea that it's about a bisexual female artificial human, this book didn't really do it for me. It took me several months of being overdue at the library, renewed, overdue again, then purchased at a used book store, set aside, picked up, set aside again, and then picked up again. There's no real strong political or social statement, just the adventures of a courier who gets caught up in schemes of other people's making. Stranger in a Strange Land is far superior.

tag: Robert A. Heinlein

Purged, Strengthened And Made Endurable

February 24, 2004

Two stories about marriage caught my attention recently. No, not that one. First, Dare Obasanjo has the story of seeing a man propose to his girlfriend on the train: “They were engaged in conversation and he was comparing her favorably to ex-girlfriends, then all of a sudden he got down on one knee and pulled out a box with a ring in it. After a stunned silence she took it, said some words softly then said "I appreciate the sentiment but the timing is inappropriate" and handed it back. This was followed by her voicing her concerns about his ability to support them and him rattling of how much he made a month plus various bonuses, etc. I think it went downhill from there.” Then, via Photodude comes this story. There is even video of the event, this being the 21st century and all. For readers who come to this weblog entry and the NBC10 link is dead—first of all, welcome to the future!—let me describe what happened. A woman is blindfolded on an NBA basketball court and is asked to find a mascot. She does, and wins tickets to somethingorother. Then her beau comes out of the costume, takes the microphone, and asks her to marry him. She bolts, going right past the alter, heading down the ramp, and out the door. Okay, that last part was from a movie, but thing is, she ran, and the crowd—evidently—was aghast. Both are funny, but in the sense that the man suffers from public humiliation. Humans think misfortune is funny, especially when it happens to the male of the species. (It's funny when a girl kicks a guy's ass in a movie, but not when it's the other way around, right?)

I'm all for committing to someone. My opinions towards marriage, however, have been radicalized—if slightly—since reading Stranger in a Strange Land. It introduces the idea of being committed not just to someone, but multiple someones. This is from near the end of the book, so hopefully it doesn't ruin it for those that haven't read it. The first speaker is Sam, and the second is Jubal Harshaw, the principal character of the book (after Mike). Sam is an acolyte of Mike's "church":

"One institution won't be damaged. Marriage."
"So?"
"Very much so. Instead it will be purged, strengthened and made endurable. Endurable? Ecstatic! See that wench down there with the long black hair?"
"Yes. I was delighting in its beauty earlier."
"She knows it's beautiful and it's grown a foot and a half since we joined the church. That's my wife. Not much over a year ago we lived together like bad-tempered dogs. She was jealous . . . and I was inattentive. Bored. Hell, we were both bored and only our kids kept us together—that and her possessiveness; I knew she would never let me go without a scandal . . . and I didn't have any stomach for trying to put together a new marriage at my age, anyhow. So I grabbed a little on the side, when I could get away with it—a professor has many temptations, few safe opportunities—and Ruth was quietly bitter. Or sometimes not quiet. And then we joined up." Sam grinned happily. "And I fell in love with my wife. Number-one gal friend!"
Sam had spoken only to Jubal, his words walled by noise. His wife was far down the table. She looked up and said clearly, "That's an exaggeration, Jubal. I'm about number six."
Her husband called out, "Stay out of my mind, beautiful! —we're talking men talk. Give Larry your undivided attention." He threw a roll at her.
She stopped it in orbit, propelled it back. "I'm giving Larry all the attention he wants . . . until later, maybe. Jubal, that brute didn't let me finish. Sixth place is wonderful! Because my name wasn't on his list till we joined the church. I hadn't rated as high as six with Sam for twenty years."
"The point," Sam said quietly, "is that we are now partners, more so than ever were outside—and we got that way through the training, culminating in sharing and growing closer with others who had the same training. We all wind up in partnerships inside the group—usually with spouses-of-record. Sometimes not . . . and if not, the readjustment takes place without heartache and creates a warmer, better relationship between the 'divorced' couple than ever, in bed and out. No loss and all gain."

It's a radical idea, even today, that people can be 'married' or at least committed to more than one person. Marriage is exclusive, meaning that by law, only a certain amount of people (one) are allowed to do it with another number of people (also one). Open marriages such as the one described above reduce the barrier to entry into relationships. The sentence highlighted above shows that: she was happy to be sixth, because otherwise she wouldn't even be on the list (just like how there may be a power law with regards to blogging, but as compared to say, TV or newspapers, the barrier to entry is very low). In other words, it's not how you place, but whether or not you finish that matters, and open relationships, married or not, allow for more people to finish.

