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> So you end up with lots of scenes where one character has to come across as clueless so that the other character can explain things to them (and to the reader

> So you end up with lots of scenes where one character has to come across as clueless so that the other character can explain things to them (and to the reader). This is not how normal conversations between people at mission control would go. Realistic conversations would be nearly incomprehensible to someone who is not an expert, thanks to all the shorthand. People wouldn’t be explaining things in great detail, instead other people would be cutting them off mid-thought, already seeing where they are going and jumping to the next logical conclusion. Sounds a little like "everyone at NASA is a genius". Well, probably not. Routine stuff in mission control - ok. But when there's off-nominal stuff, there will definitely be people that have no idea what's going on and need extra explanations. People at mission control are highly specialized, I guess, so why should someone doing X instantly know what's going wrong with Y? Also, there's administration, and some of those scenes are about convincing administrative people. They surely have technical understanding, but there would still be some explaining going on. > In reality, upon being stranded, an astronaut would probably sit down and figure out in a few hours and a few pages of calculations what it takes Watney weeks, and lots of trial and error, to sort out. No. Also astronauts are no all-knowing geniuses. They specifically are not looking for people that are incredibly awesome in certain areas and know everything about that topic, they are looking for people that do not underperform in any field. They don't need geniuses, they need workers who do a job that is pretty much pre-determined. And yes they need to be quick thinkers and stuff, need to be able to draw logical conclusions etc. But they definitely do not need to have all knowledge about any probably relevant topic in their head (as far as I remember Watney didn't have a dump of Wikipedia with him. Why the f ever they wouldn't send a copy with them. That'd be the first thing I'd put on a rocket to Mars).

morelisp 5y ago
For a more realistic depiction, along both Weir's suggestions (opaque explanations) and yours ("workers who do a job that is pretty much pre-determined"), I'd suggest Ian Sales's Adrift on the Sea of Rains which features a fictional commander stranded on a late-Cold-War moon base. Lots of jargon, no infodumps, no context for the reader (towards good literary effect). In the grey gunpowder dust, he stands in the pose so familiar from televised missions. He leans forward to counterbalance the weight of the PLSS on his back; the A7LB’s inflated bladder pushes his arms out from his sides. And he stares up at that grey-white marble fixed mockingly above the horizon. He listens to the whirr of the pumps, his own breath an amniotic susurrus within the confines of his helmet. The noises reassure him—sound itself he finds comforting in this magnificent desolation. If he turns about—blurring bootprints which might otherwise last for millennia—he sees the blanket-like folds of mountains, grey upon grey, and a plain of the same lack of colour, all painted with scalpel-edged shadows. Over there, to his right, the scattered descent stages of LM Trucks and Augmented LMs fill the mare; and one, just one, still with its ascent stage. Another, he knows, is nearly twenty years old, a piece of abandoned history; but he does not know which one. A click from his radio reminds Peterson where he is. The voice of Major Philip Scott, USMC, his XO, follows: We’re about ready to make another evolution. Peterson glances at the Omega strapped about his spacesuited forearm and sees that he’s been out for half an hour. The PLSS is good for a seven-hour EVA. He says, I’ll watch it from out here.

morelisp 5y ago

For a more realistic depiction, along both Weir's suggestions (opaque explanations) and yours ("workers who do a job that is pretty much pre-determined"), I'd suggest Ian Sales's Adrift on the Sea of Rains which features a fictional commander stranded on a late-Cold-War moon base. Lots of jargon, no infodumps, no context for the reader (towards good literary effect). In the grey gunpowder dust, he stands in the pose so familiar from televised missions. He leans forward to counterbalance the weight of the PLSS on his back; the A7LB’s inflated bladder pushes his arms out from his sides. And he stares up at that grey-white marble fixed mockingly above the horizon. He listens to the whirr of the pumps, his own breath an amniotic susurrus within the confines of his helmet. The noises reassure him—sound itself he finds comforting in this magnificent desolation. If he turns about—blurring bootprints which might otherwise last for millennia—he sees the blanket-like folds of mountains, grey upon grey, and a plain of the same lack of colour, all painted with scalpel-edged shadows. Over there, to his right, the scattered descent stages of LM Trucks and Augmented LMs fill the mare; and one, just one, still with its ascent stage. Another, he knows, is nearly twenty years old, a piece of abandoned history; but he does not know which one. A click from his radio reminds Peterson where he is. The voice of Major Philip Scott, USMC, his XO, follows: We’re about ready to make another evolution. Peterson glances at the Omega strapped about his spacesuited forearm and sees that he’s been out for half an hour. The PLSS is good for a seven-hour EVA. He says, I’ll watch it from out here.