During the total solar eclipse on 12 August, scientists from around the world will have their eyes – and scientific instruments – on the sun. But even if you aren’t a scientist, you can help in their investigations, both during the eclipse and year-round.

A total solar eclipse occurs when the sun and moon line up just right so that the moon blocks out the entire disc of the sun from the perspective of Earth. It is a huge cosmic coincidence that both the sun and the moon happen to be just the right size and at the right distance to give us such a spectacle, and a scientifically useful one at that.

On 12 August, a total eclipse will be visible over parts of Europe and the Arctic and Atlantic oceans, with a partial eclipse covering much of Europe, Canada, north-west Africa and parts of the US. An eclipse like this one is visible from somewhere on Earth just once every 18 months approximately, so during each eclipse, scientists rush out to gather as much data as they can. Here are some ways that you can help out:

1. Record shadow bands from the path of totality: In the moments before and after a total solar eclipse, strange phenomena called shadow bands billow across the ground. These bands are caused by the combination of Earth’s atmosphere and the hidden disc of the sun – it is similar to the effect that causes more distant stars to twinkle. If you are in the path of totality, all you have to do to see them is set out a white sheet or piece of cardboard perpendicular to the direction of the sun. To , which aims to quantify how shadow bands differ based on altitude and distance from the centre of totality, just set up a camera to film the sheet.

2. Photograph the sun with your smartphone: The sun is very nearly spherical, but it isn’t perfect. One of the best ways to measure its shape with precision is to have lots of pictures taken from lots of different locations – that’s what does. It’s a smartphone app that you can set up and leave running as you enjoy watching the eclipse, and it will take carefully timed pictures to capture a phenomenon called Baily’s Beads, or the diamond ring effect. When the very last of the sun is about to be covered by the moon, the lunar landscape lets through tiny points of light, which shine along its edge. The same happens when the other side of the moon is just about to let the sun shine past it again, and these points of light are Baily’s Beads. When lots of photos of the beads, all precisely geolocated, are combined with a map of the lunar topography, that can give us an extraordinarily precise measurement of how far the disc of the sun is from a perfect circle.

3. Measure the darkening of the sky during the eclipse: Even if you are only going to see a partial eclipse, you can still help with scientific research. The Gaia4Sustainability project requires a little bit more equipment and set-up time, but once you have it sorted, you can leave it running all year round and keep collecting useful data. It consists of a small device with a bunch of sensors on it to measure the brightness of the sky and other meteorological factors, and the overarching goal of the programme is to measure light pollution so we can better understand its effects. But during the eclipse, the same sensors can be used to , and the more different spots the team has data from, the more they will be able to learn about atmospheric dynamics during eclipses.

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4. Hunt for sun-grazing comets: As is the case for pretty much all astronomical events, a huge portion of the world won’t be able to see August’s total eclipse at all. Not to worry! There are still ways to get involved in solar science. In the , you can download satellite pictures of the sun and look for moving objects on its outskirts. Some of the objects will be comets skimming past the sun, and once researchers know those comets are there, they can do more detailed research. A huge proportion of the known comets were discovered through Sungrazer. All it takes is a computer, an internet connection and some spare time.

5. Join a DEB observation team for next year: If you want to do something a bit more involved, the might be more up your street. It’s an scheme where teams receive training and some relatively basic equipment to observe eclipses across the path of totality, building up a huge repository of data that can then be used to study the evolution of the corona, the outermost layer of the sun’s atmosphere. Because of the training required, it is too late to join or create a DEB team for this year, but if you are going to be able to spot the 2027 eclipse that will sweep over northern Africa, you can sign up ahead of time.

Even during the eclipse, you shouldn’t look directly at the sun without a solar filter or eclipse glasses to protect your eyes.

I am on holiday later this month, so I’m pleased to find there’s a really wide range of intriguing new science fiction to take with me. I’m particularly keen to get cracking on a tale by Sheila Armstrong about strange ancient things found in a bog, but I’m also excited to read a new book by one of my favourite authors, Paul Tremblay (even if it does sound very disturbing). And I’m looking forward to the high-concept thrillers and classic space-set sci-fi on offer, too – not forgetting the first new Red Dwarf novel released in 30 years.

by Ruth Newton

This sounds a little Severance-like and ideal summer reading for those of us who enjoy a good high-concept thriller. It’s set in a near future where you can outsource your emotional pain thanks to a biotech company, Eudaimonia. Sounds good, right? You can get rid of your unwanted negative emotions. But the price is paid by a “Carrier” – a woman who is paid to take on your pain. When Viv goes to work for Eudaimonia, she discovers even darker secrets.

