Godbody
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About this ebook
Everything changes when Godbody comes to town. He appears out of nowhere, enigmatic and breathtaking, to touch the lives of a chosen few. To them he offers a vision of what life could be—spreading his message of love, generosity, sensuosness, and freedom—and before long he has erased their sadness and opened their hearts. Still, there are those in town who, corrupt and powerful, are threatened by what Godbody brings, and for this reason he must pay the ultimate price. But before his preordained end, Godbody will accomplish something truly miraculous. The final book of Theodore Sturgeon’s fabled career, published posthumously, Godbody is a powerful, moving, thought provoking, and sweetly erotic tale of love, truth, and otherworldly second comings that, once read, will never be forgotten.
This ebook features an illustrated biography of Theodore Sturgeon including rare images and never-before-seen documents from the University of Kansas’s Kenneth Spencer Research Library and the author’s estate, among other sources.
Theodore Sturgeon
Theodore Sturgeon (1918–1985) is considered one of the godfathers of contemporary science fiction and dark fantasy. The author of numerous acclaimed short stories and novels, among them the classics More Than Human, Venus Plus X, and To Marry Medusa, Sturgeon also wrote for television and holds among his credits two episodes of the original 1960s Star Trek series, for which he created the Vulcan mating ritual and the expression “Live long and prosper.” He is also credited as the inspiration for Kurt Vonnegut’s recurring fictional character Kilgore Trout. Sturgeon is the recipient of the Hugo Award, the Nebula Award, and the International Fantasy Award. In 2000, he was posthumously honored with a World Fantasy Award for Life Achievement.
Read more from Theodore Sturgeon
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Reviews for Godbody
80 ratings8 reviews
- Rating: 3 out of 5 stars3/5Very fun and interesting
- Rating: 5 out of 5 stars5/5This startling book is about what happens when one instance of the Second Coming (Godbody makes it clear that he does this on a regular basis, without public fanfare) consists primarily of the message "love one another" and the re-institution of Agape Feasts, with the healing of sexual wounds as a necessary first step before the rest can take place. It is not science fiction. If you don't believe in the Divine, you could categorize it as Magical Realism. I consider it a Christian myth about sacred sexuality.
Some people don't like the explicitness, but to me it seemed necessary because each person's relationship with sex and their past experiences with it, including their wounds and/or shame, were key to understanding their current situation. And the differences between the startlingly powerful, intimate and joyous sex first experienced by the Curriers sets up the contrast not only to their own past but to the situations of others.
One could accuse Sturgeon of oversimplifying life by portraying a community in which everything comes back to sex, but if you think of this book as a myth rather than a novel it makes it easier to accept. And let's face it: a lot of peoples' issues are rooted in sex, especially sexual wounds, shame, fear, and loneliness.
The other aspect is that of Godbody's utter compassion and acceptance. It doesn't matter what anyone has done in the past. Godbody accepts them utterly, loves them, wants them to be whole and healthy, but doesn't force anything on them. As another reviewer noted below, just being listened to with complete focus and acceptance is healing in itself.
"Godbody" is not about is free love, despite what some other reviewers have said. Godbody the character does not encourage or prompt people to have sex with everyone and anyone. In fact, some people might label him conservative, since it's fairly clear that all the sex takes place between couples who apparently are going to remain focused on each other. (The one exception is a single woman who makes love with Godbody but does not start trying to seduce the other men later.) Instead, what is portrayed is an Edenic, innocent intimacy, where characters are naked, but without stirring inappropriate lust in others, and married/committed couples become happier in their monogamy.
Do I recommend this book? Absolutely! But it needs to be approached with an open mind and a certain level of spiritual and sexual maturity if you're going to fully appreciate it. - Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5In the true spirit of a sixties appropriation of the Jesus story; all you need is love man, and everybody get naked.
I loved it. - Rating: 1 out of 5 stars1/5The story includes a figure who is Jesus-like in that he cares deeply and heals. The book contains equal amounts of various sexual activities and talk along the lines of morality, I guess you would call it. I found the story totally boring and the sexual scenes for the most part overdone.
I read the whole book, because it was fairly short and I wanted to see if there was anything at the end to make up for how awful I felt the book was. There was an attempt at the end, in the form of a sermon, to explain how the early church was and why it no longer was that way. I found this quite lacking.
The main reason I finished this book was so that I could say I read it and recommend that you do not bother reading it.1 person found this helpful
- Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Such a pity that many of Sturgeon's works are hidden behind these idiotic naked-pecs covers! He is one of the best writers who ever lived, period.
- Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5It would be an understatement to say that this novel is something completely different than my usual science fiction reading. Sturgeon was one of the great but somewhat underappreciated masters of science fiction writing. He tended to go where few if any others went. Godbody is his last novel, published posthumously in 1986. Robert Heinlein writes a lengthy introduction to this work (in itself full of all sorts of interesting information), and he seems to consider it Sturgeon's greatest or at the least among them. He anticipates the varied reactions to come from readers and I will quote his words here: "Some readers will feel it is XXX-rated pornography. They will have plenty to go on. Others will see it as a tender, gentle love story. They'll be right." Heinlein goes on from there with descriptions of reactions and then answers them. He covers all the bases ... and he's right.This is the story of the coming of a Christ-like figure. Some are going to find this sacrilegious, blasphemous and offensive. The story pushes boundaries and buttons. But Heinlein is right. It is not just XXX. It is a tender love story and a look at the insides of relationships and thoughts. The story is told in a very interesting way. Each chapter is a first person viewpoint from 8 different major characters, and then a final chapter. It is very well done and probably not easy to do. There is one basic message of this book that is summed up in a few words of a famous song by the Beatles. Those words are: "All You need is love. Love is all you need." And that is the message to us from Godbody.I'm glad to have read this. I'd recommend it to any fan of sturgeon's work and to those who like provocative science fiction. Don't read this though if you'll be offended by very explicit sex.
1 person found this helpful
- Rating: 5 out of 5 stars5/5Not sure what to do with this other than to say that it totally enthralled me. The message is not exactly new (the take-away message in Christianity is the love one another bit) nor is the notion that sex is about love (or you're doing it wrong), but Sturgeon presents those ideas in a way that feels revelatory even if you agreed with his notions from the start. And the structure (each chapter is told from the point of view of a different towns-person--usually one who seemed of minor importance in the section before) is intriguing and flawless. Recommended, though note that there is a fairly large helping of (somewhat) graphic sex here (all for a purpose).
- Rating: 5 out of 5 stars5/5Theodore Sturgeon was one of the finest writers to ever grace science fiction and fantasy, and this is his final gift to us. He spent several years writing Godbody, his final novel, in an apparent attempt at creating a masterwork. He succeeded.
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Godbody - Theodore Sturgeon
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PRAISE FOR THE WRITING OF THEODORE STURGEON
One of the greatest . . . I can’t recommend his work too highly!
—Stephen King
I look upon Sturgeon with a secret and growing jealousy.
—Ray Bradbury
A master storyteller certain to fascinate.
—Kurt Vonnegut Jr.
One of the masters of modern science fiction.
—The Washington Post Book World
The Sturgeon magic does not diminish with the years. His stories have a timeless quality and a universality which is beyond fantasy and science fiction.
—Madeleine L’Engle
The corpus of science fiction produced by Theodore Sturgeon is the single most important body of science fiction by an American.
—Samuel R. Delany
More Than Human
A quantum leap in the development of science fiction as an art.
—The Washington Post
One of the best science fiction novels of the year.
—The New York Times
Godbody
Embodies the very best of Theodore Sturgeon . . . a master.
—San Francisco Chronicle
The capstone of Sturgeon’s art . . . Read it, enjoy it, reread it, give it to somebody you love.
—Robert A. Heinlein
You will do more than enjoy; you will be increased.
—Stephen King
To Marry Medusa
"Dazzling . . . Sturgeon swerves around cliché and dull language like a maniac. At times, it seems like he’s working in his own personal version of the English language. It’s like taking a road trip with an incredibly eccentric dude: You may know the most logical or efficient route, but the offbeat guy will know the way past the most stunning vistas. Read a little of Medusa, and you’ll see what I mean." —SF Site
A fine example of what science fiction is supposed to be: simultaneously plot- and character-driven and completely devoid of fluff. . . . A fantastic classic.
—SF Signal
The Dreaming Jewels
An intensely written and very moving novel of love and retribution.
—Washington Star
Venus Plus X
"It’s interesting to read Venus’ sexual commentary in the wake of a second wave of feminism, the gay liberation, and the sexual revolution of the ’60s. Obviously, in 1960 the novel was way ahead of its time. It has lost some of that power, but its critique of American prudence still holds." —City Paper (Baltimore)
Godbody
Theodore Sturgeon
Contents
Foreword by Robert A. Heinlein
Dan Currier
Liza Currier
Hobart Wellen
Britt Svenglund
Willa Mayhew
Melissa Franck
Andrew Merriweather
Harrison Salz
Sunday
Afterword by Stephen Donaldson
A Biography of Theodore Sturgeon
Agape and Eros: The Art of Theodore Sturgeon
BY ROBERT A. HEINLEIN
GODBODY—
The Last of the Wine.
And the best.
Sometimes (not often) the last work of an artist, published after his death, is the capstone of his art, summing up what he had been telling the world all his life. In writing Godbody Theodore Sturgeon achieved this crowning statement. Again and again for half a century he has given us one message. In Godbody he tells us still again, and even more emphatically, the same timeless message that runs through all his writings and through all his living acts—a message that was ancient before he was born but which he made his own, then spoke it and sang it and shouted it and sometimes scolded us with it:
Love one another.
