(---- is a successful sculptor, not a starving artist.) But [he] wanted me to see it first.
A young woman who came with him asked me where I had gotten the word grok—no, she had not read the book, had not been able to lay hands on a copy [my emphasis added] . . . but that she knew what it meant as "everybody uses it now."
January 26, 1967: Lurton Blassingame to Robert A. Heinlein
Checking on Grok magazine.
February 28, 1967: Lurton Blassingame to Robert A. Heinlein
In the 2/19 issue of the New York Times Book Review, there is an article you may want to see—"Where the Action Is." It mention(s) Stranger and Grok. Reference seems responsible for stirring Hollywood interest. Another call asking if Stranger rights available.
March 14, 1967: Lurton Blassingame to Robert A. Heinlein
Have two issues of Grok.
April 28, 1968: Robert A. Heinlein to Lurton Blassingame
I enclose a clipping sent to me from Toronto—please return for my Stranger file. "Fair Use" of course—but that book must have made a wide impression if a telephone company in Canada makes this use of a neologism from it. (And when I think how Putnam continues to refuse to reissue a hardcover of it, I get so annoyed I need a Miltown. Damn it, they should at least arrange a Grosset and Dunlap reprint; I get regular inquiries about where to buy it in hardcover. He's missing a lot of library sales, too.)
May 23, 1968: Robert A. Heinlein to Lurton Blassingame
Since I sent you that Canadian telephone ad I have run into three more uses of grok—one in a short story in Playboy, simply as a part of dialog with no explanation, same for a poem, and a report of a shop in Florida: "We Grok Bookshop." Oh, well, while it doesn't pay royalties, it does interest me to see this neologism spread. But the darnedest thing so far is an announcement in the UCLA Daily Bruin concerning "Experimental College Classes—Spring 1968" with one course billed as "J. D. Salinger, Robt. Heinlein, Lawrence Ferlinghetti and Other Personal Gurus—"!!! And I'm such a square I don't even know who the third guru is. Nor does Ginny. However, I'm new to the guru business.
January 23, 1967: Robert A. Heinlein to Lurton Blassingame
Did I tell you that [Dr.] Jack Williamson is using Stranger as a study text in his class in SF at U of E. New Mexico? Quote: "I'm launching new courses in linguistics and modern grammar and another in the factual literature of science. . . . (in my SF class) and we are now reading Stranger in a Strange Land. I was a little afraid that some of my students might not be sufficiently sophisticated for it, but the response so far is good—some class members feel that it is more successful than Huxley's Brave New World, which we have just finished."
Did I mention in some other letter that Stanford now offers a course in SF? Apparently SF is beginning to be accepted as a respectable genre of serious literature. It is a pleasant feeling—but I have to keep reminding myself that seeing my name in print is nothing; it is seeing it on a check that counts. It is still the clown business; the object is to entertain the cash customer—I shall simply have to try harder than ever.
February 3, 1967: Robert A. Heinlein to Lurton Blassingame
Did I give you the impression that the principal interest in Stranger was from teenagers? It may be, but I hope not and do not think so. I might be forced to drink hemlock for "teaching that the worse is the better part and corrupting the youth of the land." Stranger is definitely an adult book, and the comments in it on both sex and religion are such that I think it would be imprudent to attempt any sort of publicity which attempts to tie this book with teenagers.
Lurton, I myself am not the least afraid of corrupting the teenagers of this country; it can't be done. They are far more sophisticated, as a group, than are their parents. They take up in junior high school smoking, drinking, fellatio, cunnilingus, and soixante-neuf, and move on to coition, marijuana, and goof balls during senior high school, then get the Pill and join the New Left when they enter college—or at the very least are exposed to these things at these ages and sometimes earlier. Plus LSD and other drugs if they wish. Shock them or corrupt them—impossible! If they refrain, it is voluntary, not because they haven't been exposed.
