A daily review of books worth your time
More like this
As an Amazon Associate we earn from qualifying purchases.
Audrey Niffenegger's debut gives Henry a genetic disorder that flings him uncontrollably through his own timeline, and Clare the impossible task of loving a man who keeps vanishing. A swooning, inventive, deeply romantic time-travel love story.
The Review
The conceit of Audrey Niffenegger's debut is so good it has been imitated ever since: Henry DeTamble has Chrono-Displacement Disorder, a fictional genetic condition that yanks him without warning out of the present and deposits him, naked and disoriented, somewhere else in his own life. He cannot control when he goes or where he lands. The cruelty and beauty of the premise is that it scrambles the order of a love affair — Clare, his wife, first meets Henry when she is six and he is a time-traveling adult; Henry first meets Clare when he is twenty-eight and she is a stranger who already knows everything about him.
Niffenegger structures the whole novel around that asymmetry, and the bravura of it is real. Chapters are headed with the ages of both lovers, and the reader assembles their story the way the characters must — out of sequence, full of foreshadowing and aftershock, scenes echoing across decades. A meeting that is a beginning for one of them is a memory for the other. It is a structure that could easily collapse into gimmick, and the fact that it mostly holds together, and accumulates genuine emotional force, is a considerable achievement for a first novel.
At its core this is a romance, and an unabashed one. The love between Henry and Clare is the gravitational center, and Niffenegger writes longing, domesticity, and loss with a lush, sensory intensity. Around it she builds a quietly clever set of rules — Henry can revisit moments but never change them, can meet his younger and older selves, can know things he should not — and uses them to meditate on fate, free will, and the helplessness of loving someone whose comings and goings you cannot control.
Niffenegger, trained as a visual artist, has a painter's eye, and the novel is studded with images that lodge in the memory: Henry arriving in a winter field with nothing but his own bare skin, the meadow where the child Clare waits for a man who appears and disappears like weather, the small apartment that becomes the still point his condition keeps wrenching him away from. These concrete pictures do a great deal of the emotional work, grounding a high-concept premise in the textures of an ordinary, hard-won marriage. The result feels less like science fiction than like a domestic drama that happens to be haunted by physics.
The book is not without strain. The fixed-fate logic means a certain dread hangs over everything from early on, and some readers find Henry and Clare's relationship, with its threads reaching back to her childhood, uncomfortable on reflection. The middle sags in places, and the prose occasionally overindulges its own romanticism. But the central engine is so inventive, and the ending so earned, that the novel survives its excesses and then some.
More than twenty years on, it remains the benchmark for time travel deployed in service of a love story — proof that the genre's machinery can be made to ache rather than merely astonish. It is a book to be swept up in, read in long greedy stretches, and remembered for the particular sorrow of loving across a timeline that refuses to behave.
Reviewed by Rowan
As an Amazon Associate we earn from qualifying purchases.