(Full disclosure: I was lucky enough to win a copy of this novella through The Future Fire.)
In an alternate reality, when NASA’s funding slipped the US military stepped in and shared the bills. Now, the military have a permanent, manned base on the moon and NASA barely have anything in low Earth orbit. However, the Cold War has boiled over and left the Earth a charred cinder. The military astronauts serving their six months on lunar surface now only have each other for company and dwindling supplies of food. Their relationships are as bleak as the lunar landscape, and their only hope is a stolen Nazi experiment.
This novella is a love letter to the space program. The descriptions of the lunar landscape are beautiful and Sales’ descriptions of rocket flight are truly empathic. The science behind mankind’s voyages to the stars are described in loving detail that borders on pornography–the spacesuits and the walks across the lunar seas, the Velcro shoes used in the station’s one sixth Earth gravity and the empty bands of radio that the stranded astronauts hopelessly scan. Even the calculations needed to plot planetary orbits without a supercomputer are given the space and time Tolkein gives to his swords. This isn’t the space travel of space opera, not even the space travel of science fiction. This is the space travel of our own past, of Yuri Gagarin and Neil Armstrong. This is the closest you’ll get to orbit without being a billionaire.
Even The Bell–an esoteric experiment ‘liberated’ from the Nazi’s at the end of the war–is treated with the careful certainty of an experiment being put out to peer review. It revs up, it pops, they argue about its power needs and the probability of it working the way they need it to.
But this beautiful hard science suffers from the same problem as those peer review journals. There’s no speech marks around the direct speech, which only serves to make the line between reader and character even thicker. I felt no emotional connection to those stranded men on the Moon, no more than I felt to the space suits or the lunar descent modules or the Bell. Like all those pieces of tech, the characters are consistent and work the way they should… They just don’t ever quite feel human. They’re just one more part of the space program, no more or less important than the rockets or the lunar base.
And as a minor nitpick, there are a couple of places where the tenses change when they shouldn’t. But Hell, if there’s an editor that can pick out every single typo they deserve a medal.
Adrift on the Sea of Rains is a wonderful hard science novella that will make you feel as if you’ve left the Earth’s surface perched atop over seven million pounds of thrust and kicked up the sand of the Moon’s seas. Maybe it’s fitting that the humans are reduced to another machine in the program, that they’re put in their insignificant place in the cosmos. I miss it, though, that uniquely human element we always carry around in our skulls.
Still, this is subtitled Apollo Quartet 1, and I’m looking forwards to the other three parts. There’s no such thing as too much human space exploration porn, and this is the top-shelf stuff your slightly odd uncle brought you after making you promise you’d never tell your parents. You know, the really good shit.
(And as an important note, the book comes with three appendices: abbreviations used in the book; a glossary; and a bibliography. The glossary gives a piecemeal history of the alternate reality’s space program. I read the novella first, worried it contained spoilers. It doesn’t. Read it before the story.
And visit Ian Sales’ blog here. Adrift on the Sea of Rains was published by Whippleshield Books, April 2012. Whippleshield Books was set up by Ian to publish fiction he found was lacking in the market, fiction like Adrift. Love to the man for setting up his own publishing company to follow his tastes.)





I believe that’s called self-publishing — not that I have anything against it. Along similar lines, Ian Sales made an awful hash of two (perhaps more by now) Eurypides tragedies that he transposed into SF. In one, he renamed Ifigenia, Orestes and Pylades to Gina Priest, Orris and Pyle. The characters and plotlines mirror the nuance and inventiveness of the naming.
Self-publishing is one of the biggest blessings, and biggest curses, of the modern age. Getting rid of the gatekeepers means new and interesting stuff gets to see the light of day, but also means a lot of books avoid the copyeditor when really they shouldn’t. Still, setting up a publishing company implies you’re going to publish other people’s stuff. Going through someone like Lulu implies you’re just going to focus on your own work (nothing wrong with that, of course). Devoting time to other people’s work requires less ego… or more, depending on why you’re doing it.
I’ve not read anything else by Sales. I shall take your word on the tragedies–perhaps Sales is best when he sticks to tech-driven realism where characters don’t need to be people. Not the kind of mindset you want to bring to Eurypides’ tragedies, I’m sure.
One of the Sales stories (I think Thicker than Water) is available free online, so you can judge for yourself. The other problem is that nothing dates stories faster and worse than tech-driven “realism” — to say nothing of the fact that no serious work of literature tries to “explain” (at length and with technical terms) how TVs, phones or internal combustion engines work.
It would actually be kind of cool to have a story which explained in depth how the technology we rely on every day worked. I mean, we rely on it so much but for most of us it’s all just opaque boxes of magic. I’m not sure it would be much more than a gimmick, and it’s certainly not something you’d see in anything mainstream. In fact, one of the major points of the story would have to be, ‘general users don’t understand how the technology they use every day works’. It would also take a very good writer to pull it off without it sounding like a technical manual!
I have to say, I have something of a soft spot for stories based on out-dated tech. All the stuff from the fifties where atomic power was going to save us all or from the sixties where the power of computers was measured by how many vacuum tubes it had. Sure it seems a bit silly now but then, all the stuff written today about the awesome humanity-saving power of microchips (Cyberpunk, I’m looking at you) is going to seem silly in a couple of decades when they’ve gone the way of vacuum tubes. Of course, in order to still enjoy those stories you have to be able to write the the tech of as a convienient McGuffin and get on with enjoying the story. If the tech is the story, then after you’ve written it off there’s not much left to enjoy.
Rachel Swirsky has also done a version of Iphigenia, still available on Tor’s website (http://www.tor.com/stories/2009/11/a-memory-of-wind). I’ve not read it, but it might be interesting to compare the two.
There is such a story, that explains how telephones and airplanes work in a tongue-in-cheek take. Needless to say, it’s both hilarious and painful.
Funny you should mention Swirsky’s version — a comparison between that and the Sales story has been on my to-do list ever since I read them. Swirsky is a much better storyteller, but it’s equally clear she’s never been to Greece.
I don’t suppose you can remember the name of the story? Definitely sounds worth a read.
And I shall have to read both Swirsky’s and Sale’s versions before you do your comparison. I should probably read the original, too. It’s a shame that Swirsky’s lack of experiential knowledge shows in her story. As someone who’s never been to Greece either, I wonder whether it’ll show to me.