Rated of 5
I am a book junkie. I work in a library, and at a bookstore on weekends, for the love of books. At this year's BEA in June, someone at the MacAdam/Cage booth pressed this book into my hands as I was walking through the exhibition hall. Later, in my hotel, I opened it, because the title implied a SF theme. Then I sat in a chair through the night. I don't think I moved; I just read.
The book mesmerized me. When I got home, I called someone whose opinion I trust, "You have to read this book. I have to know if it's just me, or if this is terrific."
It is terrific. The writing describes loneliness and fear, love and joy, pain and sorrow lucidly, beautifully, compellingly.
Two weeks later, I had to read it again. I missed Henry, and Clare.
My friend argued with me about something Henry had done. It matters, in our lives, because we care, and care deeply, for these people.
I want a book about Alba. I want a book about how differently Clare and Alba cope with their loss than Henry and his father coped with theirs.
I couldn't wait for the publication date. Since the book was published, I've probably hand-sold fifty copies. I'll sell more.
This Niffenegger can write.