Sigh. Right, where do I even begin?
It wasn’t completely shit. But let’s not pretend it was any good, either. “One Second Per Second” manages the rare feat of making time travel - arguably one of the most thrilling, brain-twisting concepts in all of fiction - feel like doing your taxes with a hangover. On a Sunday. In August.
The big problem? It’s boring. Not quietly meditative, not existentially reflective, just… tedious. The narrative loops back on itself over and over in ways that feel less like clever structure and more like someone got stuck in their own CTRL+C/CTRL+V spiral. Yes, I get that repetition is the point. That doesn't mean I want to relive the same dull sequence for the fourth time, now with 12 per cent more techno-waffle.
And the techno-waffle. My god. The jargon is either real and poorly explained or made-up and badly disguised. I honestly couldn’t tell. Either way, it made my brain quietly switch off, like a computer going into sleep mode to protect itself.
The time travel rules? Laughably easy. Press a button, say something cryptic, and off you pop. There’s no tension, no sense of consequence. You could argue it’s part of the narrative’s point, but if so, the book’s point is undermining its own dramatic structure, which feels a bit like a magician starting a trick by showing you where the rabbit’s hidden.
Anachronisms are scattered throughout, some subtle, most not. I'd be fine with that if they were at least amusing, or clever, or - God forbid - used to say something interesting. But they just sit there, like set dressing nobody bothered to tidy up.
World-building? Barely. It’s shallow as a puddle in a drought. Everything feels sketched rather than inhabited. Places don’t feel real; they feel like concept art for a low-budget indie game that never made it past Kickstarter.
And characters? Apparently, there were lots of them. I know this because names kept appearing. Unfortunately, I couldn’t tell you a single trait about 98 per cent of them. They flit in and out, deliver a line of exposition or two, then vanish back into the narrative fog. No personality, no presence, just warm bodies filling space.
By the end, I had a proper time travel headache. The kind where you’re trying to keep track of who’s when and why, and your brain just sighs, folds its little arms and decides to stop participating. Which, frankly, was the most relatable moment I had with anything in the book.
There are glimmers of potential. A line here, a scene there, where you think, ah, maybe this is where it takes off. But no. It doesn’t. It loops back to mediocrity and idles there, humming softly to itself. Like a very clever student who forgot to pack a plot.
If you’re the sort of person who loves flowcharts, beige dialogue and the theoretical physics section of Wikipedia, you might find something to chew on here. For the rest of us: one second per second is more than enough.