Simple. Ancient. Difficult.
Seldom attained.
Early this century, before World War I, I was taught in Sunday school that Jesus loves us, you and me and everyone, saint and sinner alike. Then the Kaiser raped poor innocent Belgium, and never again did the world seem sweet and warm and safe. Today I cannot promise you that Jesus loves you, but I can assure you that Ted Sturgeon loves you … did love you and does today—does,
present tense, because what I still hold of my childhood faith includes a conviction that Ted did not cease to be when his worn-out body stopped breathing. It may be that villains die utterly. But not saints.
In fifty years of storytelling Sturgeon spoke to us of love, again and again and yet again, without ever repeating himself. One of the marks of his art was his unique talent for looking at an old situation from a new angle, one that no one else had ever noticed. He did not imitate (and could not be imitated) … and each of his stories was a love story.
Examples:
Bianca’s Hands.
(That one? A story so horrible that editors not only bounced it but blacklisted the author? Yes, that one.)
The World Well Lost.
(A love story, obviously—one about homosexuals. But please note that the copyright on it is 1953, many years before gay pride
was even whispered, much less shouted. And Ted was not speaking in defense of himself but out of empathy for others. Ted was not even mildly homosexual. You can check this for yourself if you wish. I have no need to; I knew him intimately for more than forty years.)
Some of Your Blood.
(Go back and read it again. Yes, George Smith makes Count Dracula look like a tenderfoot Scout. But Sturgeon invites you to look at it from George Smith’s angle.)
And so on, story after story for half a century. Some of Sturgeon’s yarns had adventure trappings, or science-fiction gadgets, or fantasy/weird/horror props, or whodunnit gimmicks or other McGuffins, but in each, tucked away or displayed openly, you will find some searching comment on love, a new statement, not something borrowed from another writer.
In addition to this prime interest Ted was alive to every facet of the world around him: He had a lifelong passion for machinery; his interest in music was intense and professional; he delighted in travel; he relished teaching others what he had learned—but above all and at all times, waking and sleeping, he loved his fellow humans and expressed it in all aspects of his life.
I first met Theodore Sturgeon in 1944. He had just returned from the Caribbean, where he had been a heavy-machinery operator building airstrips for the U.S. Army Air Force. That job played out in ’44; no more airfields were being built in the Antilles; the emphasis was shifting to the Pacific Theater. Ted was 4-F, a waste of skin; his draft board laughed at him. He was not even eligible for limited service. Rheumatic fever in his high-school days had left him with a heart so disabled that simply staying alive through each day was a separate miracle.
That damaged heart not only kept Ted out of military service; ten years earlier it had robbed him of his dearest ambition: to be a circus acrobat. In high school, by grueling daily practice, he had transformed himself from that fabled ninety-pound weakling into a heavily muscled and highly skilled tumbler, one who could reasonably hope to join someday the Greatest Show on Earth.
Then one morning he woke up ill.
He recovered … but with a badly damaged heart. A circus career was out of the question, and many other pursuits were foreclosed. Eventually his disability forced him into the one career open to anyone whose body is warm and mind still functioning: free-lance writing.
I once collected notes for an essay—the relation between physical disability and the literary pursuit; or Shakespeare was 4-F and so was Lord Byron and Julius Caesar and Somerset Maugham—and what’s your excuse, brother? Was it a queasy itch to see your name in print and a distaste for hard work? Or was it diabetes (polio, consumption, heart trouble) and a pressing need to pay the rent?
If we limit the discussion to science fiction, I can recall offhand several writers who got into the business not from choice but from physical disability coupled with financial necessity: Theodore Sturgeon, Robert A. Heinlein, Cleve Cartmill, H. G. Wells, Fletcher Pratt, Daniel F. Galouye, J. T. McIntosh. Each on this list wound up as a free-lance writer through physical limitations that crowded him into it … and I am sure that the list could be much longer, if we but knew.
So what was Sturgeon doing running bulldozers and backhoes and power shovels? Driving a Daisy Eight is not as easy as driving a car; rassling a dozer is no job for a man with a bad heart.
The answer is simple: Ted never paid any more attention to his physical limitations than he was forced to, and in wartime the physical examination for a civilian employee of the army or navy consisted of walking past the surgeon, who would then mark the prospect fit for heavy manual labor.
I am not joking. In World War II, I hired many civilians for the Navy Field Service; the Army Field Service was not more demanding than we were—or we would have snatched their prospects away from them. This was a time when any warm body would do. A typist was a girl who could tell a typewriter from a washing machine. (Later we took out the washing machine.)
