Catriona Nunn Sam Harvey’s Booker Prize win for Orbital was both surreal and transformative. Sam talks to Alumni Voices about her unexpected journey, and her path to becoming a writer. From exploring philosophical fiction at York to teaching in Japan, her experiences shaped a novel that blends realism with existential inquiry. She shares her insights on the writing process, the challenges of authenticity, and her advice to aspiring authors: just write.
“Since winning the Booker Prize it’s been wonderful, but honestly, there’s been very little downtime. A friend joked, “Why aren’t you on a yacht somewhere?” and I thought, “Yeah, why am I still working?” There was a lot of celebrating – more champagne than I’ve ever had – but then the work kicked in again. I didn’t really get a break until Christmas when I just switched my out-of-office on and took some time to myself. It’s been a huge adjustment, and I’m still learning how to balance it all. But overall, I feel incredibly grateful.
I fully expected not to win. I had planned that after the ceremony once I found out I didn’t win I was going to come home and stop all publicity. I thought, “That’s it, I’ve done a year of publicity, that’s plenty,” so I was ready to really wind down. And, of course, that’s not what happened! It’s wonderful, but it’s just been a case of, “Right, okay, we’ve got to do the final push.” It’s been really busy, and I think it’s going to be a very busy year. If you’re a writer winning the Booker is more than you could ever dream of, so you just have to go with it. It feels like the biggest affirmation, validation and liberation you could ever hope for in your career. It’s not straightforward, though, because it brings a lot more pressure and a certain degree of expectation and demand. But overall, it’s such a spectacular thing to have happened. When you’re a writer there’s a lot of unpredictability. It’s quite a vulnerable way to make a living, and it’s financially precarious. So, to have this validation and to have a lot of those surface work worries taken away is quite an extraordinary thing. I’m still adjusting to it – it’s taking a lot of getting used to.
I studied Philosophy and English at York – way back! I graduated in 1998 and I was in Alcuin College. I absolutely loved being at York. It was, without a doubt, one of the happiest times of my life. University, for so many people, is completely formative, and it was for me. I still have lots of friends from those days, and some of them still live in York, so I go back now and then. I loved my course, but I remember in my Philosophy degree interview, I didn’t know much about philosophy. I just thought, “I quite fancy that.” The interviewer asked me which philosophers I liked and which books I’d read. I cited a couple of what I’d call philosophical novels, like The Unbearable Lightness of Being by Kundera – the interviewer was quick to point out that wasn’t philosophy, and I had to go away and read some proper philosophy.
It’s interesting because even though I did that and loved my degree, my love of philosophical fiction never really went away. And more than 20 years later, I circled back and ended up doing a PhD on writing philosophical fiction, how to do it and the difficulties involved. I feel like that journey began right there in that interview, being told, “This isn’t philosophy,” and having to question it. It’s fascinating how things come full circle.
I do think novels are one of the best ways to explore big questions. Not necessarily to do philosophy in the strictest sense, but to open up ideas and examine them. It’s not easy, though, because you also have a responsibility to your reader: to keep them engaged and make the narrative propulsive. It’s always a balancing act, and I think that interest all started for me at York.”
Although Sam always loved language and reading, she didn’t begin writing seriously until her late twenties. Her first foray into fiction began while living in Japan, where she taught English. It was during this time that she realised her desire to engage with language on a deeper level, leading her to write short stories and eventually commit to writing a novel. With no guarantee of success, Sam took a leap of faith, dedicating herself to the craft despite the financial risks involved.
“I always loved language and reading. But I didn’t start writing novels until I was about 28. To me now, that seems young, but at the time, it felt quite late.
I was living in Japan, teaching English. I loved being there, but I was teaching very basic, often boring English, and I found myself getting frustrated. I wanted to engage with language in a more interesting way, so I started writing short stories. And then I thought, “Okay, I want to write a novel.”
I saved up money while I was there, came home, and spent 18 months writing a novel at my kitchen table. It wasn’t published, but I loved the process, and that’s when I decided writing was what I wanted to do.
For me, it didn’t feel like discipline because I loved doing it. I’ve always felt that about writing – you need routine, but if you love it, you’ll do it whether you’re being paid or not. But it is a gamble. At that point, I had no idea if I’d ever be published. I assumed I wouldn’t, but I took the chance anyway. It’s an ongoing gamble – of money, time, and energy. Even after you’re published, financial stability isn’t guaranteed. Most writers I know, including myself until recently, are living pretty precariously.”
