Pun Salad

I've recently re-read some old Heinlein novels that have been re-released in "uncut" versions: Red Planet and The Puppet Masters. And now comes the biggie: Stranger in a Strange Land.

The version originally published in 1961 weighed in at 160 kilowords, cut back at the publisher's insistence from Heinlein's original 220 kilowords. I read it a few years later as an impressionable teen, because I was a Heinlein fanboy. It didn't exactly blow my tiny mind, but I was semi-shocked at all the sex, gratuitous nudity, cannibalism, and its, um, complex attitude toward religion.

And—after all these years—I still had this bit stuck in my head, from one of the book's descriptions of the state of the world:

A colossal campaign opened to sell more sexual organs of plants…

I found it impossible to attend any religious service after that without thinking about the appropriateness of an open and proud display of the sexual organs of plants right in front of all comers. Yes, just a mindworm planted fifty years ago by RAH.

Anyway: Heinlein discorporated in 1988, the original Stranger manuscript was discovered and published in 1991. I have what appears to be a Book Club edition, bought at some point after that, and… it's been sitting unread on my shelf since then, about 25 years. (Sheesh.)

In case you aren't aware of the story: Valentine Michael Smith, or "Mike", is the lone survivor of Earth's first doomed mission to Mars. Adopted as a newborn infant by the Martian "Old Ones", he grows up with their odd notions of time, space, death, and reality. And then he's "rescued" and returned to Earth years later. He's impressively naïve about Terran mores, and also has some interesting mental powers picked up from his alien caregivers.

For some sleazy reason, Earth's government finds it useful to keep Mike under wraps. An intrepid nurse, Jill, and her investigative reporter boyfriend, Ben, uncover the nasty conspiracy. Fortunately, government security doesn't prevent Jill from absconding with Mike, and taking refuge with Jubal Harshaw, who manages to suss out the diplomatic/legal/moral tangles just enough to make Mike a "free man".

And then comes the sex and religion stuff. I see the iconoclastic points Heinlein was trying to make. He's occasionally pretty good at making them. There's a lot of yakking. None of which is particularly realistic-sounding to modern ears; I found myself thinking that it was very similar to how witty people talk in 1940s screwball comedies, turned up to 11.

I can't tell if the extra 60K words improve the book, or just make it longer. In the preface, RAH's widow, Virginia, argues that it's better, and that the publishers agreed.