Of Earth and Stars

Orbital reads like one long piece of prose poetry, except that occasionally the descriptives get so heavy you feel like you might be plodding through The Odyssey, and then you remember to back up and pay attention because the perspective is constantly shifting and there are few clues around the dialogue and so everyone and everything melds together a bit, like it does when you zoom out from Earth.

Is it beautiful? Absolutely.

Does it adequately convey the sense of drifting and being lost in self and time and place (whilst also furiously trying to rigidly document one's absolute self and time and place)? 100%.

Does it evoke the sense of wonder and fierce love for a planet full of life and wonder and empty of borders? Oh yes.

I can see why it's divisive, but I felt like the novel conveyed what it wanted to convey, and promised nothing more, in both title and format - the monotony of circling, the rigid ordinary of routine, all while sitting in the wonder of hurtling above sixteen sunrises and sunsets and inches from near-vacuum.