II. THE PERIOD
There is always a lag between the time a story is
written and the time it is published -- this is a constant bit of uncertainty
in a writer's life and a factor I suspect most readers seldom have reason
to be aware of. It may take three months for a single magazine to
make up its mind about a story, and five or ten magazines may see a story
before it is finally bought. After a story is accepted, it may take
another year for it to be published. Probably the usual minimum gap
between writing and publishing is six months; the maximum, even for good
stories, may be several years. But there is always a lag.
This explains why Heinlein stories were published
in 1942 when he was working at the Naval Air Material Center in Philadelphia
and not writing, and why no Heinlein stories were published in 1946 when
he very definitely was writing. The stories published in 1942 were
written earlier. (Incidentally, all of them came out under Heinlein's
pen names; none were under his own name.) And all the Heinlein stories
written in 1946 were published later.
the case of " 'My Object All Sublime' " (Future,
February 1942), I suspect that the lag was
a long one. It reads as though it were one of Heinlein's very earliest
efforts, and it may well be that early story of his that he says was rejected
thirteen times before it was purchased.
The story involves an invisibility device explained
in this manner:
"The principle is similar to total reflection.
I throw a prolate ellipsoid field about my body. Light strikes the
screen at any point, runs on the surface of the field for a hundred and
eighty degrees, and departs at the antipodal point with its direction and
intensity unchanged. In effect, it makes a detour around me."
is vague enough to allow
of varied interpretation, but, as given, it would seem that objects on
the other side of the field would appear reversed. A friend of mine,
John Myers, a student in mathematics and logic who has examined the story,
suggests they would be distorted and upside down as well. But let
does the inventor
do with this fabulous device? He uses it to hide himself while he
stands on busy street corners and squirts synthetic skunk juice on drivers
whose manners offend him. (The quotation-used-as-title is from
until I looked it up it seemed to have nothing to do with the story.
It turns out that the sublime object is "to make the punishment fit the
crime." Heinlein must have something against bad drivers -- in
a more recent novel, he has them flogged. Serves 'em
right, too, I say.) Beyond this, the story is told in a curious mixture
of the past and present tenses, with changes from one to the other within
single sentences. For clear and obvious reasons the story has never
passing, I might add
that the story illustration is also bad, more amateurish than anything
else. The artist thereafter gave up art for other pursuits, turning
into an author, critic, and anthologist of note. His name is Damon
Bowl" appeared in
in March. Two waterspouts capped by a cloud
appear near Hawaii -- water goes up one spout and down the other.
These curiosities, along with ball lightning, mysterious disappearances,
and a number of other strange phenomena, all turn out to be the doing of
never-seen atmospheric intelligences as superior to us as we are to fish.
The story is merely a statement of this situation, with the supposedly
ironic comparison of us to fish hammered home at the end. However
no resolution of the situation is offered, and 10,000 words seem a lot
to spend on a dead irony. This is more yard goods, the sort of thing
that can be turned out by the ream without thinking. It's readable
stuff, but no more than that.
Piper" is another never-reprinted
Lyle Monroe story, this time from the March 1942
is another candidate for the Rejected Thirteen Times Sweepstakes.
The most truly astonishing thing about this issue (after a letter from
one Isaac Azimov [sic] ) was that it cost only ten cents. It seems
almost incredible in these days when you can't even buy a comic book for
"Pied Piper" takes place in an undesignated country
at an undefined time. As the solution to a war, an elderly scientist
kidnaps all the opposing country's children and when the chief general
of his own country objects to a settlement of the war, the scientist disposes
of him by shooting him off into another dimension. It is all very
bland and never-neverish.
stories are all lacking in significance and importance. On the other
hand, Heinlein's last three stories of 1942 not only have meanings that
extend beyond the solution of a trivial situation, but are all thoroughly
enjoyable reading. Two of them, "Waldo" and
Beyond This Horizon,
a culmination to Heinlein's first period, being every bit as good as
" '--We Also Walk Dogs' " and much longer and more
involved, and much more significant.
companion, published something more than forty novels and short novels
in the four years of its existence, most of them still readable, and some
quite excellent. Of the whole lot, "The Unpleasant Profession of
Jonathan Hoag" remains one of my favorites for all that I can see that
it is severely flawed. Not everybody likes it. P. Schuyler
Miller considers it strictly a pot-boiler. In some ways it is, but
it was also written with an amount of involvement that offsets most of
Our world, in "The Unpleasant Profession of Jonathan
Hoag," is explained as a piece of artwork done by a beginning student.
