Chapter 8: Who will be my Time Traveler?

If I could time travel, I would journey back to November 1, 2012, sometime after 10pm, when I was laying in bed next to my husband (who was inevitably reading a yellow Math book. . . .boring).  I flipped to the first page of The Time Traveler’s Wife by Audrey Niffenegger and read “CLARE: It’s hard being left behind. I wait for Henry, not knowing where he is, wondering if he’s okay. It’s hard to be the one who stays.”  This was the moment the novel grabbed my heart and pulled on my romantic nerves.

I am, by definition, a sucker for a good love story and thus, have the tendency to instantly fall in love with all gorgeous lead male characters.  However, The Time Traveler’s Wife might, perhaps, be the best love story I’ve encountered in a really long time (excluding my own, of course).  Perhaps it’s merely the idea of time travel, or the real-life characters (minus the time traveling bit) with real-life problems that drew me in so quickly.  Whatever it was, this novel mesmerized me and brought me pure joy intertwined with tangible moments of sadness. 

The lead male, Henry, is a librarian (could it get any better than that?).  In addition to his dashing good looks, Henry also possesses a peculiar ability to travel through time.  Clare, at a very young age, meets her future husband.  And by future, I mean, she meets the Henry from the future who in his present is married to future Clare (it’s not nearly confusing as it sounds, I promise).  And so the tale begins of two people destined to love each other.  Clare, the artist, is in a constant act of waiting: waiting for Henry to return, wondering if Henry will suddenly disappear, will they have a family, will Henry be there to participate?  The love between Henry and Clare is so strong, so deep that it surpasses all space-time continuums.

I truly loved this book and it’s one that I could reread and reread (if I didn’t have so many other books on my to-read list).  But there’s just one thing that bothered me (skip this paragraph if you want to be completely enthralled by the book; read on if you want to know one minor detail that irked me).  I am a scientist and I am acutely aware of the complexities of human biology, which contributes to the slow speed of scientific progress.  So when Henry visits a geneticist to explore the biology behind time travel, and the geneticist quickly isolated the ONE gene responsible and generated knockout mice that could also time travel, I was immediately skeptical.  Time traveling mice?  Okay, cool, but really?  Who funded such outrageous investigations?  Time travel makes for a great lover story, but in reality, I doubt very much it could actually happen.  And by mutation of a single gene? How many genes need to be altered for tumor progression? I can tell you that it’s many more than one.   Okay, I’ll move on.

I know Hollywood cashed in on this great story, but I am still reveling in the great writing and emotions evoked by Niffenegger’s novel that I haven’t watched the movie . . . yet.  I will, soon.  I want to share this story with my very own time traveler.  You know that same yellow math-book-reading nerd of guy I snagged?  On occasion, he pulls out some truly romantic lines. While I regaled him with how much I love this book, he replied with “I want to be your time traveler”.  Yes, dear, you can be my time traveler; I love you too.

Chapter 7: Books, Books, Books!

I wait with anticipation:  my breath abates, my heart races, my fingers twitch, my muscles tense and relax and prepare themselves to hold books upon books upon books.  I’m ready, ready for the annual Symphony Association Book Fair!!!

Every year, the local Symphony Association hosts a book fair as a fundraising event.  Normally, you and me might think, “No thanks, I’ll pass this one by.  Who needs old books with ripped pages and food stains?”  Well, friends, you’re in for a treat.  As you walk in, your head swivels from side to side as your eyes locate the “Trade Paperback” section.  Your legs carry you to the shelves that house rows and rows of practically brand new, current titles.  I really don’t know how they do it!  But they do, and it’s AMAZING! 

This year, I saw my future self.  She came with her husband and he was pulling books he knew she would like (ahh, so sweet, yes?).  Then she checked The List, a multi-sheet catalog of every book they owned.  If The List lacked the title in question, the book dropped into the large bag hung from her shoulder, to be added to The List for next year’s excursion, I presume.  I agree, it’s a bit on the dorky side, but you have to admit, it’s also highly effective.   

I use this opportunity to grow my library, the to-be-built-by-my-learning-to-be-handy-husband kind of library complete with built-in-bookshelves, a glowing fireplace warming my precious kitty, and a worn-leather armchair covered in my favourite wool blanket which sits beside the table holding my peppermint-infused coffee.  Yes, I like to dream. 

Here’s a glimpse at this year’s collection: 

Aren’t they great?! 

As always, I often go back to my stack of books and flip through the pages, smell them, stare at them. . . .Over and over again.  It’s the most wonderful time of the year!

Chapter 6: Let's Tinker Around for Awhile

If ever I could rebel against my last book with its less-than-engaging narrative, reading the current novel would be my act of dissidence.  Paul Harding’s story of a dying clockmaker, Tinkers, not only tugs at the reader’s heartstrings, but requires your focused attention as it weaves its way back and forth in time connecting the lives of grandfather, father, and son.

           

            The story begins with a dying clockmaker.  In his last hours, both waking and hallucinatory, we travel with George through some memories of his childhood, in particular his relationship with his father.  From here, we travel with George’s father, Howard to his childhood memories and the life of his father.  All three men tinker in their own way, either fixing clocks or selling door-to-door trinkets.  Howard says “I am a tinker.... Is it not true: A move of the head, a step to the left or right, and we change from wise, decent, loyal people to conceited fools?  Light changes, our eyes blink and see the world from the slightest difference of perspective and our place in it has changed infinitely” (pg 131).  Add an additional layer: each man also struggles, or tinkers, with a lack of paternal love.  As a reader, you longed for the father just to caress their son, to acknowledge their presence, to not leave without a word.  When the opportunities for these actions and emotions pass by, the sense of sadness is tangible.

           

            Harding shares his story and vision with the most exquisitely beautiful language.  Just the process of hearing the words flow together (in my head, of course.  I don’t read out loud, silly) brought a smile to my face.  Combine that with the deeply probing meaning behind those perfectly combined phrases, and I’m in literary heaven.  To prove my point, here’s a quote that immediately struck me: “be comforted in the fact that the ache in your heart and the confusion in your soul means that you are still alive, still human, and still open to the beauty of the world, even though you have done nothing to deserve it “ (pg 74).  Not only does this sentiment calm any twinge of depression that lingers in your mind, but it also scrapes the surface of meaningful religious undertones.  In the Christian view, men and women, although created in God’s image, ultimately fall short of this perfection.  However, the grace of God provides continual love for each and everyone of us . . . .even though we have done nothing to deserve such love!  Such subtleties permeate Harding’s novel and provide never-ending sentiments to soak our souls.    

            I would not classify Tinkers as an easy read.  Its brevity makes it attractive, but the complexity of language and astuteness of the content requires focus from the reader.  I think, even I, yes I, need to re-read this book to fully appreciate all that Harding offers. 

            And as Harding says “Everything is made to perish; the wonder of anything at all is that it has not already done so. . . . The wonder of anything is that it was made in the first place.” (pg 126).  Like this book, it has an end, but it was a gift to have enjoyed it for the time that I did and I hope you do too.