The Time Traveler's Wife
Jonathan Cape, 2003
This book does not appear to be part of a series. If this is incorrect, and you know the name of the series to which it belongs, please let us know.
|Sub-Genre Tags:||Time Travel|
|Avg Member Rating:||
Film & Television Adaptations
A dazzling novel in the most untraditional fashion, this is the remarkable story of Henry DeTamble, a dashing, adventuresome librarian who travels involuntarily through time, and Clare Abshire, an artist whose life takes a natural sequential course. Henry and Clare's passionate love affair endures across a sea of time and captures the two lovers in an impossibly romantic trap, and it is Audrey Niffenegger's cinematic storytelling that makes the novel's unconventional chronology so vibrantly triumphant.
An enchanting debut and a spellbinding tale of fate and belief in the bonds of love, The Time Traveler's Wife is destined to captivate readers for years to come.
OUT OF TIME
Oh not because happiness exists,
that too-hasty profit snatched from approaching loss.
But because truly being here is so much; because everything here
apparently needs us, this fleeting world, which in some strange way
keeps calling to us. Us, the most fleeting of all.
...Ah, but what can we take along
into that other realm? Not the art of looking,
which is learned so slowly, and nothing that happened here. Nothing.
The sufferings, then. And, above all, the heaviness,
and the long experience of love,- just what is wholly
- from The Ninth Duino Elegy,
RAINER MARIA RILKE,
translated by STEPHEN MITCHELL
FIRST DATE, ONE
Saturday, October 26, 1991 (Henry is 28, Clare is 20)
CLARE: The library is cool and smells like carpet cleaner, although all I can see is marble. I sign the Visitors' Log: Clare Abshire, 11:15 10-26-91 Special Collections. I have never been in the Newberry Library before, and now that I've gotten past the dark, foreboding entrance I am excited. I have a sort of Christmas-morning sense of the library as a big box full of beautiful books. The elevator is dimly lit, almost silent. I stop on the third floor and fill out an application for a Reader's Card, then I go upstairs to Special Collections. My boot heels rap the wooden floor. The room is quiet and crowded, full of solid, heavy tables piled with books and surrounded by readers. Chicago autumn morning light shines through the tall windows. I approach the desk and collect a stack of call slips. I'm writing a paper for an art history class. My research topic is the Kelmscott Press Chaucer. I look up the book itself and fill out a call slip for it. But I also want to read about papermaking at Kelmscott. The catalog is confusing. I go back to the desk to ask for help. As I explain to the woman what I am trying to find, she glances over my shoulder at someone passing behind me. "Perhaps Mr. DeTamble can help you," she says. I turn, prepared to start explaining again, and find myself face to face with Henry.
I am speechless. Here is Henry, calm, clothed, younger than I have ever seen him. Henry is working at the Newberry Library, standing in front of me, in the present. Here and now. I am jubilant. Henry is looking at me patiently, uncertain but polite.
"Is there something I can help you with?" he asks.
"Henry!" I can barely refrain from throwing my arms around him. It is obvious that he has never seen me before in his life.
"Have we met? I'm sorry, I don't...." Henry is glancing around us, worrying that readers, co-workers are noticing us, searching his memory and realizing that some future self of his has met this radiantly happy girl standing in front of him. The last time I saw him he was sucking my toes in the Meadow.
I try to explain. "I'm Clare Abshire. I knew you when I was a little girl..." I'm at a loss because I am in love with a man who is standing before me with no memories of me at all. Everything is in the future for him. I want to laugh at the weirdness of the whole thing. I'm flooded with years of knowledge of Henry, while he's looking at me perplexed and fearful. Henry wearing my dad's old fishing trousers, patiently quizzing me on multiplication tables, French verbs, all the state capitals; Henry laughing at some peculiar lunch my seven-year-old self has brought to the Meadow; Henry wearing a tuxedo, undoing the studs of his shirt with shaking hands on my eighteenth birthday. Here! Now! "Come and have coffee with me, or dinner or something...." Surely he has to say yes, this Henry who loves me in the past and the future must love me now in some bat-squeak echo of other time. To my immense relief he does say yes. We plan to meet tonight at a nearby Thai restaurant, all the while under the amazed gaze of the woman behind the desk, and I leave, forgetting about Kelmscott and Chaucer and floating down the marble stairs, through the lobby and out into the October Chicago sun, running across the park scattering small dogs and squirrels, whooping and rejoicing.
