It’s odd that Batchelor chose the word “true” in the title, because he tells an outlandishly improbable story, one in which an unknown Soviet moon mission in July of 1969 is perhaps the most believable element.



The Soviet Union sought monumental publicity for its accomplishments, shamelessly placing its heroes on literal posters and atop metaphorical pedestals. Meanwhile, the state shrouded its failures with lies and obfuscations; while many were too large to be completely obscured, neither could

It’s odd that Batchelor chose the word “true” in the title, because he tells an outlandishly improbable story, one in which an unknown Soviet moon mission in July of 1969 is perhaps the most believable element.



The Soviet Union sought monumental publicity for its accomplishments, shamelessly placing its heroes on literal posters and atop metaphorical pedestals. Meanwhile, the state shrouded its failures with lies and obfuscations; while many were too large to be completely obscured, neither could an onlooker get a true knowledge of their size and shape. Given these tendencies, and the various real-life calamities and near-calamities that overtook its space program (Voshkod 2, Soyuz 1, the failure of the N1 rockets), many additional stories and legends have cropped up regarding Soviet space missions gone awry. And the notion of an unknown Soviet moon mission is a fascinating premise for a novel, an idea so intriguing that I couldn’t forget about it once I’d heard of it. Consequently, this book’s been in my mental “to-read” pile for a decade or so, albeit constantly displaced by more available novels.



I don’t know if any book could have lived up to the pressure I’d placed on this one by thinking about it for so long; I do know I was disappointed. Strangely, the book’s not just about a Russian moon landing, but about a Soviet bureaucracy literally at war with itself, riven with personal hatreds that would seem petty if they weren’t so deep. Indeed, the book’s stated main plot ends up nearly obscured by absurd subplots—abductions, assassination attempts, bureaucratic infighting that turns into just plain fighting, and all sorts of similar shenanigans. Were it not for the promise of the titular moon landing, I’m not sure I would have finished it—and yet there are plenty of interesting nuggets to be seen along the winding road from the beginning of the story to our final brief glimpses of moon rock. For all the diversions, Batchelor is a great writer, one who can grapple with the same timeless questions as other writers while still turning a phrase into something new enough and different enough that it rewards the patient reader. “But can you answer for me how much of a life is willful choice and how much is unavoidable fate?” his narrator asks, and while the question itself isn’t new, the phrasing is subtle and interesting enough to make us consider it again.



One wishes Batchelor could have indulged in these asides while attaching them to a more straightforward and realistic story. There are plenty of details out there now about the Soviet moon program, enough that one could probably write a book like this in a more mock-documentary style; I know I’ve been sucked into several Wikipedia wormholes while researching this topic, and I’m tempted to take my own crack at the topic. And yet, this one remains an intriguing, if flawed read. For in its hyperbole and outlandishness, the book gets at an inherent contrast in the Soviet state—the first country to place a man in outer space was also one of the cruelest, a place of both great and deplorable accomplishments, of noble ideals poisoned by ego and ignoble realities tempered by humanity, a place where a man could (and many men did) end up heroic, imprisoned, or both in turn.

