I run a reading workshop which begins with a little shelf assessment. Participants bring a stack of books that have shaped who they are: childhood treasures; new revelations; comfort reads. Books they once cherished but have now outgrown. The usual suspect in that category is Audrey Niffenegger’s 2003 novel The Time Traveler’s Wife. Once smitten, readers now find that time-warped romance cruel. What felt like destiny now feels like a cage. As they explain, I’m always struck by the same thought: Wasn’t it always cruel? Wasn’t that the point?
Henry DeTamble and Clare Abshire are a couple caught in a causal loop. The irresolvable question is where that loop starts: does a bright young art student fall in love with a junior librarian, or does a time-travelling man groom a child to become his future wife? If the answer is both – and it has to be – what are we to make of their marriage? Can you truly choose someone if you believe the choice is already made?
