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304 pages, Hardcover
First published October 18, 2016
I couldn’t help noticing that although I’d probably never had more time to myself, it was like time was shrinking around me. More and more often I glanced up from the computer and realized it was already eight or nine, and a few evenings after Ana told me her story, I went down to the pier to watch the sunset, only to discover that the streets were already dark.Time is a strange thing. We think of it as linear, this happened, then that, and after that something else. We measure it with instruments large and small, slice and dice it up into pieces from eons to ages, millennia to centuries, decades, years, months, weeks, days, hours, minutes, milliseconds, nanoseconds and god knows what else, and order our lives around it more often than not. But sometimes the personal experience of time, particularly where it intersects with memory, can soften the hard lines that separate this time from that.


For some physicists, however, time is not a flow but a dimension much like a landscape. Just like Manhattan still exists while you and your consciousness are in Brooklyn, October 1976 still exists while your consciousness is in January 2017. According to this idea of the block universe, all moments exist simultaneously on the plane of time: your birth, your first kiss, last Saturday’s party and Sunday’s hangover too. All of it exists at once, and the sense that the present is somehow more real and alive than the past is just a trick of the consciousness, our limited minds trying to make sense of it all.Do not get the notion that this is a sci-fi novel. It is not. It is more the sort of consideration of universal issues one might see from sage international authors like Milan Kundera or Gabriel Garcia Marquez.