But their parents rarely know this—parents are always certain that it is the wild, beat crowd on the other side of town, not their little darlings! So, while I do not think Stranger can corrupt any reader, no matter how young—on the contrary I think it is a highly moral book—I think also that it would be impolitic to exploit it as a book for teenagers.
November 17, 1967: Robert A. Heinlein to Lurton Blassingame
I finally heard from the University of Wisconsin . . . This was the bid I heard about through ---- and concerning which I phoned you. I am about to turn it down—regretfully, since Oshkosh is so close by. But what they want me to do is lecture about Stranger in a Strange Land. I decided years ago never to discuss my own works on a platform . . . and I think the pragmatic reasons behind this decision apply especially strongly to Stranger. A writer looks pretty durn silly "explaining" his stories. He said what he had to say in the ms.—or should have. Stranger is a fairy tale; if it amuses the reader, he has received what he paid for. If he gets something more out of it, that's a free bonus. But I'm durned if I'll "explain" it.
(I wonder if John Barth ever "explains" Giles Goat Boy? If he does, I'll bet he has his forked tongue in both cheeks and intentionally leaves the listener more bemused than ever. I was much impressed and enormously amused by Giles, and now I want to obtain and read and keep all his other fictional works—now that I can afford things other than building materials. On the other hand, Barth's fiction is not for Ginny; she lives life in simple declarative sentences with no veiled allusions, and she wants her fiction the same way.)
I am turning down the bid from Cornell; I turned down one yesterday from U of California; and I am turning down as they come in numerous lesser bids mostly from high schools here and there. Quite aside from the nuisance of speaking in public, this is not a year when I want to cope extemporaneously with the questions period which usually follows a platform talk—undeclared wars, race riots, the drop-out generation, etc., are all matters I prefer not to deal with orally and in public; I find these matters extremely complex and am not sure of the wisdom of my opinions.
But I did find it expedient to accept an invitation for March 30 for the Monterey Bay Area Libraries Book Festival; librarians are a special category. I feel that I have to do it once, for the local libraries—then next time I can point out that I already have, and sorry, but this year I'm tied up. I waived their fee, however, as I prefer doing it free to accepting a small fee ($50)—so that I can continue to tell others that sure, I speak in public—but I'm a pro and my fees are horrendously high.
MANSON CASE
January 7, 1970: Virginia Heinlein to Lurton Blassingame
Some weeks ago, a fan letter came in from the jail in Independence, California. In a burst of generosity, Robert tried to do something about this girl who'd written him. It turned out that she was one of the Manson family. So if we're knifed in our beds like Sharon Tate, it's because of three letters from members of the family. Just tell the police. I'm leaving these notices everywhere I can, in hopes of preventing anything from happening.
PLAYBOY INTERVIEW
January 16, 1970: Virginia Heinlein and Robert A. Heinlein to Lurton Blassingame
Will you also please tell Mr. [Hugh] Hefner that the only reason Robert agreed to be interviewed was not publicity for himself, but the offer of a forum to boost the space program. Publication of this interview in an early issue might have helped. As it is, the space program is in ruins, and Hefner is attempting to make something of what might have been by the use of Stranger and the Manson case. We will not go along with this. He has not bought himself a tame rabbit by that contribution to the Ed White Memorial Fund. He can take his [magazine] and stuff it, having first folded it until it is all corners. Under no condition will we make any public statement about the Manson case and
Stranger. We consider Mr. Hefner's suggestion very much out of line and an invasion of our privacy. It is not a matter of reluctance to discuss Robert's work, but a downright refusal to do so, which has been a policy of his for a very long time.
November 10, 1970: Virginia Heinlein to Lurton Blassingame
Believe this if you can—Stranger is on the Women's Lib reading list!
May 4, 1971: Lurton Blassingame to Virginia Heinlein
Doesn't think anything can be done about the Valentine Smith company. Wishes they would put their letterhead and all press releases that they're using name "from the character created by Robert A. Heinlein in Stranger in a Strange Land."
