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A review by kris_mccracken
Orbital by Samantha Harvey
2.0
Samantha Harvey's "Orbital" operates in the liminal space between poetry and prose, unspooling in a haze of words rather than any linear story. The linguistic artistry is in the foreground, and there are passages here that pulse with beauty. However, for those accustomed to even a skeletal narrative structure, this book might feel like a challenging void rather than an immersive journey.
With Earth as its protagonist, for such a slim book, "Orbital" unravels as an expansive meditation on our planet's appearance from the heavens. It's a deeply thoughtful premise, even somewhat awe-inspiring in scope. Yet, for all its philosophical musings, there's an emotional austerity here that I couldn't shake. I was left orbiting the text without ever truly landing on something that resonated.
For mine, the novel's brevity is its saving grace. Whether it was due to my current state of mind or the book's particular demands, I found myself pressing on not out of desire but obligation. Harvey's cast is glimpsed through fragments of background and earthbound connections and never transcends their initial impressions. They feel flat, defined more by their roots than any personal nuance. While the cyclical rhythm of Harvey's prose might have been intended to evoke a certain celestial motion (the hint is in the title), it ultimately feels like a recursive loop, producing a sensation of déjà vu that verges on wearisome.
For all its occasional literary splendour, "Orbital" left me wanting. It's an oddly distant novel, beautiful yet strangely barren as if I were gazing at Earth from afar and unable to fully grasp its warmth.
With Earth as its protagonist, for such a slim book, "Orbital" unravels as an expansive meditation on our planet's appearance from the heavens. It's a deeply thoughtful premise, even somewhat awe-inspiring in scope. Yet, for all its philosophical musings, there's an emotional austerity here that I couldn't shake. I was left orbiting the text without ever truly landing on something that resonated.
For mine, the novel's brevity is its saving grace. Whether it was due to my current state of mind or the book's particular demands, I found myself pressing on not out of desire but obligation. Harvey's cast is glimpsed through fragments of background and earthbound connections and never transcends their initial impressions. They feel flat, defined more by their roots than any personal nuance. While the cyclical rhythm of Harvey's prose might have been intended to evoke a certain celestial motion (the hint is in the title), it ultimately feels like a recursive loop, producing a sensation of déjà vu that verges on wearisome.
For all its occasional literary splendour, "Orbital" left me wanting. It's an oddly distant novel, beautiful yet strangely barren as if I were gazing at Earth from afar and unable to fully grasp its warmth.