baloonworld: (Default)
Junky space porn celibrating anarco-sydicatism. Refutes the values of other governmental systems by having peple in an immaginary socity say that they have never seen the need for n where n is somthing provided by an existing socity. Given that the socity is based on the premise that it is cheaper to grow grain hydroponicly on the moon and ship it to Earth than grow it hydroponicly on Earth, the validity of the hypothetical socity is pretty much nil. Heinlien sets up an ideal oppertunity to explore ideas concerning utilitarian socity ran by a loving machine overlord, and then carefully avoids it at the last minute, presumably for reasons of it being interesting. Charitors are almost psycopathic in their emotional detachment from the death of their loving machine-god.

With two exceptions (below), all the other (54) reviews on iRead are either libertarians saying "this book describes a world just like the one I imagine I live in. It is therfore excellent" or "this book is good"

"libertarian tough-guy writing at its best. Which isn't really saying a whole lot."

"Well, I'm TRYING to read it, anyway. I find Heinlein's take on gender to be REALLY off-putting."
baloonworld: (Default)
I read it (Fedrick's 1970 translation). Its meant to be this great love story, but to me this version (earliest available) mostly seemed to be about personality-altering drugs and why you should check carefully before taking them. And about the role of women in society (i.e. as things to trade to ensure peace and brood mares). I really like Yseut's mom; despite never appearing she totally dominated the story. I can imagine her talking to her daughter about her duties to the family and the generations of Cornish-Welsh warfare her marriage to Mark was going to end, and ending with some advice living in a strange court with no friends (which I assume she'd done when she was married). Oh yes, and you should really slip this into his tea, because you will have no rights or power but what he gives you.

I think the love potion was an old family recipe, passed down the maternal line for generations.

Then Branigen fucked up zany hijinks ensued.

Quote from the introduction:
"it is far from easy to imagine that a piece of narrative fiction can exist as a serious work of art while dispensing with elements as fundamental as a coherent plot, an ordered flow of events with a clearly discernible causal nexus, and convincing characterization"

Damnit, I'll never get to publish anything that belittling.

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