Editor's Note: In 1971, a fan group that based many of its philosophies on Stranger in a Strange Land wrote to Heinlein asking permission to use material from the book. Permission was not granted. Later, a member of that group wrote to Heinlein asking why he was unsympathetic to its aims. Here is his reply.
January 20, 1972: Robert A. Heinlein to a Reader
Facts:
1. The last time I was present at any organized SF fandom meeting was at Seattle in 1961 plus a very brief appearance at Chicago in 1962 to accept the Hugo for Stranger—brief because I showed up at the last minute, having been busy at NASA Houston on some writing for the Gemini program. Stranger was published in 1961. If there were any "nests" or such by Labor Day 1962, I was unaware of them. My contact with organized fandom since that day has been zero.
2. Before 1962 my contact with organized fandom was slight. I went several times to meetings of the LASFS [Los Angeles Science Fiction Society] in 1939-40 and went to the convention in 1940 or '41. Check: 1941, at Denver, as I recall now that I was in the east at that time in 1940. After 1940 the next contact that I recall was (I believe) in 1958—a meeting in Newark—then again at Chicago in 1960, to receive a Hugo. I think that sums up the total of my contacts with organized fandom, although I may have forgotten some casual appearance, as the period spans thirty-three years and I kept no records on it. But I am certain that my last appearance at a meeting was ten years ago.
3. Contacts with individuals, fans of SF who may or may not have been part of organized fandom: There have been many of these, by letter, in my home, in other people's homes, or elsewhere. There have been more fan contacts in the past than in recent years, because of pressure of work and loss of time caused by illness. In many cases I do not know whether a stranger I have met (in person or by letter) is or is not a member of organized fandom. In some cases I've learned it later (too late!) through learning that a private letter of mine has been published in one of those fan magazines, or have found that casual, social remarks have been treated, without my consent or review, as an "interview" and published in a garbled form. . . .
4. As a result of the above we have become somewhat more cautious in recent years in our social contacts and in the letters we write, especially as the pressure from strangers has become much greater. I have to live behind a locked gate and with an unlisted phone to get any work done at all—and this is a hell of a note as my wife and I are by nature quite gregarious and social. Mrs. Heinlein usually answers and signs all of the mail, which tends to discourage the incipient "pen pals" who would, if allowed, take up all my time and leave none for writing. A rare exception, such as your letter, I answer myself. We necessarily find our social life among people who don't read science fiction.
5. All of the above adds up to this: There are very, very few people in organized fandom who know anything at all about me in the sense of knowing me personally or in being privy to my private opinions, tastes, or habits. My published works are widespread and anyone can read them. The public facts about my life are in several reference books in most public libraries. But a member of science fiction fandom is most unlikely to know any more about me than you do, and if he claims otherwise, he is almost certainly talking through his hat.
6. But I am repeatedly amazed at the number of people who claim to be "experts" on me. (One of them even wrote an entire book about me. I have never met him in my life.)
7. I have never expressed "antagonism" or hostility to "nests" or "water-brotherhoods." This is sheer fabrication. I would like to throw such a lie into the teeth of anyone saying so, if I knew who he was.
8. On the contrary, a number of "nests" have indeed gotten into contact with me. I have treated them with politeness. I have standing invitations to visit them. I think I am on good terms with every such organization which has taken the trouble to get into touch with me. If you have any specific data to the contrary, I would like to hear it, in detail. (But I have no way to deal with malicious allegations from faceless, nameless strangers.)
Stranger. It is a work of fiction in parable form. It is not a "put-on" unless you choose to classify every work of fiction as such. Who are these persons who allege this? I would like an opportunity to face up to one or more of them . . . as this allegation has come back to me often enough to cause me to think that someone has been spreading it systematically and possibly with malice. But the allegation always reaches me at least secondhand and never with the name of the person. Will you tell me where you got this allegation? I would like to track down this "Scarlet Pimpernel" and get him to hold still long enough to ask him what he is up to and why.
