But the truth was that he never grew tired of the year because he was too fascinated by his own loss, the reliving of it, and the relieving of it. [loc. 817]
Rosa grows up in Britain in 1945. That isn't clumsy wording: she and her parents live the same year, over and over, the same news stories on the radio, the same bombs and battles, the same war. Her father has the innate ability to travel in time, picking up 'tides', but he's caught up in the loss of his own father, and can't move on from his grief. Rosa rebels, and runs away from home -- and from 1945. She can't control where or when she travels, and only slowly learns to recognise the signs of an imminent journey. She encounters others like herself, most notably Tommy Rust with whom she travels through history, and realises that there is a loose collective of time-travellers with very different approaches to their gift.
Rosa decides that life as a time-traveller is precarious. She reinvents herself as the Fabulist, visiting different eras as an honoured guest, telling tales of the future and displaying books full of magical images: a photo of a satellite, a map of the London Underground, a diagram of a five-needle telegraph. It is clear to those she visits that she is a marvel, not of the ordinary world, because of the bright colours and rich gems she wears, and the strange prophecies she makes, and the way that she -- a woman -- walks fearlessly wherever she pleases.
But that doesn't last forever, and Rosa is caught up and carried away by the tides, separated from those she's come to rely on, encountering a soldier who's been fighting for a thousand years, and finally considering the question: "If you cannot die, how then will you live?"
I bought this in 2016, and it has languished in my Unread folder ever since: which is a shame, as it's an enjoyable and philosophical read. There are some poignant and powerful chapters -- the icy ocean, the medieval gardens -- and Rosa's growth over the course of the novel is logical and credible. She ends where she starts, but she is a different person, one who is compassionate and confident. I look forward to reading more by S E Lister.
No comments:
Post a Comment