The "canvas" originally focused on some rather unpleasant creatures known
as "the Sons of the Bird," but the teacher of our student found them lacking
in appeal. However, instead of painting them out, the student made
the mistake of redoing them in the guise of the ordinary humans he peopled
the world with. Now this piece of artwork is being judged by art
critics, appreciating it from the inside as men, who will decide whether
or not it is worth preserving.
This explanation comes as a denouement to the story.
The story proper involves the efforts of a private detective and his wife
to find out for Jonathan Hoag exactly how it is that he spends his days.
He does not remember. All he knows is that from time to time he finds
a disturbing brown grime under his fingernails that he is convinced is
The Sons of the Bird, who lurk in that mysterious
world behind mirrors, do not know the truth about the way the world was
made. Instead they have an elaborate mythology that says they were
cast down and made subordinate in some ways to human beings (who are, according
to this myth, their own creations) because of pride and insufficient
They do know the grime under Hoag's fingernails for what it is --
their own blood -- and know Hoag for their enemy, and consequently attempt
to keep Randall, the detective, from finding out for Hoag what he wishes
Hoag is a schizophrenic for fair. He is one
of the art critics. Part of his time is spent in dealing with the
Sons of the Bird, and the rest of his time, unaware that he is anything
but a man, unaware of his other activities, he spends in savoring life,
in the process gathering the material for his critical other self to make
The frame for the story is a fine one. The
background is very neatly worked out. The only trouble is that the
interior logic of the story is full of holes. This does not eliminate
my liking for the story, but it does temper it.
In the scene that opens the story, Man-Hoag has
apparently been sent by Critic-Hoag to visit a doctor named Potbury, who
is one of the Sons. This is never explicitly said, but can be
The purpose of this visit is to frighten the Sons of the Bird. Why
it is necessary to frighten the Sons of the Bird is never explained.
The person who is really frightened by the visit is Man-Hoag -- he is frightened
enough to consult a private detective when the doctor won't tell him what
the grime under his nails is and when he cannot remember what he does with
himself during the day. Since Critic-Hoag can apparently turn Man-Hoag
on and off as he pleases, there is no reason for Man-Hoag to be allowed
to be frightened except that it suits Heinlein's purposes to bring in Edward
Randall and his wife, and he cannot do this unless Hoag is frightened enough
to consult a detective.
Why is Potiphar Potbury, a Son of the Bird, also
a doctor? This is not explained. More important, why do the
Sons of the Bird spend their time persecuting the Randalls, who are doing
them no harm, when they really ought to be out persecuting Jonathan Hoag,
If Heinlein had bothered to spend fifty more pages
in tying loose ends and developing his story further, it might have been
as good as anything he has ever done. As it is, it does have several
things to recommend it: the Sons of the Bird; the student, his teacher
and the art critics; a very nicely developed relationship between Randall
and his wife -- one of the very few comfortable inter-sexual relationships
Heinlein has ever described; and a nice appreciation of a number of simple
pleasures. Looking back, the story itself has no reason for being
-- the Sons of the Bird would logically have been eliminated before the
story started. The story doesn't make any sense at all from that
point of view, but it does
It's unhappily true that most current science
fiction stories neither make sense nor mean anything; but it occurs to
me that as long as we're asking, we may as well ask for what we really
want -- the story, now nearly extinct, which does both.
"The Unpleasant Profession of Jonathan Hoag" does mean
something -- and unusually for Heinlein, its meaning is on an emotional
rather than an intellectual level -- but it does not make any good sense
at all. I wish it did.
The distinction between fantasy and science fiction
is one that is usually made by saying, "Well, you know what I mean," and
usually we do. There are a great number of formulations of the distinction
extant, but none of them has ever been generally adopted. More than
that, however, we don't even have a generally accepted definition of what
science fiction is before we go into comparisons of it and other things.
(My favorite definition of science fiction, by the way, is "Science fiction
means what we point to when we say it," which, of course, is a backhanded
way of saying, "Well, you know what I mean.") What we do have is
a great big mess, and the reason we have it is that we insist on slapping
labels on things. Not only do we not have a generally accepted distinction
between fantasy and science fiction, I doubt that we ever will.
reason for bringing
up the topic is an Anson MacDonald story entitled "Waldo" in the August
1942 issue of
Beyond the fact that it was originally
published in a science fiction magazine, I am certain that this is a science
fiction story rather than a fantasy story, but I am very far from certain
that I can satisfactorily explain why.
of "Waldo" are four: a Pennsylvania hex doctor who may be well over a hundred
years old and whose magic actually works; "deKalb power receptors" that
have suddenly ceased to operate properly though nothing seems to be wrong
with them; a rising incidence of general myasthenia -- abnormal muscular
weakness and fatigue -- in the population; and Waldo, an engineering genius
and paranoid misanthrope afflicted by
who lives in a satellite home popularly known as "Wheelchair."