On what principle can we—can I—justify denying the ability and, more importantly, the propriety of people loving more than one person? Nate quotes a Malcolm Gladwell where the latter says “institutions [...] are where we hide when we can't find our principles.” It's a naive question (but naive questions are often the important ones to ask): is there a good explanation for why we are marrying? Or do we do it because, while there may once have been a good reason for doing it, we only do it now because it's the way we've always done it? We can question why these men made fools of themselves so publicly and have a laugh about it, but you'll notice that nobody questions the institution that caused them make fools of themselves.

tags: Robert A. Heinlein, marriage

Whether You Would Laugh If The Wrongness Wasn't There

January 23, 2004

Ryan responds to my rib entry: “There are three reasons why I love the release. Number one, it shows why lots of people love this president. He can fuck up on policy all he wants, but when he's in his element he can turn on the Texan charm. And he, really, really likes ribs. Number two: someone at the White House had to draw up this press release. They had to type a transcript of this event, and put it on the whitehouse.gov website. I think that's pretty funny. Number three: everyone I know who has read this thing has expressed a desire to eat ribs. I mean, at the end of this release all I could think was "I really need to go to Redbones in Davis Square and get some pulled pork and some ribs." It's uncanny how hungry I get after reading this.”

I concede all those points.

Then he says: “It's a great little peek into the daily life of a U.S. president. The man just wanted to have some ribs, and these reporters were trying to fuck with him. So he has some fun at their expense. It's brilliant.”

I fully acknowledge that my wording ("falling over themselves in horror") was not very eloquently phrased. I did mean it to suggest that some bloggers are aghast that the President would do such a thing (it's a little strange that people can be so horrified by what he says when he's been saying it for three years now: it doesn't make it right, but it's as if they don't expect it by now), but failed to include and distinguish between those who just plain thought it was funny.

I was going to do this at some point, and it might as well be now while I'm tired. (Being tired means the brain shuts off, for good or ill. But usually for good.) Y'see, I've been having trouble laughing lately because of the book I most recently read, Stranger In a Strange Land by Robert Heinlein. This part goes on for a few pages, so quoting one paragraph does not do the pivotal moment in the book justice (and it very much is the pivotal moment where both the principal character and the book change in tone dramatically), but this gives a flavour of what I hope to highlight. Mike, a Martian in a human body, had just been to the zoo, which by this point in the book was not an unusual event. It is the first point at which Mike laughs, and he has an extended argument with Jill, but at this point she is definitely a friend as well as other things—the relationship Jill has with Mike is as simple as it is complex—as to why what he thought was funny—that a monkey had stolen another's food, and the first monkey looked on in dejection—was indeed funny.

Perhaps I don't grok its fullness yet. But find me something that makes you laugh, sweetheart . . . a joke, anything—but something that gives you a belly laugh, not a smile. Then we'll see if there isn't a wrongness somewhere—and whether you would laugh if the wrongness wasn't there." He thought. "I grok that when apes learn to laugh, they'll be people."

Jill then searches her memory for something the things she thought were funny, and can only remember stories of physical injury, clumsiness, stupidity and racism.

A little later. The first speaker here is Mike, and then Jill.

I had thought—I had been told—that a 'funny' thing is a thing of goodness. It isn't. Not ever is it funny to the person it happens to. [...] The goodness is in the laughing. I grok it is bravery . . . and a sharing . . . against pain and sorrow and defeat."
"But—Mike, it is not a goodness to laugh at people."
"No. But I was not laughing at the little monkey. I was laughing at us. People. And suddenly I knew I was people and could not stop laughing." He paused. "This is hard to explain, because you have never lived as a Martian, for all that I've told you about it. On Mars there is never anything to laugh at. All the things that are funny to us humans either cannot happen on Mars or are not permitted to happen—sweetheart, what you call 'freedom' doesn't exist on Mars; everything is planned by the Old Ones—or the things that do happen on Mars which we laugh at here on Earth aren't funny because there is no wrongness about them. Death, for example."
"Death isn't funny."
"Then why are there so many jokes about death? Jill, with us—us humans—they contradict each other on every other point but each one is filled with ways to help people be brave enough to laugh even though they know they are dying."

That last paragraph is not quoted in full, because it goes on about religion, and it's worth it for you to read the entire book to read the leadup to that pivotal moment and the moment in its entirety. After reading that bit, I tested it out. I watched the episode of The Simpsons where they are stranded on an island (it's sometimes referred to by fans as "The Lord of the Flies Episode" even though it's properly titled "Das Bus"). It's an episode during the height of the series, so its comedic value is high. Very unscientifically, I tried to determine whether, when I laughed, it was because of something plain silly or because human suffering was involved. Human suffering in terms of making fun of a certain nation (the extended bit where the class is pretending they're ambassadors of nations in the Model U.N., especially where Martin is doing the Norwegian dance and Principal Skinner asks for "more pelvis") or the scene where Milhouse is being tried for eating the rations and—the funniest part—Nelson punches him repeatedly, and over the objections of Milhouse's attorney (Lisa), Bart (the judge) declares that he will "allow this". The only parts that weren't mocking human suffering were historical and literary allusions—and perhaps Bart's fantasy of monkey-butlers.