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by Paul Tremblay

I’m super excited about this one. I’ve loved Paul Tremblay ever since I read the absolutely terrifying Shirley Jackson-inflected A Head Full of Ghosts. This time Tremblay has written a piece of AI horror, set in a near future where former professional gamer Julia is offered a temporary job escorting a man in a vegetative state from California to the East Coast. Why is the man in this state? Because he has an AI mind implanted in his head – and he is trapped in a strange and morphing hellscape he can’t escape. Loved the great riff on Philip K. Dick in the title.

by Deb Olin Unferth

Set at “the end of the world as we know it”, as its publisher writes, this follows two women who fall in love – one of them raised in a research pod deep in the ocean, and the other who works in a luxury resort as a bartender (but who may also be a robot). Together, they try to “salvage some trace of planet Earth” as it slowly disappears.

by Riley August

Ellis feels something is missing from his seemingly perfect life, so he sets out for the hedonistic world of Planet Happy. Nara is the attendant tasked with ensuring that Ellis will indeed find happiness on his trip, but activists disrupt the visit, and they set out on an adventure together.

by Sheila Armstrong

I have this on my bedside table ready to read when I get a minute – it’s the book I’m most looking forward to in July. It follows a dog’s uncovering of a strange antler in a restored bog, which leads to the discovery that the peat is an ancient dying ground of the Great Irish Elk. These aren’t the first things to be found in the bog. Archaeologists have already discovered prehistoric settlements and the mutilated body of a woman, 2,000 years old. And the deep time of the bog seems to have a sinister influence over the lives of those who have been touched by it.

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by Nadia Afifi

Azad is a fugitive, hunted by the Vitruvian Authorities after he exposed his home planet’s dark secrets. If he really wants to spark rebellion, Azad needs the help of a space pirate with her own agenda – and they must revisit the past.

by Rob Grant and Andrew Marshall

The first new Red Dwarf novel in 30 years is a prequel, written by co-creator Rob Grant and Andrew Marshall, creator of the sitcom 2point4Children. It sees the mining ship Red Dwarf orbiting Saturn’s moon Titan, with the crew – including Lister and Rimmer – all planning their latest shore leave. (Lister, interestingly, is planning to find a cat to smuggle back on board…). But everyone’s plans go awry when a cryptic message from the future arrives.

by Gregory Bastianelli

A blend of science fiction and horror, this follows a doctor, Monica Cucinotta, working in an Italian hospital on the frontlines of a deadly virus which causes thorns to erupt on the bodies of its victims. When she is infected , she has to leave the hospital and travel across a devastated world to get back to her loved ones.

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by Claire McGowan

This sounds terrifying – and pleasingly Handmaid’s Tale-ish. It’s set in a version of Great Britain ruled by the Hope Party, where a series of new laws have made a swathe of changes, including a rewilding of the countryside, and a prioritisation of children’s rights. But fertility is constantly monitored, and abortion and contraception are banned. Kate is is too scared to say anything against these new norms, but is forced to take action when her daughter becomes pregnant.

by Rebecca Thorne

I like the look of this piece of cosy science fiction, in which Torian acquires an ancient and abandoned starship covered in moss. But when Torian sets out on board, keen to get away from her overbearing ex-captain (and ex) Amelia, she discovers that the moss is in fact Moss, the ship’s organic computer, and it has a mind of its own.

by David Arlo

This sounds rather silly but also fun. It follows game developer Hal, who has been working for years on “the most anticipated video game of all time”, in which players enter a fully immersive virtual reality where they can live their fantasies. Hal needs to do a final test off the record to see if he can genuinely achieve total immersion, so tries it out on his family – only to discover they can’t escape from the game. So, he goes in to save them and bring them back to reality.

by Christian Kracht, translated by Daniel Bowles

Kracht has previously been shortlisted for the International Booker prize; now, his publisher is comparing his latest to Ursula K. Le Guin and Jorge Luis Borges. It tells the story of a designer, Paul, who is walking through the corridors of a server farm in Norway – until he vanishes in a blackout. Meanwhile, in another time and place, a man wakes up in a forest, and a young girl helps him to an icy settlement. This sounds really intriguing.

