Orbital

Samantha Harvey's Orbital, a 2023 Booker Prize longlisted novel, is a book I approached with a mix of excitement and trepidation. As a science fiction aficionado, I've seen the genre evolve, and it is rare for a book so clearly labeled as speculative to be so highly regarded in literary circles. This slender novel is set over a single 24-hour period on the International Space Station, following the lives of six astronauts from different cultures and backgrounds as they orbit the Earth sixteen times. The lack of a traditional plot is immediately apparent, as the narrative is less a story of events and more a series of profound, interconnected observations. The setting is not just a backdrop; it is a central allegory for the human condition, with the physical laws of space acting as a mirror for our emotional and psychological realities. As I began my readalong, I quickly noted the book's descriptive and lyrical prose, which creates a curious link between the cosmos and human experience. The planets' endless circling and the careful ballet of the astronauts' movements are presented as an allegory for human relationships and emotions. This is a novel that paints space in a romantic, meditative light, a place where a "floating family" is formed—a group of individuals who are both "more than a family and less than one," united by a shared, extraordinary experience. My thoughts as I read were a journey of their own. I found the book's narrative at times to be unfulfilling, as the thematic strands felt like fleeting "brush strokes" that never fully converged. Ideas like the artificiality of borders when viewed from space or the astronauts being as much of a scientific experiment as the mice in a petri dish, are raised and then seem to fade into the background. The novel felt much like my experience with This Is How You Lose the Time War; it's a book that prioritizes style and atmosphere over a linear plot. Yet, within this style, there are moments of striking resonance. Roman's rumination on the subjectivity of art appreciation and how it relates to seeing the Earth from space was a powerful metaphor. The book's central, and perhaps most poignant, idea is that Earth is a "mother" to all of us—a source of comfort and belonging that feels impossibly distant, especially when a crewmate is grieving the death of his own mother. Similarly, the irony of the astronauts' dreams—fantasizing about home while in space—is a simple but effective reminder that we are always longing for what we don't have. Ultimately, Orbital is a novel about perspective, isolation, and the cumulative nature of human progress. It succeeds not in what it says explicitly, but in how it uses its unique setting to ask big questions about our place in the universe. The book argues that even the smallest contributions from individuals—a child's dream of space, a scientist's experiment—are what build towards the grand tapestry of human achievement. It is a work of introspection and quiet beauty. This is a book for readers who enjoy lyrical, philosophical fiction and don't require a fast-paced plot. If you relish poetic language and a story that washes over you, leaving a lingering sense of awe, then Orbital is for you. If you prefer a more conventional plot-driven narrative, this might be a more challenging read, but one that is still worth the effort for its unique perspective.