Artemisa (Spanish Edition) — A Lunar Heist Powered by Real Science

Andy Weir's second novel is a heist story set on the Moon, and it's exactly as fun and nerdy as that sounds.

Bottom Line: A sharp, science-driven lunar heist that trades emotional depth for worldbuilding precision and creative problem-solving. If you loved El marciano's MacGyver energy but want a scrappier, morally flexible protagonist, this delivers. Skip it if you need deep character work or an emotional gut-punch — that's not what's on offer here.

I came to Artemisa after devouring El marciano and Proyecto Hail Mary in quick succession, and while this one doesn't hit the same emotional highs, it scratches a very specific itch: the pleasure of watching a smart, scrappy protagonist MacGyver her way through problems using actual science. Jazz Bashara is a small-time smuggler living in humanity's first lunar city, barely making rent as a porter, when she gets roped into a sabotage job that spirals into something much bigger. If Mark Watney was the lovable botanist-engineer, Jazz is his street-smart, morally flexible cousin who grew up welding aluminum habitats instead of growing potatoes on Mars.

Listening to this on my commute over the course of a week, I found myself genuinely impressed by Weir's worldbuilding. Artemisa feels like a real place — the economics of a lunar settlement, how the air supply works, why the city is structured the way it is, how welding behaves in a vacuum. These aren't throwaway details. They become the actual mechanics of the plot. When Jazz needs to solve a problem, the solution comes from the physics and engineering Weir has already established. That kind of internal consistency is rare, and it's what separates Weir from writers who just use space as wallpaper.

Isabel Valls narrates the Spanish edition, and she handles the material with steady professionalism. Jazz is supposed to be a wisecracking twentysomething with attitude, and Valls captures that energy without overdoing it. The translation by Javier Guerrero Gimeno reads naturally — I didn't catch any of those awkward constructions that sometimes plague translated genre fiction. At just under eleven hours, the pacing keeps things moving briskly. No mid-book sag, which is a real achievement for a plot that involves this much technical explanation.

Where Artemisa falls short compared to Weir's other work is in its emotional core. El marciano had Mark Watney's isolation and the entire world rooting for his survival. Proyecto Hail Mary had a relationship that genuinely moved me. Artemisa has Jazz's complicated history with her father and a handful of friendships that feel a bit thin. Jazz herself is entertaining company — she's funny, resourceful, and refreshingly imperfect — but the supporting cast doesn't leave much of an impression. The villain's motivations are functional rather than fascinating. You're here for the lunar heist mechanics and the creative problem-solving, not for deep character work.

And honestly? That's fine. Not every book needs to make you cry. What Artemisa does well is put you inside a pressure suit and make you feel the vacuum on the other side. There's a sequence involving EVA work and deliberate sabotage that had me white-knuckling my steering wheel during rush hour traffic. Weir has this gift for making technical danger feel visceral — you understand exactly why cutting this wire or opening that valve could kill everyone, because he's spent the preceding chapters teaching you the system without you realizing you were learning.

The conspiracy plot is serviceable. It involves corporate control over Artemisa's oxygen supply and aluminum production, and while the stakes are genuinely high, the twists are fairly predictable if you've read much in the genre. Jazz figures things out at roughly the pace you'd expect, and the resolution is satisfying without being surprising. Think of it as a competent thriller engine driving a spectacular setting. That competent-thriller-driving-great-setting formula also describes A Kingdom of Flesh and Fire, which I rated higher than I expected to — the plot mechanics are workmanlike but the world kept pulling me back in the same way Artemisa's lunar economics did.

One thing I appreciated about listening in Spanish specifically: the audiobook feels polished. The production quality is clean, Valls maintains consistent energy throughout, and the translation preserves Weir's conversational, joke-heavy prose style. Jazz's sarcasm lands well in Spanish, which isn't always guaranteed with translated humor.

For anyone who loved the problem-solving DNA of El marciano but wants something different in tone — younger protagonist, urban setting (well, lunar-urban), criminal underworld flavor — Artemisa delivers. It's lighter fare than Weir's best work, but it's smart, propulsive, and genuinely educational about how a lunar colony might actually function. The science feels earned, not handwaved, and that alone puts it ahead of most sci-fi out there.

Just don't come in expecting the emotional punch of Watney stranded alone on Mars. Come in expecting a clever woman with a welding torch and a bad plan, and you'll have a great time.