The Martian by Andy Weir

Book: The Martian

Author: Andy Weir

Why I Read It: Because I am a nut for anything space related. And I'd heard this was exceptional. 

First Line: "I'm pretty much fucked."

First Impression: Ha! This guy is funny! 

Last Impression: Wow. That was fun. Predictable, but not disappointing. And a little bit more dry technical content than I expected. But very very good. 

Ratings

Overall – 5 The praise for this novel is well-earned. It's sharp, witty, scientifically accurate, believable, addicting, riveting, and funny. It gets a bit dry toward the end as Mark Watney, our stranded Marstronaut, continues technical explanations when the reader is itching for focus on the action. However, these explanations are necessary, add accuracy, and make the entire scenario plausible. So, if the worst thing about this book is it is works a little too hard building credibility, that's not that bad at all. 

Characters – 5 The Marstronauts are diverse and interesting. The ground crew is less engaging than the characters in space, but they are still well-rounded and interesting. But these characters all pale against the likability of our main character. Mark Watney is the all-American underdog we all want to root for. And with each page and every Martian obstacle, we are all rooting for him.

Story – 5 Though predictable in places, every part of the story feels new placed against the unforgiving Martian backdrop. Each new challenge makes us hold our breath and each quip from Mark keeps us hopeful and turning the pages. 
Narration – 4 The only place this novel doesn't earn 5 stars is here, as the pacing could have been improved. The technical facts that keep him alive in the beginning lose their draw the more often they surface, though they remain just as true. 

Read Again? Definitely. It was satisfying and enjoyable. Once it's had long enough to rest, I'll revisit it again. 

Tell Others to Read? Absolutely! However, with the movie coming out soon, I'm sure most people will hear Mark Watney's story one way or another. 

Excerpt: I'm pretty much fucked. 
    That's my considered opinion. 
    Fucked. 
  Six days into what should be the greatest month of my life, and it's turned into a nightmare. 
   I don't even know who'll read this. I guess someone will find it eventually. Maybe a hundred years from now. 
    For the record . . . I didn't die on Sol 6. Certainly the rest of the crew thought I did, and I can't blame them. Maybe there'll be a day of national mourning for me, and my Wikipedia page will say "Mark Watney is the only human being to have died on Mars."
    And it'll be right, probably. 'Cause I'll surely die here. Just not on Sol 6 when everyone thinks I did. 
     Let's see . . . where do I begin?
    The Ares program. Mankind reaching out to Mars to send people to another planet for the very first time and expand the horizons of humanity blah, blah. The Ares 1 crew did their thing and came back heroes. They got the parades and fame and love of the world. 
     Ares 2 did the same thing, in a different location on Mars. They got a firm handshake and a hot cup of coffee when they got home.
    Ares 3. Well, that was my mission. Okay, not mine per se. Commander Lewis was in charge. I was just one of her crew. Actually, I was the very lowest ranked member of the crew. I would only be "in command" of the mission if I were the only remaining person. 
What do you know? I'm in command. 


                                                                                                                                   Content property of Broadway Books

Micromegas by Voltaire

On a planet revolving around the star Sirius there lived a young man of great intelligence, whose acquaintance I had the honor of making during his recent visit to our little anthill. He was called Micromegas, an appropriate name for great people. He had a stature of eight leagues, or 24,000 geometrical paces of five feet each, or 120,000 statute feet.

 

We earthmen have an average stature hardly more than five feet--one pace--so Mr. Micromegas' world must in turn have a circumference 24,000 times greater than our little Earth. Nothing in nature is simpler, more a matter of course. The dominions of certain potentates in Germany or Italy, around which you can walk in half an hour, compared with the empires of Turkey, Russia, or China can give but a faint idea of the vast disparity Nature has set between different orders of being throughout the universe.

Given his Excellency's height, any sculptor or painter would agree his waist should, proportionally, be about 50,000 feet around. His nose being one third the length of his handsome face, and his handsome face being one-seventh the height of his handsome body, it follows that the Sirian's nose is some 5,714 statute feet long.

 

His mind rivals the most cultivated among us; he knows many things, some of which are his own inventions. He had not yet reached his 250th year, and was studying, as was customary at his age, at the most famous school on the planet, when he solved 50 propositions of Euclid--18 more than Blaise Pascal, who, after having, according to his sister's account, solved 32 for his own amusement, became a pretty fair geometer, and a very poor metaphysician.

 

When Micromegas was about 450 years old, and already passing out of childhood, he dissected, with the aid of powerful microscopes, many little insects less than 100 feet in diameter; he wrote an interesting book about them, which got him into trouble.