This extraordinary, magical novel is the story of Clare and Henry who have known each other since Clare was six and Henry was thirty-six, and were married when Clare was twenty-two and Henry thirty. Sounds confusing, as if time has been lost in translation, but by keeping faith with 'The Time Travellers Wife', and turning the pages in a chronological manner (unlike Henry), the pieces of clockwork are so much easier to put together. When this happened I was presented with such a beautiful and charming tale; something that made me question the human condition and even the way I act. If I could find out when myself or my loved ones die, would I? And if I knew, would I be able to re-stitch the threads of time and change the inevitability of the future that hasn’t yet been set in stone? Or are we all living by means of fate? A lot of question marks fill this segment I know, but I hope this leaves an impression on how thought provoking and enriched the romanticised darkness of the novel is.
‘Kiss me’, Clare says, and I turn to her, white face and dark lips floating in the dark, and I submerge, I fly, I am released: being wells up in my heart.’