An Astronaut's Guide to Life on Earth (2013 original; edició 2013)

A biography that (sadly) demystifies the life of an astronaut. Hadfield comes across as the same type of career-minded go-getter one meets at corporate events of all types. I sort of wish I hadn't read it, and could keep my image of astronaut-as-modern-Magellan. ( )

For the most part I enjoyed this biography/encouragment book. Hadfield's writing is engaging and his stories are fascinating. I did, however, find that a few of those stories were told too many times - it was like the chapters were meant to be read independently. For those interested in life as an astronaut, the book is generally a good read. For someone not particularly interested in spacelife, I did enjoy his proverb-like maxims. ( )

It's just ok. It should just be renamed to 'Chris Hadfield: I Got Lucky' or something like that since the book seems to follow a timeline of the life of Chris. It does talk about his life when he's not in space, it's not that entertaining for the reader.

If someone asked me if they should buy the book and read it I would say 'NO, the book isn't worth your time.' ( )

It's December 2011, and it's Christmas at my dad's house. Actually it's Christmas everywhere, my point is that I am at my dad's house, and it's Christmas. My little sister hands me my present and I receive it with thanks. Except as I try to take it from her she doesn't let go. Instead she says something. And it's not “Merry Christmas!” Nor is it “I'm so blessed for having such an awesome big brother!” It's not even “If I ever spontaneously change sex like the dinosaurs in Jurassic Park then I hope my beard is as magnificent as yours!” No, what she says is “I'm sorry.” She's not apologising for some past transgression, though. She continues: “I don't know why I bought this for you, I just saw it in the shop and… oh God, I'm sorry.” And with that she finally lets go of the present.

It's fair to say I'm a little put out by this stage. There are certain scripted things one says when handing over a Christmas present. Usually “This one's for you” or “I hope you like it.” At worst someone might say “I've still got the receipt,” but rambling apologies aren't supposed to be on the script.

I open the present gingerly, and find myself the proud owner of a particularly fine looking trouser expander. For those who aren't as lucky as me and don't know what a trouser expander is: it's a smallish sausage shaped plastic pouch with an attached hand pump. When deflated the pouch fits snugly into one's underpants, but should the need to arise arise then one can surreptitiously give the pump a few swift squeezes through your pocket and hey presto, your trousers expand.

Alas! It turned out that there was a little hole in the pouch and so it would quickly deflate unless you were willing to do some rather furious pocket-pumping. And let me tell you, you only try that in public once.

In 2012 my sister was a bit more conventional in her choice of Christmas present. And then, this past Christmas, she handed me another small oblong shaped gift with the ominous words “I don't know if you'll like this or not.” It wasn't visions of sugar-plums that danced through my head upon hearing that so much as a battery of sex toys. I unwrapped the gift, half expecting an inflatable yet anatomically accurate pterodactyl to fall out. Instead what dropped into my lap was Chris Hadfield's An Astronaut's Guide to Life on Earth.

I, along with most people with the internet, had been following Chris Hadfield on Facebook for many months and am a great admirer of what he's achieved both scientifically and in that oh-so-difficult area of engaging the broader public. Basically, I'm a big fan of his. So when my sister added “I got it signed, by the way” then I suddenly came over all fanboyish and instantly forgave her for buying me a broken trouser expander. I mean for buying me a trouser expander.

I assumed the book would be Chris Hadfield's memoirs. Now he's retired from the Canadian Space Agency it seemed a reasonable guess. Instead the first chapter gives a breakneck summary of his life up to heading up to the ISS. After that it becomes a kind of anecdote-filled self-help book.

I have the kind of scorn for self-help books that comes from never having read one. In my mind they're filled with useless clichéd tat like “Before you can love others you have to love yourself” and “Dance like no one is listening” and “Don't mix whites and colours in the same wash”. Chris Hadfield's advice here is much more pragmatic. It's odd reading advice from someone who has commanded humanity's only space station. There's a danger that in explaining how he got where he is and scattering in anecdotes he'd make the reader feel like an unaccomplished cretin. But he doesn't. Instead I left the book feeling positive about myself and the world we live in – a world that can come together and build something as marvellous as the International Space Station and find people as magnificent as Chris Hadfield to put on it.