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by Meg Smitherman

A gothic sci-fi novella in which interplanetary transporter Midonia is given the job of flying Sister Irena to a planet where the people worship a deity known as Anguish. But when their ship is grounded by a solar flare, Midonia is stuck on the planet, where a strange voice starts invading her mind at night.

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We’re promised both romance and sci-fi in this tale about junior supply officer Levar, who is called upon to serve as a diplomat in peace talks because he once dated an Imperial baroness. Then he discovers that a former lover, Astrid, is actually the Demon Emperor, and their feelings for each other are still very much present.

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This is the story of the supernova event known as Lhonoja. By the end of it, several planets will have burned, a couple of civilisations will have fallen, and I will have spoken to an entity some consider a god, and whose theological status will remain in question throughout.

Before then, I must explain how I came to be, and for that, I must take you back several centuries, to Glastya Row.

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Glastya Row started as a landing strip on the planet Tu-mdo.

Most urban establishments on most colonised worlds begin this way. Tu-mdo had been a prime terraforming candidate – comfortable gravity, good magnetic shield, not too hot, not too cold, not tidally locked and already possessed of a moon which, once water was thawed out in sufficient volume, would serve to stir the great big mixing bowl of Tu-mdo’s freshly churning oceans. The first colonists didn’t even need to spend five centuries in arcologies waiting for atmospheric conditions to settle, but were out and breathing without aid within a couple of pioneering generations. Two millennia later, Glastya Row had been transformed from pioneer’s outpost to merely another borough of some few million in the great city of Heom, a middling hub of profit and endeavour within the interplanetary-spanning United Social Venture.

They say you can tell a lot about a Venture based on how its employees name their children.

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In Antekeda, the Venture that ran my city, these were the most common middle names given to children at birth:

Chairman – 15 per cent

Entrepreneur – 10 per cent

Director – 9 per cent

Abundant – 5 per cent

Diligent – 4 per cent

In Theymann, a Venture specialising in deep space habitation, the distribution skewed towards Pioneers and Engineers, while in Halsect there was an almost sentimental emphasis on children called “Aspiring”.

My parents had all the ambition you might expect of residents of Glastya Row, combined with a grim realism. Thus when I was born, my name was registered as Mawukana “Respected” na-Vdnaze. I might never achieve dazzling heights or have great Shine, but dammit, my neighbours would at least know that I was respectable.

It would be fair to say that things went downhill from there.

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I am told that I cried an unhallowed amount when I was born, though no one seems able to clarify what “unhallowed” means. I imagine my scream rose a little in volume as they implanted my Chint in the top of my plump left bicep, already embedded with the debts I had accrued to the Venture that ran the hospital that sheltered me – 400 Glint for a standard birth, plus another 1,873 Glint for basic costs such as bedding, vaccinations, postnatal checkups, vitamin shots, etc. . . .

Thus, before I was placed upon my mother’s breast, I was marked with the overriding feature of life on Glastya Row – the debt I owed.

As befits two individuals who named their child “Respected”, my parents were not irresponsible. They had carefully saved for this moment, and were between them able to bring my initial debt down to a mere 700 Glint, and keep on top of the 1.5 per cent child-rate interest payments my existence accrued. Moreover, to welcome me into the world, Antekeda gifted me with fifty shares, my ownership marking me as a citizen of the Venture. By the time I turned fifteen and sat my assignment exams, those shares were worth nearly 600 Glint – though my educational and civic debts were well in excess of 92,000.

This system, we were taught, was about fairness. We were pioneers and our world was a place of scarcity, hardship and struggle. Everything the Venture gave us – the air we breathed, the roads we walked down, the schools we learned in – had been sweated for, bled for, and our debts were a marker of the needful labour we would give back in return.

All are born equal, and by their labours shall they rise.

This philosophy was the underlying constitution of the United Social Venture. Both it and the more anthropologically engaging qualities of social and economic status that arose from it were known as Shine.