HENRY: It's a routine day in October, sunny and crisp. I'm at work in a small windowless humidity-controlled room on the fourth floor of the Newberry, cataloging a collection of marbled papers that has recently been donated. The papers are beautiful, but cataloging is dull, and I am feeling bored and sorry for myself. In fact, I am feeling old, in the way only a twenty-eight-year-old can after staying up half the night drinking overpriced vodka and trying, without success, to win himself back into the good graces of Ingrid Carmichel. We spent the entire evening fighting, and now I can't even remember what we were fighting about. My head is throbbing. I need coffee. Leaving the marbled papers in a state of controlled chaos, I walk through the office and past the page's desk in the Reading Room. I am halted by Isabelle's voice saying, "Perhaps Mr. DeTamble can help you," by which she means "Henry, you weasel, where are you slinking off to?" And this astoundingly beautiful amber-haired tall slim girl turns around and looks at me as though I am her personal Jesus. My stomach lurches. Obviously she knows me, and I don't know her. Lord only knows what I have said, done, or promised to this luminous creature, so I am forced to say in my best librarianese, "Is there something I can help you with?" The girl sort of breathes "Henry!" in this very evocative way that convinces me that at some point in time we have a really amazing thing together. This makes it worse that I don't know anything about her, not even her name. I say "Have we met?" and Isabelle gives me a look that says You asshole. But the girl says, "I'm Clare Abshire. I knew you when I was a little girl," and invites me out to dinner. I accept, stunned. She is glowing at me, although I am unshaven and hung over and just not at my best. We are going to meet for dinner this very evening, at the Beau Thai, and Clare, having secured me for later, wafts out of the Reading Room. As I stand in the elevator, dazed, I realize that a massive winning lottery ticket chunk of my future has somehow found me here in the present, and I start to laugh. I cross the lobby, and as I run down the stairs to the street I see Clare running across Washington Square, jumping and whooping, and I am near tears and I don't know why.
Later that evening:
HENRY: At 6:00 p.m. I race home from work and attempt to make myself attractive. Home these days is a tiny but insanely expensive studio apartment on North Dearborn; I am constantly banging parts of myself on inconvenient walls, countertops and furniture. Step One: unlock seventeen locks on apartment door, fling myself into the living room-which-is-also-my-bedroom and begin stripping off clothing. Step Two: shower and shave. Step Three: stare hopelessly into the depths of my closet, gradually becoming aware that nothing is exactly clean. I discover one white shirt still in its dry cleaning bag. I decide to wear the black suit, wing tips, and pale blue tie. Step Four: don all of this and realize I look like an FBI agent. Step Five: look around and realize that the apartment is a mess. I resolve to avoid bringing Clare to my apartment tonight even if such a thing is possible. Step Six: look in full-length bathroom mirror and behold angular, wild-eyed 6' 1" ten-year-old Egon Schiele look-alike in clean shirt and funeral director suit. I wonder what sorts of outfits this woman has seen me wearing, since I am obviously not arriving from my future into her past wearing clothes of my own. She said she was a little girl? A plethora of unanswerables runs through my head. I stop and breathe for a minute. Okay. I grab my wallet and my keys, and away I go: lock the thirty-seven locks, descend in the cranky little elevator, buy roses for Clare in the shop in the lobby, walk two blocks to the restaurant in record time but still five minutes late. Clare is already seated in a booth and she looks relieved when she sees me. She waves at me like she's in a parade.
"Hello," I say. Clare is wearing a wine-colored velvet dress and pearls. She looks like a Botticelli by way of John Graham: huge gray eyes, long nose, tiny delicate mouth like a geisha. She has long red hair that covers her shoulders and falls to the middle of her back. Clare is so pale she looks like a waxwork in the candlelight. I thrust the roses at her. "For you."
"Thank you," says Clare, absurdly pleased. She looks at me and realizes that I am confused by her response. "You've never given me flowers before."
I slide into the booth opposite her. I'm fascinated. This woman knows me; this isn't some passing acquaintance of my future hegiras. The waitress appears and hands us menus.
"Tell me," I demand.
"Everything. I mean, do you understand why I don't know you? I'm terribly sorry about that-"
"Oh, no, you shouldn't be. I mean, I know... why that is." Clare lowers her voice. "It's because for you none of it has happened yet, but for me, well, I've known you for a long time."