The idea for Orbital was born from Sam’s fascination with images of Earth from space. She found herself captivated by their beauty and sought to translate that feeling into words. Though the novel was never intended to be set in space, it gradually evolved into a reflective exploration of the human experience within the vastness of the universe. Sam approached the subject not as a sci-fi writer, but as a realist, aiming to depict the daily routines and challenges faced by astronauts in a uniquely human way.
“It’s hard for me to give a conclusive answer to what inspired the story. I should be able to by now, but the more time passes, the less clear it becomes what exactly fuelled it. I do know that I was looking at a lot of images of Earth from space, and I was feeling something quite profound about them – something I wanted to put into words. I wanted to see if I could capture that feeling in writing. I think I saw this book as much as a piece of music or a painting as I did a novel. At first, I didn’t even intend for it to be set in space. I wanted to write something reflective and almost pastoral, with elements of nature writing. Space came into it by chance. But the more I thought about it, the more it seemed like the perfect setting.
I also realised I could write a realist novel, which is what I do – I’m not a sci-fi writer. I love realism, and it struck me that the International Space Station is a very real environment. We’ve been living in space continuously for over 25 years now, and yet no one had really written about it in that way before. What fascinated me was how ordinary life up there is. There’s vacuuming, fixing the toilet, meal planning – everything we do here on Earth, just in an extraordinary setting.”
Writing Orbital presented a number of challenges for Sam, particularly in terms of self-permission and authenticity. She initially doubted whether he had the right to write about space, having never experienced it firsthand. However, she ultimately embraced the challenge, recognising that fiction is rooted in empathy and imagination. Capturing the mindset of astronauts was another hurdle, but Sam relied on extensive research and emotional insight to craft a believable and compelling narrative.
“I think the biggest challenge at the start was giving myself permission to write about a topic I had no experience in. I actually started the book, then gave up after a few thousand words. I had this overwhelming doubt: who was I to write about space? I’ve never been there and never will be. Why would anyone care what I had to say about it? That feeling was so strong that I abandoned it for a while. But I eventually decided to just give it my best shot. Fiction is all about empathy and imagination, and I realised I could still bring something to the subject.
The other challenge was stepping into the mindset of an astronaut. I am so not an astronaut – I’m not daring, I’m not adventurous, I’m not practical. So I kept questioning whether I was truly capturing their experience, or just projecting my own non-astronaut traits onto them.
I’ve since had some lovely feedback from people in the space industry, including an astronaut I’ve become friends with. She’s pointed out things I got wrong, but also things I got right, especially the emotional aspects. That’s been really rewarding.”
For those hoping to break into the literary world, Sam’s advice is simple — just write. She believes that the act of writing itself is what brings ideas to life. Writing should come from a place of necessity and passion, rather than overthinking or aiming for perfection from the start.
“I have a really boring routine – it’s very nine-to-five. I treat writing like a job, which helps me stay productive. I’m quite a routine-driven person, so I tell myself, “Right, these are my working hours,” and I just get on with it. If I sat around waiting for inspiration, I’d probably never write a thing. Most days, I sit down and think, “I’m not feeling it today,” but within 10 minutes, something starts to flow. I find inspiration comes through the act of doing, not waiting. I think you just have to show up and trust that the ideas will come. I also kept a live stream of Earth from space running on my computer while I wrote – it helped to keep me connected to the setting and the feeling I wanted to capture.
My advice to aspiring writers is simple: just write, don’t overthink it. A book that only exists in your head will never get published. You need to sit down and actually do it. And write from the heart – write because you have something to say, even if you’re not sure what that something is yet. I think writing should come from a sense of necessity. There are so many books out there, but if you feel compelled to add your voice to that, then you should do it.
If I could go back to my university days, the advice I’d give my younger self would be to trust the process. I spent so much time worrying about what I was going to do with my life, but looking back, everything worked out in its own way. I think we often stress too much about having a clear plan, but life tends to unfold as it should.
I’m working on a new novel – it’s a love story, though that’s all I can say for now. I’m also working on a stage adaptation of a Barbara Pym novel, Quartet in Autumn. Exciting times ahead!”