Now, for some background on Stranger and my stories in general: I write for the following reasons—
1. To support myself and my family;
2. To entertain my readers;
3. And, if possible, to cause my readers to think.
The first two of these reasons are indispensable, and constitute, together, a commonplace market transaction. I have always had to work for a living, for myself and now for my dependents, and I come from a poor, country family—root, hog, or die. I have worked at many things, but I discovered, somewhat by accident, that I could produce a salable commodity—entertainment in the form of fiction. I don't know why I have this talent; no other member of my family or relatives seems to have it. But I got into it for a reason that many writers have—it was what I could do at the time, i.e., I have been ill for long periods throughout my life, and writing is something a person can do when he is not physically able to take a 9-to-5 job. (Someday I would like to find time to do an essay on this. The cases range from blind Homer to consumptive R. L. Stevenson and are much more numerous than English professors seem to be aware of.)
But if a writer does not entertain his readers, all he is producing is paper dirty on one side. I must always bear in mind that my prospective reader could spend his recreation money on beer rather than on my stories; I have to be aware every minute that I am competing for beer money—and that the customer does not have to buy. If I produced, let us say, potatoes or beef, I could be sure that my product had some value in the market. But a story that the customers do not enjoy reading is worth nothing.
So, when anyone asks me why I write, if it is a quick answer, standing up, I simply say, "For money." Any other short answer is dishonest—and any writer who forgets that his prime purpose is to wangle, say 95 cents out of a customer who need not buy at all simply does not get published. He is not a writer; he just thinks he is.
(Oh, surely, one hears a lot of crap about "art" and "self-expression," and "duty to mankind"—but when it comes down to the crunch, there your book is, on the newsstands, along with hundreds of others with just as pretty covers—and the customer does not have to buy. If a writer fails to entertain, he fails to put food on the table—and there is no unemployment insurance for free-lance writers.)
(Even a wealthy writer has this necessity to be entertaining. Oh, he could indulge in vanity publication at his own expense—but who reads a vanity publication? One's mother, maybe.)
That covers the first two reasons: I write for money because I have a household to support and in order to earn that money I must entertain the reader.
The third reason is more complex. A writer can afford to indulge in it only if he clears the first two hurdles. I
have written almost every sort of thing—filler paragraphs, motion picture and TV scripts, poetry, technical reports, popular journalistic nonfiction, detective stories, love stories, adventure stories, etc.—and I have been paid for 99% of what I have written.
But most of the categories above bored me. I had enough skill to make them pay but I really did not enjoy the work. I found that what I did enjoy and did best was speculative fiction. I do not think that this is just a happy coincidence; I suspect that, with most people, the work they do best is the work they enjoy.
By the time I wrote Stranger I had enough skill in how to entertain a reader and a solid enough commercial market to risk taking a flyer, a fantasy speculation a bit farther out than I had usually done in the past. My agent was not sure of it, neither was my wife, nor my publisher, but I felt sure that I would sell at least well enough that the publisher would not lose money on it—would "make his nut."
I was right; it did catch hold. Its entertainment values were sufficient to carry the parable, even if it was read strictly for entertainment.
But I thought that the parables in it would take hold, too, at least for some readers. They did. Some readers (many, I would say) have told me that they have read this fantasy three, four, five or more times—in which case, it can't be the story line; there is no element of surprise left in the story line in a work of fiction read over and over again; it has to be something more.
Well, what was I trying to say in it?
I was asking questions.
I was not giving answers. I was trying to shake the reader loose from some preconceptions and induce him to think for himself, along new and fresh lines. In consequence, each reader gets something different out of that book because he himself supplies the answers.
If I managed to shake him loose from some prejudice, preconception, or unexamined assumption, that was all I intended to do. A rational human being does not need answers, spoon-fed to him on "faith"; he needs questions to worry over—serious ones. The quality of the answers then depends on him . . . and he may revise those answers several times in the course of a long life, (hopefully) getting a little closer to the truth each time. But I would never undertake to be a "Prophet," handing out neatly packaged answers to lazy minds.