The best space history books that read like novels

I loved this book because it reignited my childhood obsession with the Apollo program and filled in many of the gaps in my understanding. Besides the technical hurdles which had to be overcome, it illustrates the challenges of a crash project populated by type-A personalities.

Beginning with the Apollo 1 fire and its aftermath, it offers engaging insights into the planning, the people, and the execution of each mission. The chapter devoted to Apollo 12 is especially entertaining, as Pete Conrad was one of the most colorful characters in the program and left an indelible stamp on their mission (propeller beanies and flying naked, for starters). It reads like three best friends on the road trip of a lifetime, which I suppose is exactly what it was.

The basis for the movie October Sky, this isn’t an account of the space program so much as it is a study of the types of people drawn to it, in particular a young man in 1950s West Virginia striving for something more than a life in the coal mines. The culture shock of Sputnik sets him and his friends off into increasingly dangerous—and often hilarious—experiments in amateur rocketry.

Set against an awkward adolescence in a small coal town, it’s a vivid illustration of the obstacles that must be overcome to break free of the cycles life can impose. The screen adaptation takes some liberties, most notably with Hickam’s father. The book portrays him as being cautiously supportive, if understandably skeptical, of his teenage son’s unlikely obsession.

Written by the command module pilot of the first lunar landing mission, this book appeals to me if only for the author’s lament that “the space program needed more English majors.” Terrific, where do I sign up?

Of the many astronaut memoirs, this is by far the most eloquently written. The late Mr. Collins’ command of the language and narrative skill provides a deeply personal glimpse into experiences few humans have had, in particular being left alone to orbit the moon while his Apollo 11 crewmates landed on its surface. Narratives of hair-raising spacewalks on the Gemini 10 mission and the comparatively mundane aspects of navigating his way through a complex government program are all equally engrossing.

By now, nearly everyone has seen Apollo 13, the movie based on this gripping account by the mission’s commander. The book delves into both the events themselves and the background of the mission in ways a movie cannot, including an unlikely event during the spacecraft’s assembly, which ultimately led to the oxygen tank explosion.

Of all the hard-charging, high-achieving astronauts, Mr. Lovell was perhaps the most “normal” of the group, which I think is illustrated by the fact that he was one of the few to get through the Apollo program with his marriage intact. His humanity, intelligence, and determination shine forth in this account, illustrating what it took to survive their ordeal.

This is an enlightening memoir from the founder and driving force of Mission Control at the beginning of the space program. Kraft’s account offers a more complete understanding of this era, with behind-the-scenes perspectives which are no less gripping than those of the more celebrated astronauts.

He deftly illustrates the tension of making rapid-fire decisions with life-or-death consequences, often with incomplete information. While both controllers and astronauts had strong technical backgrounds, and equally strong personalities, flight directors required a different mindset which Mr. Kraft likens to conducting an orchestra. His accounts of certain events, when juxtaposed against those of the astronauts involved, demonstrate why the people doing the flying are not necessarily the ones who should be running the program—which can be a staggeringly hard sell when pitted against forceful characters hailed as national heroes.