Yesterday’s mail brought a copy of Tor’s hardcover reissue of Isaac Asimov’s The Currents of Space, a novel which was originally published in 1952, and which I likely first read in the late ’60s. I haven’t read it since. I have no idea whether it would hold up today, or how differently its story would be perceived by the adult me as opposed to my teen self.

But what I’m thinking most about isn’t any possible changed reaction to the novel, but rather my very different reaction the dedication.

Asimov dedicated the book—

To David, who took his time coming, but was worth waiting for

Isaac’s son David was born in 1951, the year before The Currents of Space was released. When I first read those words, I probably paid them little attention. What teenager would? But I can now imagine Isaac having written the words to that dedication while filled with a father’s pride, and with hope for the future they would have together, not knowing that their relationship would turn out to be a rocky one.

According to Michael White’s Isaac Asimov: a Life of the Grand Master of Science Fiction:

Some have claimed that Isaac was unable to have a proper fatherly relationship with his only son, David. It is certainly clear from his own writing and comments that he absolutely doted on Robyn, while sparing little talk or ink on his son. Close friends of the family have suggested that Isaac found his son too mundane a character, that he lacked intellect, and therefore had become almost an embarrassment to the world-famous polymath and internationally acclaimed writer. Father and son did not see much of each other in later years, and some friend believe that Isaac did not care about his son simply because he was not his intellectual equal.

One thing that Isaac luckily did not live to see was that in 2001, David was found guilty of possessing child pornography and sentenced to six months’ home detention with electronic monitoring and three years federal probation.

And so as I opened this new edition of The Currents of Space, I was frozen by the sight of that dedication, unable to move on to the novel itself. How poignant those words seem today, knowing what we all know now, in a way that they couldn’t possible have been to the teen Scott Edelman who first encountered Asimov and fell in love with science fiction.

I’d never thought much about it before, but it’s not just books that change their meaning and message as time passes—dedications do, too. I’m sure there are dedications out there to friends who have become enemies, lovers who have become strangers, spouses who have become angry exes. Authors must surely wince over this, and while casual readers don’t even notice, knowing readers nod.

I write up these thoughts today not to dig up old dirt, but to mourn for what Isaac and David never had, and to share my sadness at the altered meaning of those hopeful words. It was painful for me to read them.