51 pages • 1 hour read
When humans decide to explore Mars, a laborious process of psychological cross-referencing is used to find the eight most skilled and compatible candidates. When the crew is selected, their ship, the Envoy, launches, and after an uneventful three-year trip, Captain Michael Brant announces: “We will land at 1200 tomorrow GST just south of Lacus Soli” (5).
25 years after the Envoy lands (and is never heard from again), unmanned probes observe canals and ruins of ancient cities on Mars’s surface. Another faster ship is sent on a follow-up mission. It makes the trip in 19 days. Upon landing, it finds “Mars is inhabited” (5), and the crew locates one surviving member of the Envoy.
The ship’s captain, Willem Van Tromp, takes great care to ensure the safety and comfort of the survivor, Valentine Michael Smith. While the Minister for High Science wants to study Smith, Van Tromp insists he hasn’t acclimated yet to Earth, that he’s “‘more Martian than man’” (7). The Minister for Public Information argues that, if the public is not allowed to view a “real” Martian, they will riot. Van Tromp informs the ministers that negotiating with the Martians is nearly impossible because of language barriers.
Smith regulates his bodily functions to adapt to Earth’s atmosphere and gravity. When his heart rate drops substantially, his medical attendants rush into his room, assuming he’s dying. His doctor, however, has seen this phenomenon before and is unconcerned. He instructs them to leave him undisturbed with a standing order of “Absolutely No Women” (10).
The next morning, Smith struggles to communicate with his doctors as they feed him and help him out of bed. His atrophied muscles must grow stronger so he can walk in Earth’s heavier gravity. He manages a few steps before collapsing. Later, nestled in his hydraulic bed, a man sneaks into his room and offers him “‘sixty thousand’” for the rights to his story. He tries to coerce Smith to sign a contract but is interrupted before any deal is struck.
In violation of the No Women Allowed rule, nurse Gillian Boardman sneaks into Smith’s room. When she offers him water, he urges her to drink first as a sign of communalism. When he asks Gillian, “What makes you woman?” (16), she reacts with surprise, an exclamation Smith cannot translate. He fears she may have to “discorporate” (die), and after sharing water with her, he would be obligated to do the same. He soon realizes, however, that neither of them needs to die, and when she asks if he’s expecting her to disrobe, he replies, “Yes.” She demurs—for the moment—and leaves the room, but his exchange with Gillian has left him with “odd tingles.”
Gillian considers her exchange with Smith and finds him both innocent and wise. Just then, Ben Caxton, a reporter and romantic interest, calls inviting her to dinner. At his apartment, he asks her to help him get an interview with Smith. When she refuses—it could jeopardize her job—he proposes marriage, offering to take care of her if she gets fired. She decides to tell him what he wants to know. When she recounts Smith’s curiosity about women, she insists it was genuine, that he’s not a “sex fiend.” She wonders why he’s under armed guard: “‘He wouldn’t hurt a fly’” (23). Caxton reports that Smith is the “bastard” son of Envoy captain Michael Brant and engineer Mary Jane Lyle Smith (inventor of the Lyle Drive). She died during childbirth, and her husband, aware of her affair, killed both Brant and himself. Lyle’s patent, however, is worth millions, and Valentine Michael Smith is the rightful heir to that fortune, plus potentially the heir of all eight Envoy crew members, the reason the government is so protective of him. Further, he may be the “sole owner of the planet Mars” (27).
Caxton argues that Smith should be considered a visiting dignitary, and the government has no right to keep him locked up (and isolated from the press). He gives Gillian a miniature listening device and asks her to plant it next to Smith’s room.
She plants the bug, and every day, she sends Caxton the “spool” of recorded information. By the third day, however, she fears getting caught, so she returns the device to Caxton. She reads his latest column, in which he questions the government’s claim on Smith. She then reads a transcript of Smith’s interview with the Federation’s Secretary General, Joseph Douglas, an interview he insists on conducting alone. Once the doctors leave the room, Douglas pressures Smith—who has no conception of ownership or property rights—into signing an agreement to renounce his claim on the planet Mars. As Douglas tries to force the issue, Smith retreats into a low metabolic state. Douglas orders Smith’s doctor, Nelson, to return and administer medication, but Nelson has resigned from the case in protest.
Ben and Gillian take a flying cab out of town and consider all the potentialities of Smith’s financial assets, his life or death, and his citizenship status as both Earthling and Martian.
Heinlein’s tale of Valentine Michael Smith draws on the trope of the fish-out-of-water—centering a protagonist whose lack of familiarity with the customs of his new environment allows him to see those customs from a fresh perspective. The future earth Heinlein creates in the novel—with its global, authoritarian government and references to World War III—evokes the anxieties of the Cold War era in which it was written. With a corrupt government seeking to control the “rights” to an entire planet—despite the presence of an indigenous species—the narrative also echoes the clash between European colonial powers and their conquered territories. Just as some Indigenous groups lacked a concept of private land ownership prior to colonization, Smith cannot grok the concept of wealth, much less the notion that he might own Mars. Secretary General Douglas’s efforts to convince Smith to cede his ownership rights to Mars strikes him as absurd. Smith is utterly naïve to Earth culture, especially its entrenched system of profit and exploitation. It’s a sign of the government’s flagrant corruption that Douglas, a lawyer, would try to coerce Smith into signing a document that likely would never hold up in court (unless those courts are just as corrupt as he is). One of the novel’s core ironies is that Smith, who is uniquely indifferent to the concept of wealth, stands to inherit vast amounts of it.
Some science fiction is eerily predictive: Submarines (Jules Verne), cell phones (Star Trek), and drones (Dune) have all been accurately foretold by visionary sci-fi writers. While Stranger in a Strange Land envisions a world with an inhabited Mars and a global “Federation,” much of its social infrastructure remains mired in the 20th century. Reporters still write for physical newspapers (using onionskin paper), and documents are still sent by paper mail. Even reporter Ben Caxton speaks like a character from a 1940s noir novel (complete with the casual sexism). He refers to Gillian Broadman alternately as “baby girl,” “little one,” and “honey lamb.” His assumptions that she is a helpless female and a “spinster” who would marry him out of desperation seem hopelessly dated. Yet Gillian turns out to be smart and capable, planting a listening device near Smith’s room and retrieving the information “spools” like a trained spy. In these and other ways, Gillian stands as a rebuke to the novel’s patriarchal men (Harshaw included), who for all their interest in social revolution can’t seem to get past the idea that women should be helpers and sidekicks to men.
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By Robert A. Heinlein