Sometimes a book is so authentic that the author makes you live it. Geographical distances, or the breadth of time bridged between a line of prose and the moment in which it is read are erased and you’re there. It’s an alchemy that even the most celebrated, established writers don’t always achieve, so I was pleasantly surprised to find myself recently at the birth of NASA’s Space Race and breathing dust from the salt flats of the Mojave Desert courtesy of a debut novelist from Norwich. The Last Pilot centres on Jim Harrison, burdened by the pressures exerted by both his personal and professional lives, he’s holding himself together no matter the cost. This is a novel about mental fragility, sacrifices, love, and the interstellar distances we sometimes have to travel internally just to find a level for ourselves. With comparisons to both Cormac McCarthy and Ernest Hemingway, it’s taut, intense, and you can fair feel the sinews of it in the dialogue. It’s a lean, skilfully woven tapestry of space, science, grief, and the heroes at the forefront of a new age of discovery. I find it very hard to convey how much I loved it, but believe me when I tell you that this is quietly tender and deeply affecting novel by an unmissable new talent.

This book is a remarkable achievement. Taking a peak at the grim reality of being involved in the space race - as a husband and a father - as well as a pilot. Brilliant.