$6.00 in paperback from Amazon.com
Buy it if: The terms MMU, EVA, JSC, MECO and CAPCOM mean anything to you…
Don’t Buy if if: Space, shcmace, earth has enough problems, why go looking for more?
I’m going to make a broad generalization: To those in their late 20s or early 30s, the Space Shuttle is a fascinating, complex machine defined by two things: The Challenger explosion that seared itself into our early childhood memories and its ubiquity in our everyday lives. For those older, it very well may have paled in comparison to the grainy images transmitted from the first lunar lander in the summer of Woodstock. To those younger, orbital space may already be just another route that Virgin America airlines are waiting to book.
As with most things, perspective makes all the difference. For the first class of shuttle astronauts (the group’s nickname, “Thirty Five New Guys”, showed about as much nomenclative ingenuity as the “Mercury Seven”) who grew up - literally - in the shadow of Sputnik, the American space program moved fluidly between miraculous and humdrum. Mike Mullane’s memoir, Riding Rockets, captures life as an astronaut during his tenure at NASA with unprecedented candor, verve and honesty. Plainspoken to the point of reader fascination, Mullane’s book on his life and the lives of his fellow astronauts and NASA ground staff is easily one of the most captivating books on the space program I’ve ever held in my hands.
Riding Rockets contains one of the most interesting collisions of the mundane and fantastic in the non-fiction world. By his own account, Mullane was no Neil Armstrong. He wasn’t the first to pilot the shuttle, nor the first to fly post-Challenger. His one claim to fame might be as the first Air Force ‘backseater’ (non-pilot combat flyer) to make it to space, but even the author himself is dubious of this distinction’s historical cache. But he IS an astronaut, and there’s something fascinating about what entails an ordinary day for someone who’s prime professional goal is strapping a rocket to their ass and hurling themselves beyond earth’s atmosphere at 18,000 MPH.
And unlike other such bios, Mullane doesn’t pull the punches. Not on on himself or anyone else. The level of candor he brings to the ‘hero biography’ is simply astonishing. Not to mention refreshing. From the office politics of shuttle flight assignments, to the sheer terror of engine start, to the incredible sadness that defines a final evening with a spouse before liftoff, the memoir is all the more compelling for a look at the good and bad of space travel. “The Right Stuff” style braggadocio is still very much a part of the astronaut corps, but Mullane is surprisingly adept in laying plain the truth beyond the stern façade. He’s seen close friends die before his eyes doing what they love and has an incredible take on how an astronaut’s ambition can easily skew their own perspective on risk.
Even with such straightforward emotion, the author includes a very good-humored look at space travel, the book’s greatest draw by far. From mid-flight pranks with an experimental skull to methods used to prevent urine splashback in zero gravity, Mullane imparts a perfect amount of levity into nearly every anecdote, often with himself as the butt of the joke. It’s a wonderful reminder that the even those men and women who push the envelope of aerospace performance daily are nothing more than extraordinarily capable human beings.
All told, Riding Rockets is a deft look at the space program from the inside, during a period of time when shuttle astronauts were every bit the brave heroes that the Apollo men were, with only a fraction of the of the recognition the latter received. Even poorly written, this would have made a fascinating tale. With the addition of engaging writing and a unique voice, it’s taking all the strength of a solid rocket booster to keep me dropping the worst joke in the history of these reviews and telling you this book is ‘out of this world!’ Don’t worry. I wouldn’t do that to you…