So Ted built airstrips in broiling sun and 120-degree heat and failed to drop dead. He outlasted the job and then came to New York.
I think Ted worked for a while for the University of California, in the Empire State Building, with John W. Campbell, Jr., the editor of Astounding Science Fiction, as his supervisor. No, I have not jumped my trolley; at that time the University of California occupied one entire floor in the Empire State Building. Campbell was supervisor in a classified section that wrote radar operation and maintenance manuals—and even the word radar
was classified; one did not say that word. (And didn’t even think the word uranium,
not even in one’s sleep.)
I am not certain what work Ted did, because in 1944 one did not poke into another man’s classified work. I knew a trifle about this radar project because I had a radar project of my own, with a touch of overlap. But Campbell is dead now, and so is George O. Smith and so is Ted; I can’t check. (Ted’s wife Jayne can’t be certain; I am speaking of the year she was born.)
As may be, Ted was writing at night for Campbell and sharing lodging with Jay Stanton, who was both Campbell’s assistant supervisor on the radar writing project and Campbell’s assistant editor at Street and Smith … and all three men were part of another project I ran for OpNav-23, a brainstorming job on antikamikaze measures. (I was wearing three hats, not unusual then. One tended to live on aspirin and soothing syrup.)
I had been ordered to round up science-fiction writers for this crash project—the wildest brains I could find, so Ted was a welcome recruit. Some of the others were George O. Smith, John W. Campbell, Jr., Murray Leinster, L. Ron Hubbard, Sprague de Camp, and Fletcher Pratt. On Saturday nights and Sundays this group usually gathered at my apartment in downtown Philadelphia.
At my request Campbell brought Sturgeon there. My first impression of Sturgeon was that no male had any business being that pretty. He was a golden boy, one that caused comparisons with Michelangelo’s David. Or Baldur. He was twenty-six but looked about twenty. He was tall, straight, broad-shouldered, and carried himself with the grace of a tightwire artist. He had a crown of golden curls, classic features and a sweet, permanent smile.
All this would have been inexcusable had it not been that he was honestly humble and warmly charming. When others spoke, Sturgeon listened with full attention. His interest in others caused one to forget his physical beauty.
My flat was about three hundred yards from the Broad Street Station; people came to these meetings from Washington, Scarsdale, Princeton, the Main Line, Manhattan, Arlington, etc.; my place was the most convenient rendezvous for most of the group. No one could drive a car (war restrictions), but the trains every thirty minutes on the Pennsylvania Railroad could get any member of the group there in two hours or less. It was a good neutral ground, too, for meetings that might include several officers (lieutenant to admiral), a corporal from OSS, a State Department officer, one sergeant, civil servants ranging from P-1 to P-6, contractors’ employees with clearances up to top secret
but limited by need to know,
and civilians with no official status and no clearance. I never worried about security because there was always one member of naval intelligence invariably present.
On Saturday nights there would be two or three in my bed, a couple on the couch and the rest on the living-room floor. If there was still overflow, I sent them a block down the street to a friend with more floor space if not beds. Hotel rooms? Let’s not be silly; this was 1944.
The first weekend Sturgeon was there he slept on the hall rug, a choice spot, while both L. Ron Hubbard and George O. Smith were in the overflow who had to walk down the street. In retrospect that seems like a wrong decision; Hubbard should not have been asked to walk, as both of his feet had been broken (drumhead-type injury) when his last ship was bombed. Ron had had a busy war—sunk four times and wounded again and again—and at that time was on limited duty at Princeton, attending military governors’ school.
On Sunday afternoon the working meeting was over, and we were sitting around in my living room. Ron and Ted had been swapping stories and horrible puns and harmonizing on songs—both were fine vocalists, one baritone, one tenor. I think it was the first time they had met, and they obviously enjoyed each other’s company.
Ron had run through a burlesque skit, playing all the parts; then Ted got up and made a speech explaining
Marxism and featuring puns such as Engels with dirty faces
(groan), and ending with then comes the Revolution!
At that last word he jumped straight up into the air and into a full revolution—a back flip. His heels missed the ceiling by a scant inch, and he landed as perfectly as Mary Lou Retton on the exact spot on which he had been standing.
This with no warning—which is how I learned that Ted was a tumbler. This in a crowded room. This with no windup. I don’t think he could have done it in a phone booth but he did not have much more room.
Ron Hubbard leaned toward me, said quietly into my ear, Uh huh, I can see him now, a skinny kid in a clown suit too big for him, piling out of that little car with the other clowns and bouncing straight into his routine.
Ron was almost right.
I think it was a later weekend that we learned of Ted’s incredible ability to produce just from his vocal cords, no props, any sound he had ever heard—traffic noises, train noises, shipboard noises, animals, birds, machinery, any accent whatever.
Here is the first one I asked for: A frosty