Thoughts having read the second half of the book!
I love how much Grace personalizes inanimate things. His whole ship is full of newly canonized mechanical friends and pets. The man just wants someone to love.
As a kid he used to daydream about being an astronaut and meeting aliens! Hate how he got there, love that he got to after all.
In the flashbacks Grace is consistently surprised when people like and respect him. He’s blown away to find out he’s the top scientist on Stratt’s base. He’s befuddled at being chosen to teach the crew about astrophage biology. He’s absolutely baffled that he’s asked to talk them through the ways they want to die post-mission, because, and I quote, “Stratt said something about the crew liking me more than anyone.” He seems to like and care for them all, even the ones who annoy and confuse him. But he still seems lonely with them, never asking for more than room to work, let alone friendship. And he had no idea other scientists from his former field would think to recommend him to Stratt, and doesn’t seem to properly process that even when she tells him.
Being (my read) audhd and a very young upstart in a very small field with all eyes on him really did a number on him. I don’t know if he’d gotten a lot of argument when he was assertive about his ideas as a student, and had thought it would be different and he’d be appreciated properly in the field—or if he’d always had teachers who were thrilled by his creativity and was brought up short by established scientists wanting more proof for bold new ideas. Either way, when he met pushback he lit a match to his career and left, and here he is years later still convinced people will find him something between frustrating and forgettable, and nothing more.
(The audhd loneliness of not reading cues well enough to know if you’re endearing or annoying people, or when their mood switches or why—it’s exhausting. No wonder he prefers teaching kids, who take his bluntness and snarkiness easily since they’re at a blunt and snarky age, and who are simply looking to him for the shared joy of daily infodumps. But—naturally enough in a facility filled with the top researchers in the world—almost his entire core team reads neurodivergent, to me. That might be why they enjoy and understand him so much more readily than he’s used to.)
In the crisis, Stratt’s anger when he refuses to go really reinforces his idea of being both frustrating and forgettable. She tells him she knows him, that he’s a coward. She calls him a dropout and accuses him of being a teacher only for the respect the children give him, not because he really cares about them. She says she only kept him around as a possible replacement for the science team, not because she really needed a middle school teacher (the opposite of what she says earlier—“there’s more to him than that”—which begs the question of how much of what she’s shouting is just bullshit. It still hurts to read). She says he is a good man but not strong enough to earn her respect.
I don’t know how much of her anger is because of everything she sacrificed for this. I don’t know if she talks to herself like that when she’s scared. I don’t know if she says any of that hoping it’ll galvanize him to prove her wrong, or if she believes it all. I do think she’s describing his shadow self pretty well—the most selfish and lonely parts of him. But I don’t think that’s even close to the whole of him. Even before he’s sent, he pushes and pushes through fear, shock, loneliness and dismissal to be where he is and do everything he can. He does it even though he’d rather be home, with his favorite diner and his friend Marissa and the fog over the Bay and the classroom where he feels safe and loved. He stays where he thinks he’s nobody, out of his depth and outclassed, to fill his part.
And aboard the Mary, that’s what he keeps doing, through the genuinely terrifying amount of setbacks as he and Rocky work on getting the taumoeba ready to take home. Things go wrong over and over but they keep on. When he finally remembers everything that happened with Stratt, it’s right after an essential astrophage test fails completely, and Grace spends maybe five minutes being profoundly heartbroken not that he was kidnapped or demeaned or betrayed, but that he hadn’t had the courage to volunteer for this. And then he gets back up and keeps working. It’s the bravest thing he does in the book, up till the end.
It also really gets me that Rocky coming to comfort him is what gets him up again; and almost the first thing Rocky says to him is, “I know you,” just like Stratt did. But instead of following it with, “You’re a coward,” Rocky says he knows Grace has another idea, because that’s who Grace is: he wants to understand, he wants to help, and he doesn’t give up when he’s needed. And while Stratt tells Grace, “You avoid risk like the plague,” Rocky tells Grace his next idea is too dangerous; but Grace says simply, “It’s worth the risk.” That could say a lot of things, but one thing it tells me is courage is not singular. It comes from all of us together. Stratt couldn’t shame courage into him, but Rocky could call it out as simply as saying they would do it together.
