I’ve read this book at least twice before. I decided I’d like to read it again. I’m glad I did.
Robert Anson Heinlein began to write this story back in the 1950s. When he finished, in 1960, it was something like 220,000 words long. Too long for his publisher and too forward-looking in some of its ideas. It had to be cut down before it could appear in print. It took several months for this to be done. When it did come out, in 1961, it contained 160,087 words. That is the version that went into circulation. The original version came out in 1991. In the meantime Heinlein had died and the USA copyright law had been changed. His widow, Virginia, saw to it that his original dream came true.
My first impression, on this reading, is how funny the book is. Lots of subtle digs at the silly way some of us live. Lots of lighthearted jokes at the expense of ‘rules of conduct’ which make life worse rather than better. This is how a wise visitor from another planet might see us. Come to think of it, it’s the way some of us raise an eyebrow at conventions that needlessly cause problems for those raised on the idea that there is only one monolithic truth and any deviation – even the slightest – is to be highlighted condemned and ostracised.
I was lucky enough to live in Sydney, Australia, during the 1970s. That was a time of relaxation. Portnoy’s Complaint raised a storm. Then the right people said the book was OK. The storm subsided. That kind of censorship quietly evaporated. Hair went on stage in downtown Sydney. The entire cast was naked at the end of the first half and, no, the police did not close down the show. An out-of-the-way beach began to attract nudists. (That’s really the most enjoyable swimsuit there is.) A case went to court. The magistrate ruled there was no obscenity. The once lonely beach became quite crowded at weekends. Despite what the churchmen said, many young people discovered a freedom and ecstatic joy in their love life which they shared, and shared rightly, as often and as widely as the opportunity offered. It was like an extended summer of love.
But it couldn’t last. The black fear of an eternity roasting in hell gradually swamped the scintillating brightness of love and freedom. The urge to control – and the majority desire to be told what to do and what not to do – gradually tightened the bonds that had been loosened. Alas! we being it on ourselves. We allow it to happen.
francis cameron, oxford, 10 august 2009
