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Ceridwen

Ceridwen

You kids get off my lawn. 

2312 - Kim Stanley Robinson My five-starring this was probably knee-jerk, spun as I was by the fresh-faced awe I experienced as a nerd seeking to recapture the nerd-awe of the planet spinning to a pin-prick, the harsh little port window into the black, the hard line of the imagined horizon with a tiny, space-suited person for mote-like scale. Science fiction nerds, this one anyway, live for the airless consideration of airlessness, a turning orrery of possibilities and the problems that underpin them. Which, oorah, this delivers.