Rocky takes good care of Grace—makes sure he rests; teases and praises and pushes him gently. Reminds him he’s his friend and he wants him safe. And Grace takes very good care of Rocky in turn. Since Rocky showed up Grace has stopped breaking down over his dead crew. He still thinks of them fondly, but now that he has someone to tend to the grief is not crushing. He puts all his spare energy into making sure Rocky feels welcome—fills his living quarters with Rocky’s supplies and his work area with tunnels for him, answers all his million questions with joy, listens when Rocky is mourning his crew and the lonely years alone, praises and encourages him when he’s scared. He gets better and better at reading Rocky’s body language. He grumbles at him sometimes, but he keeps a fond eye on everything Rocky needs to be happy. Grace tends to his loves.
And he doesn’t seem to think it’s especially brave of him to do all the things he does. Not even rescuing Rocky after the spin out—in the book he’s the one who hauls him back into his habitat, and the blast of ammonia nearly blinds Grace, burns his body and his lungs. But he just does it, the same way he just does everything he can to save Earth regardless of the danger. He never questions whether it’s worth caring so much—for his planet, for his students, for his friend.
His utter joy and relief when Rocky tells him there’s a way for him to go home collapses into sadness when it’s actually time to leave Rocky and go. He won’t let Rocky take down his tunnels before he leaves—claims it’s so Earth scientists can study them but it’s clearly that he can’t bear it. He says there’s no joy left in the going, even to see Earth again, and for the first time since Rocky arrived, he cries tears of grief.
He sits and watches Rocky’s ship for hours, until it’s out of sight. Only then does he start for home.
He’s really not ready to go. He can’t stop thinking about how far away Rocky is getting, and how wrong it feels to sleep without him watching; and how the Earth he’s hurtling towards will have passed him by a full generation—his students grown, his friends and coworkers in grandparenting stage, while he’s still young. He does keep planning experiments, papers, Taumoeba calculations, all on his own, just like he did before Rocky. But it’s so clear he will never stop mourning Rocky if this goes on. “I wish Rocky was here,” he says, “I always wish Rocky was here.”
(This doesn’t mean he stops being funny. When the taumoeba get out and he’s trying everything to not end with his ship dead in the water, he calls them “little punks” and tells his taumoeba sterilization formula, “Go forth, my minions, and cause destruction!” Later, desperately running circles while searching for Rocky, he notes that he’s doing “the astronavigational equivalent of donuts in a parking lot.” He is nothing if not ready to laugh.)
So when he gets down to the final choice once more, the same one he couldn’t do for Stratt—go home and live, or go rescue Rocky and Erid and die—it somehow feels like a foregone conclusion. He is facing his own death by starvation, and he mourns; but he says, “All I see when I close my eyes is Rocky.” All the time he had aboard the Hail Mary to learn the habit of courage helped, I think. But being loved helped most. He knows when he dies, he will die held, not alone, satisfied with his choice.
But of course, once more, everyone lives. And imo the final chapter being titled in Eridian is an immediate giveaway that the Eridian scientists can prep the Hail Mary all they want but Grace is not going anywhere. He’s an Eridian now. Highly, highly recommend reading the book, if nothing else, for this final chapter. There are still tears but only happy ones. The details we don’t get to in the movie are great. He’s got thirty scientists tending to him. He’s decorated his dome to his taste. He can shine a flashlight outside to see what the Eridians are up to. He has a customized instrument to communicate with, and a full class (the kids are all around 30; apparently that’s middle school age for Eridians). Ten years in Grace seems deeply at home with himself and his life as Rocky’s best friend and Erid’s most interesting science specimen. And since Grace is now fluent in Eridian, Rocky’s full personality can shine. He’s rude and funny and so kind; it’s everything to me. And of course, it’s everything to Grace. He’s loved. He loves. He’s home.
