Book Review: Atmosphere

Spoilers!

The veneer between life and death, love and heartbreak, breaking barriers and barriers holding is thin, as thin as the atmosphere appears from space as it protects all life on Earth. That humans ever dared to break the veneer of this thin atmosphere and broach space, low-orbit and otherwise, is astonishing. That women, like the American Sally Ride in 1983 (I specify American because she came 20 years after the Soviet Valentina Tereshkova did it 20 years earlier!), dared to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with men in a male-dominated field is astonishing. We’re all better off for the humans, and the humans previously denied certain spaces, who are courageous enough to dare and to do. But of course, gazing into the stars or from the vantage point of the stars back upon Earth only reaffirms how much we love this planet, our home, and need to be grounded in love with our fellow humans. Taylor Jenkins Reid captures the essence of these dynamics in her space love story, 2025’s Atmosphere, exquisitely well. The universe we live in is filled with awe and wonder — a connective “tissue” of stardust constituting everything in the known universe — and the “universes” we create within ourselves and in relation to others engenders awe and wonder, too. Both sit on a knife’s edge between utmost fulfillment and destruction. Space is inhospitable to life (tardigrades aside) and yet. And when in love, those range of emotions we experience seem inhospitable to our continued functioning. And yet. In the “and yet” we find everything beautiful, lovely, but also fearful and painful about life and living.

Joan Goodwin is a local astronomer who has always wanted to go to space, but she knows such opportunities have been denied to women, even in the late 1970s and early 1980s, the time and space she occupies. She’s dutiful, disciplined, and a Renaissance woman. In addition to being a brilliant scientist, she’s a classically accomplished pianist and portrait artist. But also, she dotes lovingly on her niece, Frances, while also trying to navigate her angsty younger sister and Frances’ mom, Barbara. NASA’s space shuttle program in the 1980s changes everything. They’re accepting applications for astronauts and Joan applies. She’s accepted (after a previous rejection and another year of waiting) and begins astronaut training with a class of other would-be astronauts, including Griff, Lydia, Hank, Donna, and Vanessa. Some people have military backgrounds as pilots and are tasked with that, and some are like Joan with scientific backgrounds. In other words, in the vernacular of the day, it’s the jocks and the nerds working together to breach new frontiers in space and to better understood the universe we live in.

That’s also not how Reid begins her book, though. Instead, disaster has struck, literally, Discovery, one of the space shuttles. In this mission are astronauts Vanessa, Griff, Steve, Hank, and Lydia. Vanessa and Steve just completed a space walk to deploy a satellite and are supposed to return to the safety of the airlock. Instead, they milk the view of Earth a little bit longer and to watch the satellite deploy. An explosive cord goes haywire and destroys the satellite causing a piece to puncture Griff and the spaceship. The last thing you want in the vacuum of space is a tear in your spacesuit or the ship. It will kill you. Everyone back on the ship is in a panic trying to find the leak and cover it up before they lose consciousness or die. Mission Control back in Houston, with Joan in the lead of communicating with the crew, are also in a panic. Everyone but Lydia, Griff, and Vanessa parish in the effort. Lydia and Griff are unconscious. It’s up to Vanessa to repair the damage and return the space shuttle to Earth. She’d be the first woman to fly the space shuttle (and of course, without a crew to help, either). Obviously, this also puts Joan in the awkward position of projecting the calm, steady hand someone leading Mission Controls needs while also having her heart wrenched by her concern for Vanessa (ope, spoiler alert!).

The main thrust of the story occurs thereafter though, through the trials and tribulations of the ASCANs, or astronaut candidates. The women have to deal with some of the men making lewd jokes and the ways in which they approach it. Lydia laughs along with the jokes thinking it’ll make her fit in with the women and belong. Joan is adamant about not fitting into such behavior. She wants to carve out a new universe where women can be accepted without being like such men. Griff quickly falls for Joan, but it’s clear from the beginning that Joan has no interest in men. This is only confirmed when they kiss. She also especially feels claustrophobic about the idea of marrying a man and becoming, well, subservient to their personality, dreams, and will. Her mother’s a homemaker; Joan does not want to be a homemaker. She wants to be among the stars. Among the stars is where she feels she’ll be even closer to her conception of God. She is akin to a pantheist: that God is everything and in everything.