Heinlein has managed to tie this all together into a fascinating whole.
The deKalbs are failing, and their proprietors,
North American Power-Air Co., are worried. They can't lick the problem
and are convinced that the only man who might is Waldo. However,
the company once cut Waldo out of some patents that he is convinced should
have been his and they are far from sure that he will do any further business
Dr. Gus Grimes, Waldo's personal physician since
childhood and his only friend, is worried by the rise of myasthenia in
the population and is convinced that background radiation has something
to do with it. He wants Waldo to take on the problem of the failing
deKalbs and not only work out a solution, but find one that will necessitate
cutting down the amount of general radiation.
Waldo's own problem is his sickness and his misanthropy,
the misanthropy being a direct result of his sickness. His success
is a matter of over-compensation, and the more successful he is the more
alienated he becomes, thus leaving him with that much more to compensate
Gramps Schneider, the Pennsylvania hex doctor, has
no problems except that he has no particular love for machines and complicated
living. He is, however, the key to the whole situation. Waldo
takes on NAPA's problem, but then is unable to solve it, let alone in the
manner Dr. Grimes would prefer. For all that he can tell, the machines
ought to be working properly. Gramps Schneider, however, can fix
the machines, and he is able to give Waldo the insights by which he solves
the problem of the failing deKalbs, the problem of radiation and general
myasthenia, and the problem of his own sickness.
Completely aside from the main problem, Heinlein
has included some truly lovely conceits. The best-known of these
are the machines known as "waldoes," devices for remote control
Similar machines are in commercial use today, first developed for handling
radioactive material, and are generally known as waldoes after those described
in the story. But this is not the only ingenious idea given.
Waldo's satellite home and the behavior of Waldo's pets, a canary and a
mastiff, raised from birth in free fall, are particularly well-imagined.
None of this is necessary to the story, but it does add richness to it.
The reason for my original puzzlement as to how
"Waldo" should be categorized -- science fiction or fantasy -- is the nature
of the solution to the various given problems. It turns out that
the deKalbs are failing because their operators are thinking negative
Gramps Schneider fixes the deKalbs by reaching for power into the "Other
World." And Waldo fixes both himself and the failing deKalbs by leaming
to reach for power into the Other World, too.
More than this, Waldo becomes convinced that the
various magical arts are all aborted sciences, abandoned before they had
been made clear; that the world has been made what it is by minds thinking
it so (the world was flat until geographers decided it was round, and the
deKalbs worked because their operators thought they would); that the Other
World does exist; and that he, Waldo, can make the Other World what he
wants it to be, for all time, by deciding its nature and convincing everybody
else of his ideas.
much of his
fiction, Heinlein has injected bits of mysticism, just as he did here in
"Waldo." What keeps "Waldo" and most of the others from being fantasies,
it seems to me, is his approach to the mysticism. "Magic, Inc." is
a fantasy because the answers are cut-and-dried. Magic does work,
period. Do thus-andsuch and thus-and-thus will result.
In "Waldo," we only know one thing for certain: there is something out
there, call it the "Other World" for convenience, from which power can
be siphoned. All the rest is Waldo's tentative construction of the
state of affairs -- he may be right or he may be wrong, but we have no
certain way of knowing. In part, this is Heinlein's way of saying,
"There are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in your
and that is a far from illegitimate thing for a science fiction story to
say. In part, too, I think this derives from Heinlein's background
and training. As a writer, he remains very much an engineer.
His interest has always been not so much in why things work as in how they
work, and as long as he exposits the "how" clearly, he is willing to leave
the "why" as a tentative answer.
If the answers Heinlein were to give were not tentative,
if the story said, "And this is exactly what those things in heaven and
earth you haven't dreamt of are," and these answers fall outside what we
think the world to be like, the story would be a fantasy. As long
as the answers remain tentative, as in "Waldo," the story remains one that
I can point to when I say "science fiction," even though the answers may
again be ones that fall outside the bounds of what we think the world to
have an affection for
unified plots, stories in which everything ties together at the end.
