I read Stranger in a Strange Land almost six months ago, and have since sold my copy for store credit. As such, I was not planning on writing up a review for it, but I keep wanting to make comparisons to it in the books I am currently reading, and I figured it was worth having my opinion on hand for the times I might refer to it.It is a disappointing slog.
The prose is strong--Heinlein knows how to write sentences and paragraphs, unlike another I will soon be writing about--but all interesting aspects of the story, world, and characters are forgotten in favor of gross, meandering philosophizing.
The plot, at first, is about Valentine Michael Smith. He was born during humanity's first expedition to Mars and was subsequently raised by martians. Valentine is sent back to Earth as an envoy of the ultra-advanced martians, who view Earth as little more than an uncivilized curiosity. With him he brings their culture, the word grok, and a child-like innocence that leads to awe at all he sees. He also has godlike powers; but we will return to those aspects later.
The story is interesting at first, and there is a refreshing realism in how Valentine's return to humanity is handled. The biggest worry concerning this 'man from Mars' is, of course, who has jurisdiction over him and the fortune his Earth-born parents have left him. He is blissfully unaware of the legal battles taking place around him, and spends his time in a hospital bed, tended by nurses who are struggling to learn about his alien physiology. We follow the perspective of one of these nurses, Gillian Boardman, as she begins to befriend Valentine. She is aware of the multitude of governments conspiring to gain custody of Valentine and his fortune, and realizes he is powerless to stop them, as he does not even understand the concept of property, let alone eminent domain or inheritance. She breaks him out of the hospital, and, through the help of a former lover, finds refuge for the two of them in the house of a former lawyer: Jubal Harshaw.
Jubal is perhaps this books biggest problem.
He comes off as, for lack of a better term, a self-insert. He is a famous author, has many different degrees from prestigious universities, and was also a physician at some point before he retired. He lives in a private mansion with three young female secretaries who wait on him hand and foot (but there's no sex stuff, so it's not weird, right?). As soon as he is introduced he dominates the narrative. Gillian becomes just another woman in his house as he singled-handedly protects Valentine from the government who wants to exploit him and makes a buffoon out of anyone who tries to challenge him on any front. He is almost foiled by a few over-eager police officers, but Michael has the power to 'discorporate' any person or thing he views as a threat. This is given the explanation that he can move things with his mind into the fourth spacial dimension (which is immediately fatal because it is empty), but this amounts to little more than technobabble, as nothing more is done with the idea of higher dimensions. Thus Jubal's invincibility is assured, and we are forced to spend more than half of the novel's pages listening to him babble about whatever Heinlein decided he wanted to talk about the day he sat down to push out another few paragraphs.
Jubal's introduction does not immediately sink the narrative. At first his political maneuverings are used to affect good world-building; the government seems to be tipping toward a fascist state; fortunes are told by a type of mathematical astrology; the major religion is a strange mix of Christianity, college parties, and a suicide cult. However, as we spend more time with him, his shtick quickly grows old, and any development of Gillian or Valentine is pushed aside in favor of The Jubal Show.
We do eventually get back on track. Gillian and Valentine elope to perform in a circus for a while, and attempt to do some soul-searching after Valentine discovers religion and tries to grok it (more on that word later). He eventually starts a free-love sex-cult, and convinces his friends to join him and learn to grok together. His new religion spreads, and soon he is confronted by an angry mob of the dominant religion. He stands before them and they attack, pelting him with whatever is on hand until he is dead. His spirit becomes a martian 'Old One' that can still interact and speak to his followers, and he encourages a grief-stricken Jubal to keep living before ascending to heaven and becoming an angel (Yes, it is explicitly the Abrahamic heaven. His name is Michael, after all). His friends, in martian tradition, eat of his flesh (just like Jesus--DO YOU GET IT?) and it is there the book ends.
If it were only that Jubal were boring, maybe this latter part could redeem it. It seems dramatic enough, as I have described it. But any hope of genuine investment is extirpated as Heinlein's drivel descends into outright misogyny. At the start, it seems only like the unconscious trappings of the time he lived in (it was written in 1961): female characters are called by pet names and 'girl' in casual conversation, etc. But once we return to Valentine and Gillian's tale things worsen.
First, female exhibitionism is equated to male voyeurism. Gillian, at one point in her circus career, finds herself dancing in front of a group of men. I don't think it was an actual strip-tease, but she was scantly clad. Valentine, using his plethora of powers, lets Gillian see and feel through the eyes of one of her onlookers. She thinks about what she is seeing, and realizes that her experience performing for this man gives her the same excitement that he experiences while watching her. The sentiment is generalized, and Gillian is returned to her body, more willing to continue her performance. It is gross and insidious, but any attempt at justifying such sexism is dropped as Gillian comments to Valentine that "9 times out of 10 when a woman gets raped it's partly her own fault" with little prompting, reason, or follow-up.
That is the peak of the depravity, but such bile would not be as distasteful without a few notes of homophobia and racism. The religion that Valentine creates is based upon free-love, and the female characters are all too eager to sleep with many a man, but not once is it touched upon that f/f or m/m interactions might occur in this place where everyone's walking around naked 24/7. It is mention in passing only once, and quickly dismissed when Jubal says something to the effect of "good thing no-one here's a queer, haha, otherwise I'd feel weird being naked next to you, dude." I don't want to bother looking up the exact quote.
Oh, also, the affectionate nickname Jubal gives his one Muslim friend is 'Stinky,' and though I don't know for sure if that's a racial slur or not, it sure as hell reads like one.
The word grok is used throughout the book, presented as a mysterious martian concept, it is used by Michael instead of the word 'understand'. There is an implication that grok is something different; something more. But the point is overemphasized. Grok is only understanding; maybe it is a more empathetic understanding, or a deeper, introspective understanding, but it is used as a synonym to that word, and so we are left only with its mundane translation. There is no point made about language or alien empathy; only the eating of flesh, and the projection of a Christ figure onto an empty idea.
Heinlein expounds the worst ideas of his time (and ours), and it is little wonder that what promise his book showed falls apart into utter rubbish once his likeness barges his way into the story. I had to force myself to finish the last two thirds of this book, which claims to be "The most famous science fiction novel ever written." If this is still true, it speaks to the sad state of affairs of our genre. Stranger in a Strange Land makes no attempt to explore or criticize ideas, either real or of its own making. In a story that travels to Mars, we spend all out time on Earth. It does not reach beyond its own time or try to imagine a better or worse tomorrow. It is a bland, regurgitated meal, with no vision or imagination, flavored with the worse tastes imaginable.
This garbage is available at pretty much every bookstore I've been to. It's also on Amazon, just like every other book ever made. Don't buy it.
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