I've also been watching for what happens when I laugh during, say, sporting events such as hockey. Invariably it's when players are about to fight or there's a big hit. See? Violence is funny! Anytime one of my friends makes fun of another friend, laughter. Belittling people it funny! Anything related to genetalia? Funny!

There's an article about Larry David—creator of Seinfeld and Curb Your Enthusiasm—that totally misses the point of his second, less popular, but often funnier show. James Kaplan says it's “a basic triangle: Larry; Jeff, his manager, who helps get him into trouble (usually in the form of telling lies and keeping secrets, Larry being spectacularly bad at the latter); and Cheryl, his wife, who calls him to account.” All true, but the thing that makes Curb Your Enthusiasm funny is Larry's constant over-analysis of the situation at hand and his overwrought efforts to make things better when there was no problem in the first place. I go through over-analysis often too (this weblog should be evidence enough of that). So identification with the main character, even if that identification is negative, makes the show funny. To me at least. Seinfeld was funny not because we thought it would be cool to be like them, but because we are like them. Every one of the main characters is a compulsive liar and, if that weren't enough, a complete asshole. They're all miserable too—except possibly Kramer, who never seems to care—and this went on to be one the most popular comedies ever!

Hopefully this passes. Or hopefully it's just unscientific. But right now, it sucks for someone who prides himself on his sense of humour to have to question every joke he makes because of the unconscious harm or because the reason it's funny is less than salutary.

That the rib vignette is funny is not a point of debate: that is most likely universally accepted. But Bush's political opponents are using it to score political points because they see him as a "miserable failure" (remember, Ryan said, accurately, “these reporters were trying to fuck with him”). But importantly, even Bush's supporters have something to laugh at: “So he has some fun at their expense.” Sure, it's "all in fun", but, if we're to believe Heinlein's critique of humour, "funny" is just our being brave in the face human misery without our solving that misery.

tags: Robert A. Heinlein, laughter

Nearly Ruined

January 17, 2004

Dunstan wonders why authors ruin books by presaging who the murderer is. Robert A. Heinlein almost ruined Stranger in a Strange Land for me, but not by giving away the ending.

The first speaker in the section quoted below is newspaper columnist Ben Caxton and the second speaker is respected Fair Witness James Oliver Cavendish—Fair Witnesses are, when they are on duty, capable only of telling the truth based only on the information they witness for themselves and have perfect memory of the events they are called in to witness. Both have just come out of a meeting with who the former believes to be the Man from Mars. (This appears on pp. 52-3 of my copy of the book.) The Fair Witness points out that the columnist may have missed something.

"Huh? What did I miss."
"Calluses."
"Calluses?"
"Surely. A man's history can be read from his calluses. I once did a monograph on them for The Witness Quarterly. This young man from Mars, since he has never worn our sort of shoes and has lived in gravity one third of ours, should display foot calluses consonant with his former environment."

The bold is added to highlight the part that almost ruined the entire book for me. A good 70 years had passed since Arthur Conan Doyle published his Sherlock Holmes stories when Heinlein published his novel, and anybody—myself included—that that has read more than a few of Doyle's short stories knows that Sherlock Holmes proudly reminds his assistant Watson that the former has written monographs on marginalia that have direct impact on the cases the latter solves. A quick search reveals that nobody seems to think this is satire. If this isn't some kind of law with regards to popular fiction than it should be: if a character in a book says something Sherlock Holmes would say, then it's a cliché.

I plodded on and finished the book, and I'm glad I did: the book is overflowing with ideas, mostly about government, society and, of course, sex, all of which are controversial, even today. (Especially today, some would say.) It challenged a lot of core assumptions, and the book will have to somehow be incorporated into my belief system.

Relately, at Electrolite, there is an interesting discussion about Heinlein—partly in response to an article about Heinlein's recently-released first novel—which is, at least for the first half, about whether Heinlein got the science right in "The Roads Must Roll". One commenter asks three questions that I think apply to a lot of SF authors: “Is Heinlein really a hard SF author? Or a technophilic sociological SF author who used his talents to propagandize for science? Or someone who just liked telling good stories?” Basing this only on the SF authors I've read, some do just "hard science" (Clarke's 2001, 2010, 2061 and 3001), and some do political science fiction dressed up as science fiction (Asimov's original three Foundation novels) and others do comedy with science fiction as the plot device (Douglas Adams' entire works: even his science fact writings can be funny). At least with Stranger in a Strange Land, Heinlein uses science fiction and fantasy to serve up social criticism (especially with regards to sex, but also with regards to religion and cannibalism) and political opinion (government, law and authority).

In that last book, though, all that was nearly ruined by a few lines near the beginning.

tags: Arthur C. Clarke, Douglas Adams, Isaac Asimov, Robert A. Heinlein, science fiction

Stranger in a Strange Land by Robert A. Heinlein

January 17, 2004

Finished reading Stranger in a Strange Land by Robert A. Heinlein.

tag: Robert A. Heinlein

Just a Gwai Lo - fun within prescribed limits