I don't mind an intriguing question or two left for the reader to answer,
but I do mind questions that arise only because the writer is a sloppy
craftsman. Certainly too many science fiction stories written these
days take one single mangy idea and stretch and stretch it, remaining unified
out of ennui. On the other hand, I have almost as much dislike for
old A.E. van Vogt stories that were so full of ideas that they leaked out
the sides. Van Vogt used to have a conscious policy of introducing
at least one new idea every 800 words. This gave his stories movement,
but it never gave them unity, and it was always possible to fill a wheelbarrow
with ideas proposed and then half-used and forgotten.
of Robert Heinlein's early stories were like this. For example,
here is Alva Rogers*** on
"Full of adventure,
conflict, romance, and enough casually tossed-off ideas to serve as the
basis for a half-dozen other stories." This is true, but I'm not
quite as pleased with the situation as Rogers is. I wish Heinlein
had written those other half-dozen stories and put his ideas to better
use. I think this is one of the things he came to realize during
and May 1942) probably has as much of a Roman candle plot, shooting off
in all directions, as Heinlein ever wrote. However, in spite of all
that I have said about ununified plots, it remains one of my two favorite
The ostensible central theme of
Beyond This Horizon
a young man who is the end product of four generations of genetic control
concentrating on producing a man of all-around competence. The respects
in which he is superior to the majority of men are intended to be eventually
conserved in the whole race; the hero, Hamilton Felix, is something of
a pilot project. However, he sees no reason to have children.
In fact, he refuses to unless he can have it demonstrated to him what,
if any, purpose there is to human existence. As one character in
the book says when another objects that this is a stupid question: "He
did not ask it stupidly." And he does not.
Two things cause him to change his mind. One
is a revolution that he sees from the seamy side. A group of social
misfits attempt to overturn society and put things the way they
be with " 'true men -- supermen -- sitting on top (that's themselves) and
the rest of the population bred to fit requirements.' " The second
thing that causes him to change his mind is an agreement by his society
that it might be worthwhile to investigate philosophical problems on a
scientific basis -- including the possibility of survival after death,
which Hamilton takes to be the one satisfactory answer to his question.
(Though exactly why he does is not clear to me. The simple survival
of the soul -- the knowledge that you will exist longer than you originally
thought you would -- does not strike me as a worthwhile purpose for
But this agreement to investigate does satisfy Hamilton and he becomes
willing to father the children his society desires him to have.
This action covers two-thirds of the book, and several
months in time, and was the logical place to stop. However, Heinlein
strings his story out for another five years or so, skimmed over in perhaps
20,000 words. This covers Hamilton's marriage, his first two children,
and an indication that reincarnation, whether or not the research ever
demonstrates it, does exist as a fact.
I said this was the ostensible central theme, because
I don't believe that this is what the story is really about. I think
this is another case, rather, of a story about process. This society
is fascinating, and though Hamilton is the central character if anyone
is, there is a great deal of switching viewpoints to give us various views
of the society in action. The society is a libertarian one: to be
a first-class citizen you must wear a gun, and if you aren't careful about
your manners, you must be prepared to use it. Social conventions
are gone into in detail, but beyond this, Heinlein deals with two love
stories, eugenics, finance, and even adds a dash of satire with a young
man from 1926 found in a newly-opened "level-entropy field" who makes a
living for himself by setting up leagues of professional football teams.
The revolution is not the central issue in
Beyond This Horizon
revolutions and high level double-dealing have ruined more science fiction
novels than I care to count, but this is not one of them. The central
issue is day-to-day living in a truly strange society. That this
is so is the only reason that Heinlein could get away with writing on as
long as he does after his main story line has run out. That this
is so is the only reason that Heinlein could get away with writing about
so many different things without having his story fall apart. Hamilton
Felix is an interesting character, but it is his society that is Heinlein's
hero and Hamilton is only our guide through it.
I still retain my affection for unified plots.
doesn't have one, but I still find it thoroughly delightful.
Call it an exception.
Bibliography -- Heinlein's First Period
Note: The print edition of
Heinlein in Dimension
is still available from Advent:Publishers, PO Box A3228, Chicago, IL 60690
$17 for a hardcover copy, $10 for a paperback. I charge for shipping
and handling, Advent doesn't.
For those who may be interested,
the circumstances surrounding the writing of this book are described elsewhere
at this site, in
The Story of Heinlein in Dimension.
*In Search of Wonder,
ed., p. 130. [
is a progressive increase in the fatigability of the muscular system until
death results from inability of the heart muscle to continue its work."
***A Requiem for Astounding,
p. 94. [
Border courtesy of
The Humble Bee