A Letter to Virginia and Robert Heinlein
21 August 1984
Dear Ginny & Robert:
As you can see from the letterhead, I'm visiting my folks in
San Antonio this summer while working on my next novel; but I'll
be back in Southern California for at least a few days, some good
news being the reason: I've just been told that The Rainbow
Cadenza has won the Prometheus Award for 1984, and inasmuch as
it will be given in a ceremony at the LA Worldcon, I will be
flying back to accept it. (My mother will be flying with me, my
father being unable to attend because of the beginning of the
symphony season here.) And while I'm not expecting to see you
there, if perchance you are going to be in the neighborhood,
the ceremony will be at the L.A.Con (at the Anaheim Convention
Center and surrounding hotels) on Friday, August 30th, at 6:00
PM.
Having gotten the patting-myself-on-the-back out of the way,
the rest of this letter will be a LOC on Job: A Comedy of
Justice, which my mother saw in the window display of a
Waldenbooks while we were shopping yesterday, which I immediately
rushed in and bought, and which I spent yesterday evening and
this morning reading, cover-to-cover.
Robert, you and I have known each other, now, for about ten
years--and I think it's time you leveled with me. I'm sure
you've noticed, whenever we've been in the same room together,
that I have a tendency to stare at you. That's because I've
always had a suspicion that you're not what you seem to be, and
I've been watching closely for your persona to slip, for just an
instant, so I can catch you out.
Well, I'm afraid you've clinched it in my mind this time.
Having written a couple of novels myself, now, it has become
pretty obvious to me what is and is not possible for an
author to do using mundane methods--and it is not possible for
an ordinary human being to have written as intelligent,
perceptive, and funny a metaphysical speculation as Job.
So, fess up. This Midwestern Boy act of yours just won't
cut it any more. Which Earth were you born on? Dirigibles or
airplanes? Was it really 1907--as you claim--or more likely
3207? I assume too much. Was it even Earth?
I must admit, you have everyone fooled--but not me.
Remember, when I first interviewed you, I asked--just to make
sure--whether you were able to write the memoirs of Lazarus Long
because you were approaching your own second millennium? And you
said, "Neil, I'm not even a hundred, yet." You said it so
sincerely you almost had me believing you. But not any more.
I also asked what you knew about UFO's. You said, "I don't have
any data." What does that mean: that the requirements of your
mission here on Earth require you to keep nothing on file that we
Earthlings might get our hands on?
What a cover! A science fiction writer. Who could
possibly believe that you've been writing fact, not fancy, for
the last 45 years? You've even made a couple of deliberate
errors in prediction (but not many) just to throw everyone off
the track.
But you're not fooling me anymore. People born and bred on
this planet just don't think as well as you do. Listen, I'm
not stupid, and you had several dozen major challenges to
traditional human thought in Job--some I never even came
close to thinking of.
Have you met the Glaroon?
Are you the Glaroon?
Am I just one of the volitional constructs, or do I have a
mission here also which I seem to have forgotten? And if it's
the second, when am I getting my new orders, Sir?
One caution, though. You've written often enough about the
dangers to the monkey which has been dyed pink, when placed back
in among the brown monkeys. I'm afraid this time you've exposed
yourself, once and for all. So, in the name of the Chairman, be
careful. I might not be the only one who's seen through your
cover.
Best,
Neil