Several times this year I have found myself gravitating towards books set in, or about, space. The first was The Book of Strange New Things by Michel Faber, which I wrote about in the spring, the timelessness of another planet reflecting my early days of motherhood. The deep dark of the night-time feeds existing in both a lost and found pocket of the universe.

In the summer, I reread an old favourite: Einstein’s Dreams by Alan Lightman, a sci-fi magical realist novel about Einstein coming up with his theory of relativity. In this reimagining, Einstein dreams all kinds of worlds into existence where time behaves in different ways and gravity does or does not exist. In one of these worlds you can walk from the modern day into the sixteenth century, as time has become geographical. In another, time moves at different speeds depending on your height. It’s wonderfully disorientating.

In August, I read the Booker Prize longlist — my favourite of which was Stone Yard Devotional by Charlotte Wood, a quiet and eerie book told in diary format. The structure means you never really get to know the background of the narrator as, of course, she doesn’t write obvious facts about herself in her journal. I’m tempted to say that the book oozes, which isn’t the most glamorous of descriptions, but an apt one: it slowly slithers outside the boundaries of its pages and coats you in dread. I also loved My Friends by Hisham Matar and The Safekeep by Yael van der Wouden, if you’d like other recommendations from this year’s list — but getting back to our discussion on space, I was very impressed by Orbital by Samantha Harvey, which ultimately won this year’s prize. 

Orbital is about six astronauts rotating above the earth, determinedly reminding themselves that they exist as their bodies float — some sentences punctuated with half-rhymes: “‘what use are biceps, calves, strong shin bones; what use muscle mass? Legs are a thing of the past.” Every day, the six of them have to fight the urge to dissipate.’ Their weightlessness is an ongoing grieving: for themselves, for the lives they used to have, for the planet that they’re watching beneath them. As you read it, you feel as though it’s the book that is keeping them alive, that you, the reader, by virtue of reading it, are allowing them to continue to exist. This has the knock-on effect of making you want to hold your breath as you turn the pages, to be mindful of the air you’re breathing in.

More recently, I decided to pick up Stowaway to Mars by John Wyndham. It was first published in 1936 and there’s just something about vintage science fiction that I really love. Perhaps it’s that the author is writing the future we’re now in. It’s both astonishing and funny to see what technology has come to light in the interim, and which predictions have proved true. Wyndham writes about the space race having not yet witnessed it. When a rocket takes off on course for Mars, he writes that everyone around the world was watching on their “portable screens”, perfectly visualising crowds glued to their smart phones. 

The Hopkins Manuscript by RC Sherriff was published around the same time as Stowaway to Mars and in both you can see the authors using narratives about space colonisation to reflect the growing unrest in Europe in the lead up to the Second World War. Wyndham’s books have the habit of being both tongue in cheek - several times our narrator tells us that he’s not going to bore us with scientific details of their journey, presumably because the author himself doesn’t know them - but they’re also deeply scary in places, tapping into something sinister about humanity. The first book of his I read was The Chrysalids. I was drawn to this title because it centres on a society that  ostracises anyone with a bodily difference. As someone with a disability and fewer fingers than most people, this spoke to me. As well as being a discussion of ableism and eugenics, it also contains telepathy. His novels bounce between the frightening and the slightly ridiculous - Day of the Triffids being a case in point: a terrifying look at a society collapsing in on itself… but also, killer plants?

I enjoyed Stowaway to Mars, especially considering today’s advances in AI. Also, the book  powerfully explores how a woman would be treated on a spaceship full of men who are accountable to no-one but themselves. Now, I’m diving into The Kraken Wakes, a novel about something extra-terrestrial invading the earth’s sea. And whilst the narrative is very theatrical, the undercurrent is more foreboding: imagine a world which refuses to acknowledge that it’s in danger of extinction, its politicians choosing to do nothing about it, and journalists reporting into the wind. I find myself shivering as I turn the pages, reading deep into the night.    

Jen Campbell is a bestselling author and disability advocate. She has written fourteen books for children and adults, the latest of which is Please Do Not Touch This Exhibit. She also writes for TOAST Book Club.

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