The really amazing thing about Ridley Scott’s ( Exodus: Gods and Kings, The Counsellor) - and screenwriter Drew Goddard’s ( World War Z, The Cabin in the Woods) - movie version of The Martian is that I’m pretty sure that it will be appealing and riveting and even exciting to those who aren’t particularly geeky or sciencey. Once I’d finished reading The Martian, I sold it to all my similarly minded geeky sciencey friends like this: You know that awesome scene in Apollo 13 where the NASA guys back in Houston have to make the square air filter fit in the slot made for a round air filter using nothing but bits and pieces of the stuff found on the little spaceship hurtling toward the moon? And they actually do it?! The Martian is like that, except that’s the entire story, one problem like that after another. Like The Martian, it is a story in which scientists are heroes and science - real, actual, authentic science, not pretend sci-fi technobabble, not that that’s not cool too - saves the day. Because I literally could not put it down.Ĭombine this with how much I love Ron Howard’s movie Apollo 13. The last time a novel so compelled me to finish it asap was when I would find myself reading a paperback of Michael Crichton’s Jurassic Park - quickly tattered even though this was when the book was newly published back in 1990 - while actually walking down the street. But The Martian I couldn’t resist sneaking dips into when I should have been working. I mostly only have time to read during my relatively brief and nondaily commute, and even books I’m enjoying the hell out of will get put aside out of necessity - because I lack the time - for days or even a week if I don’t have the opportunity of otherwise-useless (ie, no wifi) time stuck on an underground train.
Andy Weir’s novel The Martian is one of those very rare books that I almost literally could not put down.
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