Reading Eugene Cernan's "The Last Man on the Moon" was an interesting and different experience for me. Most books I read can be broken down into one of two categories: read for the purposes of a vaguely scholarly autodidacticism, or read for the purposes of entertainment and personal growth. Cernan's memoir, however, falls somewhere in between. Not only am I immensely interested and entertained by space-science, space-travel, and the history of the space race in my own personal life, but I was also reading the book as a sort of research for a longstanding project.
Not only was I enjoying myself by simply going on the journey with Cernan, but I found myself approaching it with a more critical eye, searching for different pieces of information which would be useful to me, specific comments on times, places, peoples, ideas. I have legal pad absolutely filled to the brim with notes of Cernan's personal history, his point of view of the history of the program, and most importantly to me, the personal, emotional, mental epiphanies that occur when someone suddenly finds themselves living on another planet for three days.
Cernan's memoir is aided by his honesty. He isn't afraid to say what he thinks about certain people and their decisions, or, better yet, admit when his initials opinions of such things and people were wrong. He isn't afraid to take the blame when it is necessary, and as his time in the program progresses, he comes to realize that he can't be so quick to put the blame on others either. Such is one of the exciting things about "The Last Man on the Moon." Cernan doesn't write of himself or his adventures as though he were some otherworldly superhero, as people like me see him and all the other Astros. Cernan is a personal hero of mine, unique and almost untouchable, a "Chosen One" the likes of which the world hadn't seen before, and hasn't seen since. But he doesn't write of himself that way. He writes as though he were just an ordinary man, doing what he thinks to be right, and what he knows needs to be done. It is refreshing in its honesty. As well as in its use of humor. Cernan may have done the extraordinary, something accomplished by only eleven others, but he doesn't take himself terribly seriously. He isn't afraid to laugh at himself or the absurd bureaucracy of such a massive program
Cernan touches on the technical aspects admirably, without ever going into such extreme detail that it becomes boring. Rocket ships, lunar modules, and rovers are all incredible and massively interesting pieces of technology, but even such beautiful innovations can be boring if left to their own devices for an extended number of pages. Cernan and his co-author Don Davis realize early and often that it is not the machines that hold the most interest, but how they affect the humans controlling them.
Passages about the camaraderie of astronauts, pilots, administrators, and the relationship astronaut wives hold with their husbands, each other, and the press further prove this angle as successful. It isn't about the moon. It is about the humanity that said "we need to go there," and figured out a way to do so, dealing with even the direst of consequences, ranging from divorce, to end of friendships and careers, to deaths of loved ones. Though, perhaps this is also the one regard in which the book doesn't hold up as strong. Cernan beautifully explains and extrapolates on how his life was affected by being apart of the program, going to space and further, but there seems to be little information on why he wanted to be a part of such an elite group in this first place.
But, then again, I did start this book over two years ago, so maybe I've just forgotten some of the information. Such is the nature of a book you read looking for certain pieces of information, taking notes, looking at with a constantly critical fashion: it takes a long time to read. But, all for the better. It allows you more time with an extraordinary person, life, and time in the history of a universally unique species.