This is the first real novel I've read since Henry's illness began. Lately my knitting has waned, my concentration is improved and I feel like losing myself in a story is a more thorough escape from my mind's uncomfortable wanderings. I picked it up on the recommendation of a friend, who mentioned it because he was sure he'd be disappointed with the movie. I actually think it might translate very well.
The Time Traveler's Wife is written from the two perspectives of a couple in love, but tossed around by fate and time in ways that the rest of us aren't. It's well written, has some clever dialogue, and makes your mind stretch a bit to follow what's happening.
It's a love story, first and foremost, but there's also a lot in there about loss. How are death and loss different if you have access to time travel? Quite a bit. Henry (the protagonist) lost his mother when he was a child, but as an adult is able to experience her again. Henry's father was devastated by the loss of his wife, but finds her existence to Henry, albeit in a different and for him inaccessible dimension, comforting.
I do as well, thinking of my own Henry. My poor little brain isn't very adept at quantum physics, but I believe enough in the brains of others to trust in what they are saying. Sometimes I make the analogy in my head about time that we used to have about space. Hundreds of years ago, when someone made the trip from Europe to the Americas, families knew they would never seen each other again, never again occupy the same physical space. Henry and I will never again occupy the same time space, but in "sometime" he still is.