Copyright © 2003 by Audrey Niffenegger
No images currently exist for this novel. Be the first to submit one!
- Audrey Niffenegger - The Time Traveler's Wife - BBC
To explain, this is in many ways an old-fashioned love story. Henry is a time-traveller and his wife, Clare, isn't.
- Forgotten fridays: The time traveler`s wife by Audrey Niffenegger ( # 5 )
The Time Traveler's Wife link. A dazzling novel in the most untraditional fashion, this is the remarkable story of Henry DeTamble, a dashing, adventuresome librarian who travels involuntarily through time, and Clare Abshire, ...
- Liquorature #011 ? ?The Time Traveler's Wife? (Audrey Niffenegger ...
Liquorature Gathering #011 ? ?The Time Traveler's Wife? (Audrey Niffenegger). Date: December, 2009. Host: Clint/Jamie (Mixed Night). Whisky: n/a. Rum: n/a. Some of our significant others (and friends thereof) have a ladies ...
- xixi ze violinist : Her Fearful Symmetry by Audrey Niffenegger ...
Her Fearful Symmetry by Audrey Niffenegger. (Synopsis). I just finished reading Her Fearful Symmetry by Audrey Niffenegger, the author of The Time Traveler's Wife. It was.......... a very interesting read and I would like to share ...
- Book Review: The Time Traveler's Wife ? Audrey Niffenegger ...
With this book, I did something that I do not usually do - I watched the film first! Well, after enjoying the film so much, I decided that I just had to read it. After all, books are nearly always better than the film! I have to say, I was not ...
- Interpretation of Dreams | Washington Post Express
Audrey Niffenegger may be best known for her 2003 novel ?The Time Traveler's Wife,? a tale full of fantastical imagery and magical realism. She's also a respected visual artist who tells stories in a different way, in art books ...
- Book Review 5: The Time Traveler's Wife, by Audrey Niffenegger ...
Image. There are times I feel when a book just chooses to be read. Books that you have started reading several times all of a sudden just engross you. Or you miss all the hype of a book but then just randomly read it one day ...
- The Book Worm: The Time Traveler's Wife by Audrey Niffenegger ...
Here's the first page from the book The Time Traveler's Wife by Audrey Niffenegger Prologue: Clare: It's hard being left behind. I wait for Henry, not knowing where he is, wondering if he's okay. It's hard to be the one who stays.
- liv | Book: The time traveler's wife
Author: Audrey Niffenegger Details: (c) Audrey Niffenegger 2004; Pub Vintage 2005; ISBN 978-0-099-46446-4. Verdict: The time traveler's wife is well-written but doesn't quite live up to its potential. Reasons for reading it: ...
- The Time Traveler's Wife ? by Audrey Niffenegger | inekeclewer ...
I'd seen the film of this a long time ago, but as books are so often better and I'd picked it up cheaply in one of those bargain bookshops years ago I thought I'd knock it off my list. I found this a bit tricky to get into. The first chunk ...
- Audrey Niffenegger: Depth and Whimsy | Broad Strokes: The ...
Opening June 21 at NMWA, Awake in the Dream World: The Art of Audrey Niffenegger reveals the artist's range. In addition to her bestselling ... Artist-designed cover of The Time Traveler's Wife. In addition to this work, the ...
- The Time Traveler's Wife, Audrey Niffenegger | Reading the End
I recently reread this book, and I was planning to wait on writing about it until I could see the movie, but the people I see movies with are either like ?Are you nuts? I saw it the first instant it came out!? or else ?I can't watch it!
- Artists Faith Ringgold & Audrey Niffenegger at National Museum of ...
10, 2013, enter the fantastic, strange and mysterious world, real and imagined, of Audrey Niffenegger, in this mid-career retrospective of the artist and bestselling author of The Time Traveler's Wife. image003. Audrey ...
- The Time Traveler's Wife by Audrey Niffenegger | Kara MacIntyre
THE TIME TRAVELER'S WIFE by Audrey Niffenegger Summary: A librarian travels through time, and frequently deals with appearing naked at inconvenient places.
- National Museum of Women in the Arts presents first major museum ...
WASHINGTON, DC.- The National Museum of Women in the Arts presents Awake in the Dream World: The Art of Audrey Niffenegger, the first major museum exhibition of visual artist and author of The Time Traveler's Wife.