Of all the books to stop a reading binge streak, this was not the one I would have expected.
I wanted to like this book.
I REALLY wanted to like this book.
I really wanted to like this book because I enjoyed Weir's The Martian a lot, what with the solid science and the omg-exactly-mine humour.
I didn't really like this book.
Instead, this book annoyed me. I suspect this book annoyed me because the main character Jazz is annoying. The frequent "What? You were thinking something else?" questions became tiresome very quickly. The self-referrals to her body that Jazz makes could be made only by a guy writing as a girl, thinking that's what we talk about all the time (hint: we don't).
The part that gets me the most, however, is the basic plot: that destroying the moon's source of oxygen could in any way shape or form be a Good Idea™, much less supported by seemingly rational people. Given how utterly perfect The Martian was with its science, this idea just doesn't fit.
So, yeah, if you're a fan of Weir's, which I am, go ahead and read this book. If you aren't, read The Martian, revel in the incredible story-telling and science of that book, and skip this one.
Now to read Rob's review of Artemis, which I haven't read yet... Okay, his review is better. Go read that one instead.
Nothing. He hadn’t noticed me come in and didn’t hear me speak. He’s like that. I smacked him on the back of the head and he jerked away from the microscope.
And let me tell you: there’s no one I hate more than teenage Jazz Bashara. That stupid bitch made every bad decision a stupid bitch could make. She’s responsible for where I am today.
I couldn’t get it completely out of sight, but at least it was partially occluded. I slipped the remote control into a holster I had strapped to my inner thigh.
Okay, if you're on a caper, you don't want until you're on location before you strap a something to the inner thigh. You do that before you leave.
My plan was working! I giggled like a little girl. Hey, I’m a girl, so I’m allowed.
Dad taught me to use a flint sparker because an electric one is “another thing to break.” It was just a piece of flint and steel grooves attached to a springy handle.
My dad also taught me how to use a flint sparker, so I did appreciate this detail.
The droplet trembled along the weld site, then finally seeped upward into the crack above it. My heartbeat returned to somewhere near normal. Thank God for surface tension and capillary action.
He tapped on his Gizmo. “There are no surveillance cameras on airlocks. We’re not a police state. But there is a security camera in the Visitors Center gift shop.”
I woke up the next morning with cramped legs and a sore back. That’s the thing about crying yourself to sleep. When you wake up, the problems are still there.
Food makes you comfortable. It’s how you recenter.
I stood from the bar and downed my Bowmore. I assume everyone in Scotland gasped in psychic pain.
It powered up and showed the familiar wallpaper—a picture of a Cavalier King Charles spaniel puppy. What? I like puppies.
What? I'm annoyed at all the "What?"s.
“Wow,” I said. “You really are all about economics.” “It’s what I do, dear. And in the end, it’s the only thing that matters. People’s happiness, health, safety, and security all rely on it.”
Okay, this is what caught my attention.
I frowned. “I can’t just stop being mad.” “No, but you can stop wallowing in it. And you can talk to me like a normal human being.”
“I’ve never pretended to approve of your choices, Jasmine. I have no obligation to. But I don’t try to control you either. Not since you moved out. Your life is your own.”
Very few people get a chance to quantify how much their father loves them. But I did. The job should have taken forty-five minutes, but Dad spent three and a half hours on it. My father loves me 366 percent more than he loves anything else. Good to know.
“Two cameras on your EVA suit, two on Dale’s, and I need a screen for diagnostics. That’s five screens.”
“Could have been windows on the same screen, though, right?”
“But have I covered every angle?” He shrugged. “No such thing. But for what it’s worth, you got everything I can think of.”
We both stripped down to our underwear. (What? I’m supposed to be demure around the gay guy?)
What? The What?s are annoying.
“Run another line, Jasmine,” he said firmly. “You’re not in any hurry. You’re just impatient.”
I couldn’t see the control room from my vantage point. The smelter was in the way. That wasn’t a coincidence, by the way.
I duct taped both the mask and goggles to my face—I needed an airtight seal this time.
This would be a bitch to remove.
She panted a few times and regained her composure. She was a little older and more weathered than the pictures I’d seen of her. Still, she was spry and healthy-looking for a fifty-year-old.
Okay, for the record, it is not difficult to be spry and healthy at fifty.