--

Edited P.S. I originally linked to Chris Hadfield's amazing cover of David Bowie's Space Oddity here, but Bowie only gave his permission for that version to stay online for one year and that time has passed. Of course, the intrepid explorer might still find it somehow. ( )

It's December 2011, and it's Christmas at my dad's house. Actually it's Christmas everywhere, my point is that I am at my dad's house, and it's Christmas. My little sister hands me my present and I receive it with thanks. Except as I try to take it from her she doesn't let go. Instead she says something. And it's not “Merry Christmas!” Nor is it “I'm so blessed for having such an awesome big brother!” It's not even “If I ever spontaneously change sex like the dinosaurs in Jurassic Park then I hope my beard is as magnificent as yours!” No, what she says is “I'm sorry.” She's not apologising for some past transgression, though. She continues: “I don't know why I bought this for you, I just saw it in the shop and… oh God, I'm sorry.” And with that she finally lets go of the present.

It's fair to say I'm a little put out by this stage. There are certain scripted things one says when handing over a Christmas present. Usually “This one's for you” or “I hope you like it.” At worst someone might say “I've still got the receipt,” but rambling apologies aren't supposed to be on the script.

I open the present gingerly, and find myself the proud owner of a particularly fine looking trouser expander. For those who aren't as lucky as me and don't know what a trouser expander is: it's a smallish sausage shaped plastic pouch with an attached hand pump. When deflated the pouch fits snugly into one's underpants, but should the need to arise arise then one can surreptitiously give the pump a few swift squeezes through your pocket and hey presto, your trousers expand.

Alas! It turned out that there was a little hole in the pouch and so it would quickly deflate unless you were willing to do some rather furious pocket-pumping. And let me tell you, you only try that in public once.

In 2012 my sister was a bit more conventional in her choice of Christmas present. And then, this past Christmas, she handed me another small oblong shaped gift with the ominous words “I don't know if you'll like this or not.” It wasn't visions of sugar-plums that danced through my head upon hearing that so much as a battery of sex toys. I unwrapped the gift, half expecting an inflatable yet anatomically accurate pterodactyl to fall out. Instead what dropped into my lap was Chris Hadfield's An Astronaut's Guide to Life on Earth.

I, along with most people with the internet, had been following Chris Hadfield on Facebook for many months and am a great admirer of what he's achieved both scientifically and in that oh-so-difficult area of engaging the broader public. Basically, I'm a big fan of his. So when my sister added “I got it signed, by the way” then I suddenly came over all fanboyish and instantly forgave her for buying me a broken trouser expander. I mean for buying me a trouser expander.

I assumed the book would be Chris Hadfield's memoirs. Now he's retired from the Canadian Space Agency it seemed a reasonable guess. Instead the first chapter gives a breakneck summary of his life up to heading up to the ISS. After that it becomes a kind of anecdote-filled self-help book.

I have the kind of scorn for self-help books that comes from never having read one. In my mind they're filled with useless clichéd tat like “Before you can love others you have to love yourself” and “Dance like no one is listening” and “Don't mix whites and colours in the same wash”. Chris Hadfield's advice here is much more pragmatic. It's odd reading advice from someone who has commanded humanity's only space station. There's a danger that in explaining how he got where he is and scattering in anecdotes he'd make the reader feel like an unaccomplished cretin. But he doesn't. Instead I left the book feeling positive about myself and the world we live in – a world that can come together and build something as marvellous as the International Space Station and find people as magnificent as Chris Hadfield to put on it.

--

Edited P.S. I originally linked to Chris Hadfield's amazing cover of David Bowie's Space Oddity here, but Bowie only gave his permission for that version to stay online for one year and that time has passed. Of course, the intrepid explorer might still find it somehow. ( )