Robert Anson Heinlein is inarguably one of the great formative writers of science fiction. His work is not only seminal, it’s good — well-told, well-plotted, with solid characterization. It’s also frequently thought-provoking, with underlying philosophy and speculation that stays with the reader for a lifetime. Most modern readers attribute these qualities to the more outré and/or famous novels, like Time Enough For Love and the iconic Stranger In A Strange Land. But Heinlein’s so-called juveniles are actually among the most thoughtful of his books.
Modern critics now often complain of Robert Heinlein’s perceived sexism and militarism. Personally, I think they should be taken in the context of the writer’s time and background, and in any event these criticisms are irrelevant to his skills as writer. Time For The Stars, being a juvenile, has little of Heinlein’s soap-boxing but is rich with concepts like honor, integrity and courage. I would not hesitate to recommend this to any “juvenile.” Adults will not be disappointed, either.
Time For The Stars endures the test of time very well. I’ve never quite understood just why these are designated as juveniles, unless it’s because the sex is more subtle than in some of Heinlein’s later works. But it is true that Time For The Stars is, on first examination and on its surface level, a Rousing Boy’s Tale of Adventure. That’s only the first layer, though. Long before the twin heroes, Tom and Pat, embark on their interstellar travels, the underlying themes of loyalty, duty, family, love, maturity — and, more importantly, the price of all of these — are strongly laid out.
The Earth portrayed in Time For The Stars is rather painfully at peace. A strict and somewhat Puritanical global society is suggested in Heinlein’s characteristic clever throw-aways: Tom’s sisters always wear head coverings around unmarried men; the twins are an economic burden; the global community is maintained by watchful armed forces. It’s a crowded world, as well, and the drive to find habitable planets is almost frantic. The plot hinges on the impossibility of using mere radio waves to maintain communication between Earth and any star-going vessels. Even though the fusion-powered torch ships described here do not appreciably approach light-speed, they are too fast for radio communication. Tom and Pat, identical twins, are part of a successful blue-sky project: using telepathy, well-documented between twins, to keep Earth in touch with her long-range explorers.
There is always a dominant twin in every pair; here, it’s clever, manipulative Pat. He secures the coveted starship berth despite Tom’s determined efforts — but at the last minute, he is injured and Tom gets to go. He is wryly aware that Pat is their family’s favorite anyway, but he’s long accustomed to being the spare: and besides, he’s going to the stars! Tom’s wonder and excitement, his ignorance as well as his learning process, are beautifully portrayed. Boy’s Adventure it may be, but no girl will ever have a problem identifying with Tom.
The torch ships spread out in all directions from Earth, linked together by a thinning and changing web of minds. As “operators” on Earth inevitably age faster than their twins (a nice lesson in Einsteinian relativity, here), links are lost. Sometimes, though, a succeeding relative can take their place in the telepathic connection; in this way, the various ships — and Tom himself — remain in tenuous contact with their distant partners. Part of the interest in the story comes from Tom meeting new and literally distant relatives as he and Pat lose their link.
Shipboard life, new and very strange horizons, adventure and tragedy and outright horror — all the travails of the pioneer are encountered. The final outcome is really a twist: the torch ships are superseded by better technology, and the surviving adventurers are gathered up and returned home with no delay. And little honor. The world has passed them by, and their effort is of no more relevance to the “modern” world than the experiences of the Conestoga pioneers would be to cross-country jet travelers today. Heinlein tosses his hero Tom into this last challenge with a ruthlessness that gives Tom’s final victory an added boost of satisfaction and exhilaration.
Originally published in the 1950’s, it is amazingly undated now. Heinlein cast his technology and sociology far enough ahead and askew that the story remains fresh even through the last half-century of cultural upheavals. A large part of that must be attributed to his skill at portraying unchanging humanity: for all the new bells and whistles and rockets, despite all the changes to tempore et mores, Heinlein’s characters are solidly, recognizably human. Tom begins as a gawky, geeky but believable adolescent; he matures into a young man with flaws and virtues just as believable.
The new Tor cover is very nice, a refreshingly accurate depiction of an actual event in the book. The text itself looks to be almost a facsimile of the original hardcover I took out of the library lo, these many years ago — which is odd but rather comforting. I miss the old original black and white illustrations Heinlein did himself, in his faintly stodgy engineer-drawing-blueprints style, but it’s a very handsome edition nonetheless.
(Scribner’s, 1956)
