The Thumbnail Book Reviews
by John Q McDonald --- 7 May 2024
by Samantha Harvey
In the 1992 movie Contact, Ellie Arroway, played by Jodie Foster, gets to go on an unlikely journey across the galaxy. Overwhelmed by the staggering beauty of the universe, she says "They should have sent a poet!" This is all a very Carl Sagan kind of thing to say about humanity's capability to be stunned by the natural beauty and vastness of the universe. This sort of thing has been said before and since. How can we limit access to the beauty of the celestial wonders that surround us to literal-minded scientists (or to billionaires, for that matter)? To really appreciate and reflect back upon ourselves awe in the face of such majesty, send someone with a real ability to express that beauty. The inverse problem, however, is also true. A poet might not have much knowledge of the science and math that make access to space possible, the numbers to express the magnitude of what they're seeing. Perhaps it is a bit nitpicky to note the failings in an artist's understanding of science. A reader who is also a scientist might not be able to avoid noticing the little discrepancies, despite their irrelevance in what is ultimately a sweeping and deeply felt work of art. Like this book.
(We should not fail to note, however, that at least one man who walked on the Moon, Alan Bean, went on to become an accomplished artist, producing some wondrous paintings portraying the science and joy of being one of the few to have gone there.)
But here is the thing: this book is utterly gorgeous, despite its little pitfalls we nerds tend to trip over. We go aboard the International Space Station, on which six astronauts and cosmonauts float in free-fall, dutifully following their days scheduled down to the minute. The efficiencies of space travel require it. Their health, too, is governed by strict procedures. Still, none of that can truly reach the human consciousness of floating in space (even if it is the very near space of low Earth orbit), hovering over the near-sphere of the planet, which, itself, dominates the view outside, even in darkness. And that darkness is repetitive. Flying around the earth every 90 minutes or so, the station experiences fifteen or sixteen sunsets and sunrises, and the book is broken up into those orbits. Each human on board has his or her own backstory, from the cosmonaut operating a HAM radio, to the Japanese astronaut mourning the loss of her mother, back on the ground and on the edge of a super typhoon in the western Pacific. All of which is watched from space, or through the reflections and thoughts of the crew. The mood is elegiac, but not strictly melancholy. It is the awareness of the astounding specialness of human existence, here reduced to the microcosm (quite literally) of the giant tin can in orbit. The universe is vast and dark. Witness William Shatner's first comments after his flight on the Blue Origin New Shephard space tourism rocket. It is ominous and enormous, like the void that surrounds each and every life on Earth. And the bright Earth, in all its landscapes, endless oceans and arrays of color, is the refuge of all these individual lives. It is the refuge of all life, as far as we know. While the author does not belabor its fragility, it is evident she wants us to appreciate its singularity. Her language is astoundingly beautiful in this small unconventional novel, and highly recommended by this persnickety nerd of a reader.
(For this book, Samantha Harvey was awarded the 2024 Booker Prize.)