Hurtling Through the Void

Project Hail Mary by Andy Weir

Salutations, bibliophiles.

Today, I’m very excited to bring you Elinor Abbott.

Elinor writes Sad & Famous, where she talks about celebs, various sad media (her words!) she consumes and stuff she buys.

Here, she shares the book that made her — Project Hail Mary by Andy Weir. Enjoy!

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After something very bad happens to you, often, your brain is destroyed. This was the case for me. I lost my ability to concentrate on anything for longer than maybe ten minutes. I could not watch tv, I could not watch movies, I could not think creatively. Even the idea of going to a movie theater with friends, trapped in a dark room with nothing to do but focus on a visual story, filled me with dread. Within moments of starting to do anything, I longed for it to be over, but then also despaired at having nothing to do again. I was riddled with an endless, heavy boredom that I had no choice but to bear, my mind unable to do the work of attention. Additionally, I could no longer sleep. I found myself seeking any form of entertainment or connection that could possibly break the spell of monotony, any way to chisel the cold marble of hours around me, no matter how weird. I listened to YouTube videos which guided me through angel visualizations, I learned about soul monad groups, I listened to a British man describe the hot ghost of a magical Japanese woman he was haunted by (and in love with) who could help heal me. I would try anything, fairies, ancient aliens, whatever. I organized campfire videos into a playlist, arranging them by what time of day they were shot, put one on when I got up, layed on my couch and stared at it until I went to bed. Sometimes even this was too much and I just looked out a window, noting the shadows as day turned to night. I was like this for a year and a half. 

Worst of all, I could no longer read. Even getting to the end of an email or robust text message felt arduous. Reading had not only been my main way of putting myself to sleep for my entire life, but also as a writer, my main source of inspiration and provocation to work, and now it was gone. Gone! So easily just no longer a part of my life. Like this thing I considered essential to myself was nothing more than a flimsy bit of tissue paper that could be lit on fire and dissolve into ash. I had been looking forward to the new Sally Rooney novel but when it arrived, it sat in my hands, inert, like trying to read a bowl of mud. I could not conjure images, people, settings, voices. I recently came across my pre-ordered copy of that much anticipated Sally Rooney and put it out for donation. It reminds me too much of that time. Of wondering if I would ever return to being a person who could think, who could enjoy things, escape into imagination, or if she, like so much else in my life, had been irrevocably banished. 

So, as many do when faced with personal ruin, I went to the sea. I thought, ok-- I can stare at the sea. It was a cold sea, a December sea, looking out over the Firth of Forth. I opened my hotel room window all night, even in the cold, so I could hear the waves. A friend of mine, who’d been in the midst of her own nightmare (long covid), said to me, “listen, I know you’re not reading but I have a book recommendation for you anyway. This is the book that got me to read again. Everyone I know who’s read it has loved it.” The book was Project Hail Mary by Andy Weir. It was not her usual sort of thing, and it was not mine either. I love a philosophical sci-fi novel, Solaris and Roadside Picnic are among my favorite books, but space adventures are not what I typically turn to when craving a fun read. I’m more of a Marian Keyes or dishy celeb memoir kinda girl. But I thought it was worth a try, as all the things I normally did for enjoyment now filled me with indifference. In my cold, quiet hotel room one early evening, with the window open, I got under the thick white duvet, sheets slick against my legs, and cracked open Project Hail Mary. The cover is an astronaut falling through the stars. “What’s two plus two?”, the novel begins. It’s an unknown voice irritating the protagonist, he just wants to sleep but the question keeps coming-- “What’s two plus two?”. A little after eleven, I texted my friend who recommended this book to me: “Just blew through 55pg of Project Hail Mary, had to force myself to stop reading it so I can go to bed!”, “Yay!!!!” she replied. A year and a half of staring at walls, campfires, upping my SSRIs, watching YouTube healers doing distance reiki, and suddenly, fifty-five pages in a row of engagement with my own brain. 

It’s hard to write about Project Hail Mary, beyond what is covered on the book jacket, because it’s best going into it knowing almost nothing about it. It’s a best selling novel for a reason-- it’s funny, propulsive and very fun. Every page of it is either solving a mystery or working through a puzzle. It’s a book that has helped at least two people who’ve gone through a major crisis, in which their capacity to read was obliterated (for reasons medical or otherwise), return to reading again. I will say I don’t think it’s a total coincidence that the book which brought me back to reading features a person who wakes up one day, hurtling through the void, in a life they don’t understand. A person who has to recover themselves in order to survive, and then radically adjust to a life much different than the one they expected to live. In my cold, seaside hotel room, I gulped it down, I sank into it, got lost inside it, I could feel it waking up my brain. I went on to read another thirty-six books that year.

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