I’ve been a long time fan of Peter Watts, you know? All of his pessimistic writings. Also of Lovecraft and his bleak Cosmicism. I am a natural pessimist, a clinically certified majorly depressed feller. But when I’ve read Weir it felt like I’m out of my reinforced concrete bunker, out of the blast door. I was breathing fresh air and enjoying the sunshine. I was looking at the blue of the sky drawing its negative space around the green of the trees and vice versa. I was looking at the insects scurrying around and the spiders hidden in their nets and the birds and their chirps. That’s how it felt reading The Martians and then Project Hail Mary.
Having several shot glass and then shooting oneself in the throat sounds like a solution to all worldly problems.
Maybe from a solipsism kind of perspective. But i prefer the egg
Andy Weir knows how to write joyfully.
I’ve been a long time fan of Peter Watts, you know? All of his pessimistic writings. Also of Lovecraft and his bleak Cosmicism. I am a natural pessimist, a clinically certified majorly depressed feller. But when I’ve read Weir it felt like I’m out of my reinforced concrete bunker, out of the blast door. I was breathing fresh air and enjoying the sunshine. I was looking at the blue of the sky drawing its negative space around the green of the trees and vice versa. I was looking at the insects scurrying around and the spiders hidden in their nets and the birds and their chirps. That’s how it felt reading The Martians and then Project Hail Mary.