Writing was lovely, but seemed like a book written for book awards (this won the British Booker Award).
∙ Very little if almost no dialog.
∙ Lots of gazing out the window and commenting on the Earth (especially the typhoon).
∙ Lots of existential thought - which, when stuck on an orbiting spacecraft, I guess should be expected.
And comparatively, James by Percival Everett was SO MUCH BETTER. But it's quintessentially American (Twain, Mississippi River, American Slavery pre-Civil War) and the Booker is a British award, so there's that.
I did learn that I NEVER want to be stuck in space - AND - my significance on Earth is fleeting.