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We were not a high-Shine family. My parents ran a small restaurant that served cold-broth dumplings to hot middle Managers too tired and busy to cook. They did their best to improve their Shine, constantly cooing over difficult, well-dressed customers and putting themselves forward to run catering events in Shiny houses or at Shiny events, but nothing could really wipe the smell of Glastya Row off their grease-stained aprons and soap-scoured fingers. Every six months, an Antekeda representative would come by and offer them another course or long-distance learning diploma in business growth and radical enterprise, and sometimes my mother, always the more energetic of the two, would sign up and do her coursework and pay her fees, and talk at the table about how this was it. This was the change we needed to get out, move up. It never came to anything.

During my “cute” years, which I was told were seven to eleven years old, I worked as a waiter in the shop in the hope someone would give me that most wondrous of miracles, a “tip” for my services. By the time I was twelve, you could see the shape of the adult I was going to be. My father’s thick, straight black hair was overgrown around my mother’s sunset-through-smog face. I was always a little short, with green-grey eyes that narrowed to almost impossible lines when I squinted in confusion (as I did a lot) and pale lips that didn’t smile enough, or smiled wrong, or just didn’t quite get the smiling business right, whenever I tried to move them.

“Smile with your eyes,” my mother commanded, during one of her we-shall-advance phases. So I stood in front of the mirror in the grubby upstairs bathroom and squeezed my eyelids tight and waggled my eyebrows and tried to inventory every tiny muscle about my growing grubby dishcloth of a face, until I could at least achieve something that didn’t seem to upset people too badly.

Despite, or perhaps owing to, these efforts, I was relegated to the back of the kitchen so that my mother could stay out front, charming and occasionally bamboozling the customers. By the time I was fourteen and my schooling was getting unfeasibly expensive, it was already apparent that I would not have a Shiny life. Most of my classmates were starting to drop out into the menial labour that was the heart of every Venture, and those who remained were preparing for adulthood with an endless dance of alliances, enmities, petty acts of cruelty and theft, out-daring each other in who could game the system. Bullies thrived – so long as they were not caught. Being caught was far worse a sin than being a thief, a liar or simply cruel.

Many economists, observing the Shine, have marvelled at the low levels of educational obtainment common across its population. The circular economies of most other worlds, powered by the sunlight or atomic reactors and fed by agricultural systems whose architects can sit in their pantries dispatching drones to the harvest, consider education not merely of primary importance to the success of their systems, but as frankly the most interesting thing the population can do with their expansive time.

However, education breeds curiosity. And curiosity is one of the very first qualities that the leaders of the Shine seek to eliminate from the population.

This is an extract from by Claire North (Orbit), the New Scientist Book Club’s pick for July. Sign up for the Book Club here, and join the discussion on Discord .

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On 12 August, a total solar eclipse will sweep across parts of Europe and the Atlantic ocean as the moon passes between Earth and the sun, blocking out sunlight. Parts of the US and Africa, along with the entire UK and much of Europe and Canada, will see a partial solar eclipse.

Where can I see the eclipse?

Totality, which occurs when the moon lines up perfectly with the disc of the sun and blocks it out entirely, will begin in Russia around midday before sweeping eastward across the Arctic ocean. It will pass just south of the North Pole and make landfall in northeastern Greenland just after 4.00pm local time.

The shadow will then rush along the eastern coast of Greenland at a speed of more than 3400 kilometres per hour. The maximum length of totality will be about 2 minutes and 18 seconds, as the moon’s shadow crosses from Greenland into the Atlantic ocean. It will cross to Iceland, at which point the eclipse will become visible from more heavily inhabited areas – everywhere it will have passed so far is home only to small villages, research stations and those specifically making the journey to see the eclipse. In Reykjavík, though, totality will be visible for just over one minute at 5.48pm local time. This is the first time a total eclipse has been visible in Iceland since 1954, and the last time one will be visible there until 2196.

After skimming the western coast of Iceland, the total eclipse will make another ocean crossing and reach land again in northern Spain just before 8.30pm local time, grazing the northeast corner of Portugal and crossing the Balearic Islands off Spain’s east coast before the sun sets and the eclipse is over.

What happens during a total solar eclipse?