Then, something truly unexpected happens that reshapes Joan’s world and her understanding of her known universe: Vanessa. Vanessa awakens within Joan something she didn’t want to acknowledge in her more than 30 years on Earth: she likes women. What makes Vanessa particularly groundbreaking, though, is that Vanessa is the first person who ever seems interested in listening to Joan and what she has to say as she rhapsodizes about the universe, God, her steadfast belief in what women can accomplish at NASA, and her love for Frances. Similarly for Vanessa, who lived a more hardscrabble life, dabbling in drugs and one-night stands after her father died as a pilot during the Vietnam War, Joan has the effect of softening her edges and expanding her known universe. She never envisioned someone she wanted to spend the rest of her life with, or who would become more important to her than even flying the space shuttle. Or that she would come to love Frances as a necessary and important extension of Joan’s life and love.

Reid handles their teasing, budding, and fulfilling love thereafter so well — their coupling felt cosmic, destined in that pantheistic god way of Joan’s worldview. As a reader, I wanted it to succeed, to take off from the launch pad and successfully breach the atmosphere despite all the hurdles in the way from society to NASA to their own families. I also appreciated that Reid didn’t waste time with Joan resisting what she always deep down knew about herself. There was no hesitancy as she allowed herself to fall for Vanessa. In a different author’s hands, Vanessa, given her history, in response, would have become aloof and distant after the first coupling. But she wasn’t here with Reid’s deft hand. Instead, they became a lovely couple while also pursuing their NASA dreams, with Joan maintaining her stand-in as second mother figure for Frances. Better yet, Joan didn’t “lose herself” to Vanessa in the way she feared she would with acquiescence to a man and societal expectations. Reid writes of Joan’s reflection, “Joan had given in to Vanessa in a way that still surprised her. Joan had not lost herself to Vanessa, but found herself in her. She had not cut off parts of herself to fit so much as learned to make room for someone other than herself.” That’s the real dream, huh?

But of course, I also loved all the space stuff, which Reid was a quick study on and despite being a neophyte, all the space stuff reads authentic and compelling to me at least. Reid explains in the Author’s Note at the beginning of the book that before writing it, she couldn’t have identified the Big Dipper. However, she wanted Joan to be a “passionate, excitable astronomer.” She exceeded. Joan is someone who finds everyone and everything beautiful, and like I said in my Superman (2025) review, echoing the movie’s sentiment, that’s the new punk rock. Joan was definitely punk rock, especially given the 1980s settings where you had the height of a cultural panic about homosexuality, only exacerbated by the AIDS epidemic. Learning about space made Reid feel more connected to the world and those she loved, not less, not small and insignificant as a cynical or nihilistic interpretation might proffer. She imbues that sensibility into Joan, who incidentally, realizes after her first mission to space (a month before the Discovery one that kicks off the book), that she prefers being grounded on Earth. More on why she necessarily became “grounded” in a moment. I’d be remiss if I didn’t linger a moment on how astonishing it is humans ever learned to fly. As Vanessa conveys to Joan in one of their many endearing conversations, it was deemed impossible by the leading experts at the turn of the 20th century, including by media like The New York Times, until it was done by the Wright Brothers. I recently reviewed a book about the incredible Wright Brothers. Then, just think, within 58 years of the Wright Brothers lifting off from Earth in 1903, Yuri Gagarin became the first man to orbit space in 1961. Vanessa wonders in her time of 1983, what will humans achieve 58 years hence? That gives us until 2041. I wonder indeed!

