I've got a problem with Andy Weir and his gripping, immaculately-scientific, personality-driven, first-person, man-against-an-impossible-problem, astronaut everyman books.

That problem is that I can't put them down. It happens every time I read The Martian, no matter how many times I read The Martian, and I know it's going to happen here too. Ryland Grace's devil-may-care retrograde-amnesia-fueled save-the-world-from-an-existential-threat story is just too enthralling.

Why is this a problem? Because I need to sleep, Weir! I don't have time for your perfectly-plotted twenty-course meal of fascinating ideas I've never seen in a sci-fi novel before! I don't have time for your surprisingly-good interpersonal chemistry! Humans are stupid when we need sleep!

So I start the book, even if I've read it before, and I know that no matter when I start it, I'm going to spend hours reading about a protagonist scienceing some intractable problem, understanding everything because he's a genius, being appropriately self-effacing when he makes a mistake, naming things laconically or with copious pop culture references, and eventually becoming a master of some incredibly specific task nobody has ever done before with no other human around to know what a savant he is. I'm going to spend that time, enjoy every minute of it, and then be exhausted the next morning!

I'm begging you, Weir. Just write a slightly more boring book. I promise I'll still read it, just maybe not all in one sitting.