Review: The Time Traveler's Wife

Audrey Niffenegger's book The Time Traveler's Wife has everything: it's intelligent and accessible, serious, fun, full of action and emotion, and it tells a great story about human nature and relationships while also exploring a well-worn science fiction concept in new and fascinating ways - time travel portrayed as an uncontrollable genetic disorder. I sometimes wonder whether it could also be seen as a book about the lover of someone with manic depression or another episodic illness who might experience a similar roller-coaster ride.

Robert Schwentke's film is a watchable and enjoyable romance that rises well above the average rom-com but falls short of the sheer resonance of the novel. Claire's life as Henry comes and goes is often bitter and painful and constantly tests her resolve and her love; meanwhile Henry's own life is painful and perplexing too, constantly leading him into danger and taking him away from Claire without warning.

The novel takes all of this to the limit, covering the whole range of experience, the highs and the lows of this unique love affair, while for the most part the film centres on a sentimental rom-com relationship. Occasionally it does go outside this comfort zone and into the much more uncomfortable territory of the book: the first time from Claire's point of view that Henry kisses her, and the way that this single act decided the rest of her life, is an example and the film is the better for including it.

The story is also simplified a little. The pretzel has a few less twists if you like (Damn you, Kate And Leopold! Get out of my head! Bad film!) although when you do get to the paradoxes and twists, such as Henry and Claire's unconventional wedding, or the way Claire manages to get around the limitations of Henry's vasectomy, they are particularly enjoyable scenes.

Casting is great - both leads Rachel McAdams and Eric Bana are talented character actors. They can do rom-com in their sleep and in the few scenes where they are given the chance they really bring out the pain and deep emotion of their characters in a totally human and credible way. I wish they were given a little more room to spread their wings. Did I dream that at one point a certain Mr. Pitt and Ms. Aniston were slated for the lead roles? It seems so long ago.

The Cat Who Doesn't Walk Through Walls [Review: Her Fearful Symmetry]

Audrey Niffenegger's second novel that is not a picturebook is not a sequel to The Time Traveler's Wife but a completely new ghost story and a worthy entry in the Creepy Twins novel subgenre. The story centres on a small block of flats which the recently deceased Elspeth finds her ghost self unable to leave. Elspeth has signed her flat over in her last will to her twin nieces Julia and Valentina, who are the daughters of her own twin sister Edie. The block of flats is also home to Robert, Elspeth's former partner and tour guide/attendant at Highgate Cemetery, and to Martin and his long-suffering partner Marijke. Later it becomes home to the Kitten Of Death as well.

As with the "time travel genetic disease" from the previous novel, Niffenegger takes her supernatural concept seriously and writes with far more precision and internal consistency than many science fiction authors do - in many ways this is a hard sci-fi ghost story. Elspeth's predicament becomes clear as she explores the parameters and boundaries herself. She takes a scientific, trial and error attitude to her new existence, which it is hinted at is somehow electrical in nature. Elspeth also gradually works out different ways in which she can or cannot interact with the others, and thus takes an increasing role in the proceedings. The author has considered fully the potential consequences of the ghost concept - an impossible love triangle that develops between Elspeth, Robert and Valentina is particularly poignant.

Martin's struggle to overcome his OCD after Marijke finally leaves him becomes a symbol for the central theme of the novel, control and letting go. Martin's condition also reinforces my idea that Niffenegger as a writer is particularly interested in mental illness and this is one way of reading The Time Traveler's Wife. The two pairs of twins depicted here are very much dominant and submissive pairs: interestingly they are physically "mirror twins" rather than "identical twins" - this has a bearing on their characters as Julia is healthy while Valentina has situs inversus (a problematic reversed heart.) We come to understand Julia's desire to care for Valentina and Valentina's desire to escape at any cost, and the dynamic between Elspeth and Edie, which is even more twisted, comes to light too. The characters are never simplistic or purely good or evil, for example Julia's overprotectiveness of Valentina is completely consistent with her tenderness towards Martin.

The book is also about love and how intense it becomes when the relationship is unequal. Towards the end of the novel many characters, driven to extremes by intense emotions, participate in some atrocities - with a surprising twist in the outcome, perfectly foreshadowed by earlier hints about the personality of one of the participants. Despite this, and as with The Time Traveler's Wife, the ending brings together both pain and hope.

New Girl In The Fireplace [Review: The Eleventh Hour]

We're all Time Lords now. I missed the new episode of Doctor Who as it was broadcast too early for me - each series seems to creep slightly further back in time - but thanks to the dimensionally transcendant alien technology of BBC iPlayer I was able to nip back and watch it.

The Eleventh Hour is a Steven Moffat script. The Doctor is introduced to two new characters - himself, and Amy Pond. He initially meets Amy as a 7-year old, then returns just as her adult self has begun to doubt he was real. It's reminiscent of Moffat's previous script for The Girl In The Fireplace, perhaps my all time favourite episode, and also Audrey Niffenegger's The Time Traveller's Wife where the timelines are a little more entangled.

The Doctor is also getting a feel for his new persona, trying out different words, phrases or looks. He's a little disturbed but it's never quite as dark as those first few manic depressive Colin Baker episodes. There's some bits about an alien prisoner on the loose but do we really care about all that sci-fi stuff? Well, maybe. This is a strong, witty episode, a good start to the series, and Matt Smith and Karen Gillan already appear confident in their roles.

Literary vs non-literary science fiction

What's the difference?

For the purposes of this post, let's take The Time Traveller's Wife, Never Let Me Go and The Handmaid's Tale as examples of literary science fiction (sorry, Margaret). I'm not reviewing any of these here - I'll make a case for why everyone should read them another day.

Literary sci-fi novels that get a very wide readership and critical acclaim outside the sci-fi genre, still having sci-fi themes at their heart. They're usually acclaimed as being of quality authorship. I wouldn't question this but many people in sci-fi, fantasy and related genres also have a very high quality of writing. The style of writing can be deceptive - Stephen King may write brief MTV soundbite style chapters but there's a lot of depth to many of his books. I also find it hard to think of a single sci-fi book I've read that doesn't use sci-fi as a way to explore deeper issues and questions or at least to attempt this. I'll accept that this is often not true of films.

I've just finished reading Lifeboat. My final word - most of the book is perfectly paced, however in the last chapter there's suddenly a series of convoluted and unlikely plot twists - I think the enjoyment to be had from this book was definitely the journey rather than the destination. I was reflecting on this question as I started my next book - Jack Vance's classic The Dying Earth, a novel I've been meaning to read for ages - as I think the answer may be in the first chapter or even paragraph.

Basically, writers have audiences in mind when they write - and they try to direct the book towards them from the first word onwards. The authors of the three above novels all introduce the main themes of their novels - love and the agony of being apart, caring for each other and making sacrifices, and the role of women - in the first chapters, but they do so with only gradual hints at the sci-fi concepts to come. Dying Earth, on the other hand, begins outright as a fantasy novel with the protagonist's failing attempts to create magical life. This is an opening gambit to intrigue and draw in a sci-fi or fantasy reader - it worked for me! - but a more general reader might be turned away by this point. Perhaps they need some reassurance that the book is going to tackle Big Issues or reach Great Depths before they'll accept their six impossible things before breakfast.