I wonder if it is true that the most wonderful books are ones we relate to. I relate to Clare and Henry, their lives, hopes and dreams. This is more than a science-fiction romance story, it is philosophical and deep. I understand when Henry whispers to Clare “It is dark now and I am very tired. I love you, always. Time is nothing.” I understand the waiting, the sadness, the yearning, the worrying and the wanting. Even to the last words of the last page of the book is beautiful: “I waited for you, and now you’re here.” How can you not love a book that starts like this:
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.
I keep myself busy. Time goes faster that way.
I go to sleep alone, and wake up alone. I take walks. I work until I’m tired. I watch the wind play with the trash that’s been under the snow all winter. Everything seems simple until you think about it. Why is love intensified by absence?
Long ago, men went to sea, and women waited for them, standing on the edge of the water, scanning the horizon for the tiny ship. Now I wait for Henry. He vanishes unwillingly, without warning. I wait for him. Each moment that I wait feels like a year, an eternity. Each moment is as slow and transparent as glass. Through each moment I can see infinite moments lined up, waiting. Why has he gone where I cannot follow?
- The Time Traveler’s Wife
Audrey Niffenegger
I would recommend this to Nimonster because I know he loves a discussion about the concept of time, and Niffenegger’s philosophy of time is nothing less than beautiful. But I am afraid he will relate to Clare and Henry, and feel the sadness like I do. But then again he doesn’t even have time for me anymore, so I doubt he’ll have time to read a book.
It’s been more than a week since I finished the book. But its story and sadness is still lingering within. I guess it is true then. The most wonderful books are ones we relate to.
