The promotional pin I received at a recent screening of Project Hail Mary
I recently saw the film adaptation of one of my favourite novels, Project Hail Mary… twice. I’ve read the book twice, too. Back when I first picked it up it was one of those rare novels where I actually felt sad when I got to the end, not because I didn’t like the ending (I loved it), but because the story was over, and I would never get the same emotional experience of that “first read” back again. With the film adaptation, however, I did get something similar: a “first watch”. I’d been looking forward to the release ever since I learned it was in production, and I wasn’t disappointed. The filmmakers did a remarkable job of the adaptation, and I enjoyed every single moment in that cinema. I confess to shedding more than one tear.
Friends and family members have enjoyed it too, though I’ve noticed few seem to be quite as obsessed as I am. Where they soon moved on to other topics, I kept thinking about it for days afterwards, and played the soundtrack while tidying the house (in my defence, it’s an awesome soundtrack). Somehow, this story pushes all the right emotional buttons – taps into something deep inside me – that makes me eager to re-experience it in a way I am with few other narratives.
All this left me wondering – what is it that got so under my skin? What ingredients in the fictional recipe made it so addictive to my particular reader taste buds? So instead of a classic film or book review, I thought I’d see if I could put my finger on exactly what makes Andy Weir’s story an all-time favourite for me. I’ve come up with five key elements.
I haven’t updated my blog in a long time – 5 years to be exact. When COVID hit I let it slide, then got busy with life and other projects, including writing two novels 🙂 But I always intended to return to it “one day”, and it seems that day has finally arrived. I’m planning to start posting again once or twice a month, so I’m not sure how many of you are still out there receiving this message, but I hope you’ll continue this journey through the fantasy-verse with me!
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I was recently thinking about one of my favourite novels, Piranesi by Susanna Clarke, and it reminded me that there’s a quality some science fiction, dystopian and speculative fiction stories have—a rare one—that I absolutely love. It’s hard to describe, and perhaps even harder to achieve, but I’d characterise it as a tantalising sense of wrongness intertwined with mystery, often (though not always) occurring at the beginning of a story, which usually precedes a giant, reality-altering twist.
It’s that growing conviction that things don’t make sense in the world, that something very odd is happening, perhaps even something sinister, but you don’t know what it is yet. You just have this sense that the situation is off, wrong somehow, and that you, and perhaps even the characters, have a fundamental misunderstanding of the reality in which they find themselves. At the same time, you can feel in your bones that you are going to find out what it is, and that when you do, it’s going to be a hair-prickling revelation or a fantastically unexpected twist. This feeling seems to often be evoked when the initial story world, or simply the story we think we are about to be told, is increasingly questioned, then ultimately flipped on its head.
What always impresses me about these sorts of story openings is that usually, as a writer, confusion is the last thing you want to create. Conventional wisdom suggests you should clearly communicate the scenario at the outset, withholding some mysteries and raising some questions, but still grounding the audience as quickly and succinctly as possible in your world and characters. If they get lost in a sea of confusion or snag on inconsistencies and plot holes, they might abandon ship.
Yet these particular types of stories seem to offer just enough grounding for us to understand what’s happening on the surface, while at the same time introducing just enough dissonance to make us aware things aren’t adding up… a perfectly calculated dose of confusion that promises you’re on the cusp of a fascinating resolution.
I adore the goosebump-inducing curiosity this mixture evokes… a kind of “Wait what? Something’s not right here…” that has me hungry to figure out “the truth” of the situation. But what is it about these stories that creates this tantalising feeling?