Back to grounded, Barbara might be the most dislikable and frustrating character I can recall reading in quite some time who is otherwise a normal person. Which is to say, unlike other recent detestable characters I’ve read, she’s not a murderer or rapist, or a supernatural entity, or someone in a position of power who is abusing their authority. She’s single mother, sister, and daughter. And yet. The way she treats Joan and Frances throughout the book was infuriating. She had no appreciation for everything Joan had done for her from pregnancy up through 10 years of Frances’ life, and was still doing for her while also chasing her NASA dream. She also belittled Joan often for not having a man of her own and thus, for not understanding both Barbara’s yearning for one and the demands of motherhood. She constantly plays the victim and whines about being judged by Joan. She’s petty and self-centered. Everything is about her, with no consideration given to Frances, her daughter, much less Joan. Barbara is of the time. Unbeknownst to her given Joan’s actual orientation, she jokes about lesbians in front her. And she also wants to be a homemaker and have a “life” separate from Frances and her demands as a child, mind you. She finds it in rich Texan Daniel, who quickly moves them into his mansion. Without hesitation, Barbara essentially abandons Frances. Frances, not surprisingly, begins acting out. She’s lonely, feels unloved, and as if she doesn’t belong in her mother’s new life. Barbara’s answer? Ship her off to boarding school. Daniel didn’t want kids anyway. Worse still, when Frances is supposed to come home for the Thanksgiving holiday, Barbara and Daniel are going off to Europe. Barbara has no sympathy for Frances (again, her daughter) when Joan tells her she was alone at the boarding school with a teacher and they were going to eat turkey sandwiches for Thanksgiving. Barbara dismissively adds, “with cranberry,” as if that makes it all better. Despite the disruption it causes to Joan’s life, she decides to step in, rescuing Frances from the boarding school, and bringing her to her home. That obviously disrupts her career trajectory with NASA and her relationship with Vanessa that they’re still concealing, but she’s not going to abandon Frances and as she notes, she’s especially not going to abandon Frances to teach Barbara a lesson. I despised Barbara. She’s the worst. While reading, I had no sympathy for her at all. She also never redeemed herself.

NASA learns of Joan and Vanessa’s relationship (well, they’re primarily speculating), which between the threat of that knowledge becoming known and taking in Frances, Joan believes the best way forward to protect Vanessa and her chance at flying the space shuttle is for them to break-up. Thankfully, Vanessa calls BS on that and reiterates her love for Joan. Then, we return to the disaster of the Discovery. Griff didn’t make it, but Lydia still can. Vanessa needs to fix the doors to ensure safe re-entry into Earth’s atmosphere. To fix the doors means Lydia will die because of the time needed and the revolutions of the Earth therein. To not fix the doors means Vanessa and Lydia will probably die. Or not. Vanessa gambles, much to the fear and sadness of Joan (and the consternation of NASA for her “insubordination”), that she can return them safely back to Earth. At least, it’s worth trying. She couldn’t let Lydia die — Lydia who courageously plugged the leak on the space shuttle before nearly dying. Reid was so sneaky with the ending of the book. She made it seem like Vanessa died, which Joan quickly accepted from her god, as it were, as a special gift to have known Vanessa at all, but thankfully, Reid thinks better of killing off Vanessa (I would have been devastated by that!) and Vanessa is alive! Phew.

Finally, I can’t end this review without offering a thought about the music debate on page 223 of the hardcover edition. Vanessa’s favorite singer is David Bowie and she argues the best space song is his song, “Space Oddity.” Griff thinks the best song is Bowie’s “Starman” instead. Hank chimes in with Elton John’s “Rocket Man.” Sorry, Vanessa, I associate “Space Oddity” with Chandler from Friends too much. And I certainly prefer “Rocket Man” over “Starman.” Elton wins. For what it’s worth, in perfect character and form, Joan prefers the song from Sesame Street, “I Don’t Want to Live on the Moon.”

For the punk rockers out there, there is something inherently romantic about space — the bigness of it all, the interconnectivity of the constituent stardust, the bravery of humans to explore, and the abiding duty to explore given only humans can look at the stars with longing and curiosity — and so, it’s fitting Reid centered her story on love. The love Joan has for life itself. The love Joan has for Frances. The love between Joan and Vanessa. I loved it all. I adored Joan and Vanessa and Joan and Vanessa together. I’m glad Joan was there to show Frances love as well. What a book! Reid’s incredible and daring herself for always trying something with her books. She succeeded in her efforts here to make Joan a “passionate and excitable” astronomer and to tell a compelling, touching love story.