What is it about the vastness of space that has had human beings transfixed from day one? We barely gain cognizance of the land around us before we start looking upwards and beyond. The sky in all its magnitude and infinite horizon is endlessly fascinating to us. Our desire to explore beyond what we know and into the mysteries of space epitomizes everything about human curiosity. Be it the love for NASA, movies set in and around space or the plethora of literature penned on it, we have always collectively yearned for what’s out there, and the possibility of understanding it more than anything else. It may very well be one of the last remaining things the inhabitants of Earth can find joy in sharing.
Film and literature have never left us wanting as far as space fodder goes. With multiple critically acclaimed books and blockbuster movies released every year, it seems to be a genre that can only find more inspiration over time rather than losing its vigor. In the midst of everyone clamoring to mass produce space-related material, something truly epic or entertaining managing to sneak through is the hallmark of this genre. The kind akin to “Interstellar” reminding me of my lost love for space by reducing me to child like wonderment of something truly spectacular happening on the big screen in front of me. It was reminiscent of everything that you only experience as a child, because we’re so open to being struck by wonder at something as simple as seeing a giant T-rex or a spaceship on the screen. Or when I was quietly charmed by the humor and tenacity of human nature in a planet that is not ours in any way possible in “The Martian.” One a brilliant masterpiece and the other a charming tale of perseverance, imagine my delight when I discovered that the books they’re adapted from are just as well written, if not more so.
Andy Weir shows you what true isolation of a human being actually means in “The Martian,” and he does so in a way that you don’t even feel it until it happens. And then it’s all you feel. Is this a classic tale of one man’s epically impossible survival against great odds that we have seen and read about time and again? Yes, it absolutely is. But there’s a reason it still works. We glorify in watching the survival of one man despite all indications and proof of the contrary. It gives us hope—it makes us think that we could do it too. We could also survive in the face of terrifying adversity. What makes Weir’s work different is that he allows us to experience the gravity of the situation constantly but he does so with winning humor. The protagonist, Mark Watney, manages to survive years of isolation on Mars where a million different ways to die are always staring him in the face, and he chooses to do it laughing. And really, is anyone’s survival even a possibility without that? “I'm calling it the Watney Triangle because after what I've been through, shit on Mars should be named after me.”
Greg Keyes’ “Interstellar”—not unlike the movie—is a tale so grandly infused with what defines us as humanity, as people and as a species altogether, that it ends up sucker punching us into remembering that. Interestingly enough, it also came after the movie with the assistance of the Nolan brothers. Any run-of-the-mill story that pulls a “love conquers all” and is the true miracle of life theatric maneuver is nothing but trite and corny to us. We groan to ourselves as we imagine heartwarming music swelling at the end just as the main characters make a grand speech. We mock how tacky it is, but it makes us uncomfortable on some fundamental level. Some part of us recognizes the truth in all those grand words, but it’s far more easy to cling to how unoriginally sappy they sound. Not with the likes of “Interstellar” though. That thin façade of cynicism and bluster falls away in the face of such genuinely portrayed emotion.
Earth will die without the actions and choices of a certain man, who will have to leave his family behind to save them and everyone on Earth, choices that are not always easy to understand for a ten-year-old. This book exemplifies that bond and the struggles that are born from it. It does so while making you feel insignificantly small in the face of the vastness of space, all the fears we have about black holes and everything we still do not understand about relativity, time and the universe itself. All of that is entwined with the one human mystery that we most likely will never understand or even fully comprehend, “love is the one thing we’re capable of perceiving that transcends dimensions of time and space.”
