'No Requiem for the Space Age' paints a portrait of a nation in the midst of questioning the very values that had guided it through the post-war years as it began to develop new conceptions of progress that had little to do with blasting ever more men to the moon. Here is a narrative of the 1960s and 1970s unlike any told before, with the story of Apollo as the story of America itself in a time of dramatic cultural change.

During the summer of 1969-the summer Americans first walked on the moon-musician and poet Patti Smith recalled strolling down the Coney Island Boardwalk to a refreshment stand, where "pictures of Jesus, President Kennedy, and the astronauts were taped to the wall behind the register." Such was the zeitgeist in the year of the moon. Yet this holy trinity of 1960s America would quickly fall apart. Although Jesus and John F. Kennedy remained iconic, by the time the Apollo Program came to a premature end just three years later few Americans mourned its passing. Why did support for the space program decrease so sharply by the early 1970s? Rooted in profound scientific and technological leaps, rational technocratic management, and an ambitious view of the universe as a realm susceptible to human mastery, the Apollo moon landings were the grandest manifestation of postwar American progress and seemed to prove that the United States could accomplish anything to which it committed its energies and resources. To the great dismay of its many proponents, however, NASA found the ground shifting beneath its feet as a fierce wave of anti-rationalism arose throughout American society, fostering a cultural environment in which growing numbers of Americans began to contest rather than embrace the rationalist values and vision of progress that Apollo embodied. Shifting the conversation of Apollo from its Cold War origins to larger trends in American culture and society, and probing an eclectic mix of voices from the era, including intellectuals, religious leaders, rock musicians, politicians, and a variety of everyday Americans, Matthew Tribbe paints an electrifying portrait of a nation in the midst of questioning the very values that had guided it through the postwar years as it began to develop new conceptions of progress that had little to do with blasting ever more men to the moon. No Requiem for the Space Age offers a narrative of the 1960s and 1970s unlike any told before, with the story of Apollo as the story of America itself in a time of dramatic cultural change.

This fluidly written first book uses Americans' reactions to the Apollo moon landings to examine cultural and social trends in the 1960s and 70s.

Fantasy-roman.

Antonio Tabucchi's novel Requiem is set in Lisbon on a torrid July day. The unnamed narrator - clearly a persona of Tabucchi himself - awaits a midnight appointment on a quay of the Tagus. His time is filled with a succession of encounters with residents of the Portuguese capital, and with late friends and relations. Part travelog, part autobiography, part fiction, Requiem at once becomes a homage to a country and a people and a farewell to the past; requiescat in pace. In all this, the narrator himself remains shadowy, walking in a dream atmosphere. The midnight appointment approaches. The narrator meets at last with another unnamed writer, now long dead, though the evidence points to the great poet Fernando Pessoa. Requiem thus ends as an act of succession, the narrator's claim to a literary forebear who, like himself, is of evasive and manifold personalities.

In this YA sci-fi, an heiress flees her controlling father to prevent her test-subject sister’s mind from being reprogrammed—but must ally with a smuggler to outwit a monstrous AI, gravity-shifting gladiatorial pits, and bloodthirsty criminal matriarchs to save her sister and their city.

"The chapter titles are intriguing: "To Hear Us Talk"; "Due Back on the Planet Earth: Toward a Definition of Spaciness"; "Departure of the Body Snatchers; or, the Confessions of a Carbon Chauvinist"; "Infinite Presumption"; "The Simulator"; and "The Abandoned Earth." Through these chapters and through "Probes" with titles such as "Gnosticism in the Cult Film" and "Space Boosters: The Marketing of Unearthliness," Lavery seeks to track the path of what Arendt calls the "twofold flight from the Earth into the universe and from the world into self"--a flight that in our time, and especially in America, would seem to have attained escape velocity."--BOOK JACKET.

From the Publisher: Proceedings of October 2007 conference, sponsored by the NASA History Division and the National Air and Space Museum, to commemorate the 50th anniversary of the Sputnik 1 launch in October 1957 and the dawn of the space age.

In a critical Cold War moment, Dwight D. Eisenhower's presidency suddenly changed when the Soviet Union launched Sputnik, the world's first satellite. What Ike called "a small ball" became a source of Russian pride and propaganda, and it wounded him politically, as critics charged that he responded sluggishly to the challenge of space exploration. Yet Eisenhower refused to panic after Sputnik-and he did more than just stay calm. He helped to guide the United States into the Space Age, even though Americans have given greater credit to John F. Kennedy for that achievement. In Eisenhower's Sputnik Moment, Yanek Mieczkowski examines the early history of America's space program, reassessing Eisenhower's leadership. He details how Eisenhower approved breakthrough satellites, supported a new civilian space agency, signed a landmark science education law, and fostered improved relations with scientists. These feats made Eisenhower's post-Sputnik years not the flop that critics alleged but a time of remarkable progress, even as he endured the setbacks of recession, medical illness, and a humiliating first U.S. attempt to launch a satellite. Eisenhower's principled stands enabled him to resist intense pressure to boost federal spending, and he instead pursued his priorities-a balanced budget, prosperous economy, and sturdy national defense. Yet Sputnik also altered the world's power dynamics, sweeping Eisenhower in directions that were new, even alien, to him, and he misjudged the importance of space in the Cold War's "prestige race." By contrast, Kennedy capitalized on the issue in the 1960 election, and after taking office he urged a manned mission to the moon, leaving Eisenhower to grumble over the young president's aggressive approach. Offering a fast-paced account of this Cold War episode, Mieczkowski demonstrates that Eisenhower built an impressive record in space and on earth, all the while offering warnings about America's stature and strengths that still hold true today.

In May 1961, President Kennedy announced that the United States would attempt to land a man on the moon and return him safely to the earth before the end of that decade. Yet NASA did not have a specific plan for how to accomplish that goal. Over the next fourteen months, NASA vigorously debated several options. At first the consensus was to send one big rocket with several astronauts to the moon, land and explore, and then take off and return the astronauts to earth in the same vehicle. Another idea involved launching several smaller Saturn V rockets into the earth orbit, where a lander would be assembled and fueled before sending the crew to the moon. But it was a small group of engineers led by John C. Houbolt who came up with the plan that propelled human beings to the moon and back—not only safely, but faster, cheaper, and more reliably. Houbolt and his colleagues called it “lunar orbit rendezvous,” or “LOR.” At first the LOR idea was ignored, then it was criticized, and then finally dismissed by many senior NASA officials. Nevertheless, the group, under Houbolt’s leadership, continued to press the LOR idea, arguing that it was the only way to get men to the moon and back by President Kennedy’s deadline. Houbolt persisted, risking his career in the face of overwhelming opposition. This is the story of how John Houbolt convinced NASA to adopt the plan that made history.