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A review by perilous1
The Green Hills of Earth by Robert A. Heinlein
5.0
Suggested Alternate Title: SPACE BARD--PORT TO PORT
"I pray for one last landing
On the globe that gave me birth;
Let me rest my eyes in the fleecy skies
And the cool, green hills of Earth."
This "Future History" short story is essentially an account of the life and death of a renowned minstrel named Rhysling--a man who'd worked haphazardly on many a space mission until a radiation accident left him blind and he continued making his way by playing his accordion, writing songs, and hitch-hiking his way around the solar system. A sometimes vulgar wanderer with no offspring, Rhysling's legacy persists in the form of the songs that long outlived him. The story focuses on one in particular--which he happened to put the finishing touches on at the end of his life. His final hurrah is at once sad, fitting, and legendary.
I'll admit, I'm a sucker for rhyme and verse--particularly when it's used to enrich a literary work.
I got choked up trying to relay the intricacy and symmetry of this tale to someone recently. (I don't know that that's ever happened to me before with a short story.) But beyond sentiment, Heinlein's vision for the beginnings to space expansion feels on-key. (Some have called it optimistic, but I think there's far too much low-budget grunge and high mortality rates for that.)
"I pray for one last landing
On the globe that gave me birth;
Let me rest my eyes in the fleecy skies
And the cool, green hills of Earth."
This "Future History" short story is essentially an account of the life and death of a renowned minstrel named Rhysling--a man who'd worked haphazardly on many a space mission until a radiation accident left him blind and he continued making his way by playing his accordion, writing songs, and hitch-hiking his way around the solar system. A sometimes vulgar wanderer with no offspring, Rhysling's legacy persists in the form of the songs that long outlived him. The story focuses on one in particular--which he happened to put the finishing touches on at the end of his life. His final hurrah is at once sad, fitting, and legendary.
I'll admit, I'm a sucker for rhyme and verse--particularly when it's used to enrich a literary work.
I got choked up trying to relay the intricacy and symmetry of this tale to someone recently. (I don't know that that's ever happened to me before with a short story.) But beyond sentiment, Heinlein's vision for the beginnings to space expansion feels on-key. (Some have called it optimistic, but I think there's far too much low-budget grunge and high mortality rates for that.)