During totality, when the disc of the sun is completely concealed by the moon, temperatures on the ground rapidly drop by several degrees and daytime transforms into twilight. The stars and the outer reaches of the sun become visible. Usually, the sun’s outermost layer, the corona, is completely lost in the glare from its far brighter inner regions, but when those are blocked out, its shimmering sheets of extraordinarily hot plasma become briefly visible to the naked eye. In all other phases of the eclipse, it is crucial to wear eclipse glasses or use a solar filter while looking directly at the sun to prevent eye damage, but during totality it is safe to look at the corona.

That is precisely what many solar scientists will be doing during August’s eclipse. Total eclipses mark a valuable opportunity to observe the corona and try to unravel its many mysteries, including why it is so much hotter than the sun’s surface.

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While the total eclipse will be short and only visible in a few areas, a partial eclipse, with the moon taking a “bite” out of the sun, will last much longer across about a quarter of the entire planet. In many locations across the northern US, all of Canada, much of Europe and northwestern Africa, the partial eclipse will last more than an hour. It won’t be as dramatic as a total eclipse – the corona will not become visible, and the ambient light levels and temperatures won’t drop as dramatically – but will be watchable for many more people. During a partial eclipse, eye protection is needed the whole time. If you don’t have eye protection, there are several ways to watch the eclipse without looking directly at the sun, including using a pinhole camera or even natural shadows to create a projection of the sun’s shape as the moon passes in front of it.

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NASA’s Perseverance rover has found complex carbon compounds in a Martian crater that had previously shown tantalising possible signs of ancient life. On Earth, these compounds are typically associated with dead organisms, but scientists say it is too early to draw the same conclusion here as these compounds are also found in lifeless environments, like on meteorites.

In 2024, Perseverance entered a rocky outcrop, called Bright Angel, near what appeared to be an ancient riverbed that once fed a lake inside Jezero crater. Several rocks photographed by the rover displayed unusual spotted patterns, which NASA scientists called “leopard spots” and “poppy seeds”. These markings, which are largely or entirely formed of dark, circular blots��of up to a millimetre in size, look very similar to the patterns left behind by ancient microbial activity on Earth.

Although non-biological sources couldn’t be ruled out, the markings are some of the best candidates we have for potential ancient life on Mars. But scientists lacked comprehensive information on the chemical make-up of these patterns or how widely distributed they were in the Bright Angel formation.

However, Perseverance carries measurement tools that can provide more chemical context about the rocks it encounters, such as the SHERLOC instrument, which uses the reflected light from an ultraviolet laser to identify elements and compounds in a rock sample.

Now, at the Planetary Science Institute in Tucson, Arizona, and her colleagues have used SHERLOC to identify large, complex carbon-containing molecules, called macromolecular carbon, on the surface of the marked rocks in the Bright Angel formation, as well as in a separate rock in the same formation around 100 metres away.

“On Earth, macromolecular carbon is often found in extremely old rocks and, in some cases, it is the only organic evidence of past microbial life,” says Murphy. “Finding these organic macromolecules on Mars and other planetary bodies helps us determine whether the necessary chemical ingredients and environmental conditions to support life have ever existed there.”

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The existence of these carbon compounds can’t imply a biological origin by themselves, as they are also found in places like meteorites, says at the University of Westminster in London. However, Murphy and her colleagues also discovered that the compounds were associated with carbonate and sulphate minerals, which tend to form in water-rich environments, another key ingredient for life. “It’s giving us information about the geological context of where those organics are being found,” says Dartnell.

Jezero crater was already suspected to have been water-rich at some point, so the fact that these carbon compounds existed here is unsurprising by itself, says team member at NASA’s Jet Propulsion Laboratory in California. However, macromolecular carbon has never been seen on the surface of a rock like this, says Uckert, which might imply that it is unusually resistant and different from other carbon-bearing compounds that have been found on Mars.

“Its ubiquitous presence within mudstones at Bright Angel compared with observations elsewhere in the crater was surprising,” says Uckert. Although it is currently unclear why that should be the case, this is a good sign for the possibility of finding other signs of past life, says Dartnell. “This detection confirms that complex organics, like these macromolecular deposits, can stick around for long periods of time.”

While the SHERLOC instrument can identify macromolecular carbon, it can’t give detailed information on the actual make-up of the compounds beyond saying that they are carbon-rich, says at the University of Edinburgh, UK. “We would need to get the samples back to Earth to figure out if the carbon in these rocks was of biological origin,” he says.