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Uranus
Where Jupiter is vast, where Mars is angry, Uranus is pale blue. Compare Neptune, the swirling, vivid blue planet named after a Roman deity who wields a three-pronged spear and rides a sea serpent. Or Saturn, encircled by forbidding rings of rubble. Mercury offers the excitement of speed; Venus, of light; Earth, of civilization. Even Pluto is intriguing in its remote austerity.
But Uranus, poor Uranus, has no hold on the popular imagination, except as a subject of puerile word play. Even NASA has neglected it. Only once has any spacecraft visited Uranus. In early 1986, when the public trained its eyes on Halley’s Comet, Voyager 2 flew past Uranus and made a cursory inspection. Scientists noted its “perfectly monochromatic appearance”, then punched in the coordinates for Neptune. It is difficult to remember that Uranus counts among the planets. As my lover’s lips approached mine, did Uranus glimmer over the oasis? Did little blue men descend from Uranus? Do I beseech Uranus to cast a magic spell? Ha!
But Uranus is not concerned. He hangs unobtrusively in the firmament, glowing serenely blue, larger than Neptune yet not quite as heavy. His name, unadulterated by Roman influence, is that of the Greeks’ first supreme god. Uranus is the grandfather of Poseidon, of Hades, even of Zeus. What need has Uranus of our attention? He escaped the notice of the ancients, revealing himself only in 1781 to the English astronomer Herschel, who intended to name him after George III but was overruled by posterity. Uranus, first among the gods, first planet of the industrial era, first to slip the mind. Hail Uranus!