Orbital is not an easy read. It demands effort and patience to grasp what’s unfolding. There’s no conventional plot, no direct dialogue—just a stream of impressions and reflections that pass quickly, often without resolution. Does it make sense? That’s for the reader to work out.
The novel follows a single day aboard a space station that orbits Earth sixteen times. Through these cycles, we encounter six astronauts from vastly different backgrounds—American, Russian, Italian, British, and Japanese—each of whom has committed to life and work in space. Their cultural differences shape their perspectives, yet they share common emotional terrain: the loneliness of being far from loved ones, and the awe of floating above the planet.
Harvey presents their lives in fragments—snapshots both literal and metaphorical. The crew tracks a typhoon building over Asia, takes photographs, recalls artwork, eats, exercises, and reflects. These glimpses offer data points about each character, but never a complete portrait. This mirrors their view of Earth: partial, obscured, requiring faith to fill in the gaps. The typhoon’s trajectory, like the inner lives of the crew, remains elusive.
With no spoken dialogue, the novel evokes the solitude of orbit. Each revolution around the planet reframes what “home” means, especially when viewed from such distance. The astronauts’ thoughts drift toward their families, their countries, and the landscapes below—each pass offering a new angle, a new emotional resonance.
Ultimately, Orbital is a quiet meditation on perspective, isolation, and connection. The storm on Earth parallels the internal storms each astronaut carries. You don’t know where it will strike, or how hard—but you feel its presence, circling with them.
The Source 4 Books 