"I think if you live long enough," Nico said, "you become a migrant from another timeline. There's the world you learn to navigate as you enter adulthood, and then that world slips away from you by degrees, and after a while there's nothing left of it, but you're still here. That's what I mean."
--Emily St. John Mandel, Exit Party (Knopf)
As a reader, bookseller, and aging human, I've had many time travel guides during my, well, time in this particular dimension. Certain authors have cast particularly edifying light along my speculative path. Mandel is a contemporary one; others include Edward Bellamy (Looking Backward: 2000-1887), H.G. Wells (The Time Machine), and Kurt Vonnegut (Slaughterhouse-Five). I've read and reread them during my time.
Time travel is an undefinable yet essential part of the human experience. Even in writing Exit Party, Mandel had to return to 2010 and The Singer's Gun (Unbridled), retrieving her villain Ari, now the protagonist in the new book that explores the devilish complexity of intersecting timelines.
In a recent interview with the Guardian, Mandel recalled: "I just couldn't stop thinking about her. I found myself thinking: what would that character be like at the other end of an 18-year prison sentence?" Ari is like a time traveler, she added, echoing the lines from Exit Party quoted above: "If you stick around long enough, you kind of become a migrant from a different timeline."
Cranking up my own time travel portal, I remember being introduced to Mandel in 2011. At the end of another crazy BookExpo America day in New York, I had grabbed a taxi to Housing Works Bookstore in the West Village, where the Indie Booksellers Choice Awards, co-sponsored by Melville House Publishing and Shelf Awareness, were to be presented. The festivities drew a big crowd for the announcement of five books from indie publishers that had been selected by independent booksellers. The Singer's Gun won and Mandel was the only author among the winners to be in attendance that night.
Her connection to the world of indies is traceable through time. Last month, she told Bookselling This Week that independent bookstores "have been very important to my career, and they've also always been magical spaces to me."
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| Emily St. John Mandel (r.) and Laura Barisonzi's wedding at Greenlight Bookstore |
In her Guardian interview, Mandel mentioned that last year she had married photographer Laura Barisonzi in a "wedding [that] was the stuff of book nerds' dreams, held in Brooklyn's Greenlight Bookstore, which has been 'hosting my launch events since before Station Eleven--and I didn't sell many books back then! They had an open book bar and her daughter, now 10, was a 'ring bearer-slash-flower girl.' It was just lovely."
The earlier recollection of BookExpo now sends me off on another time traveling quest, courtesy of Bellamy's Looking Backward (1888). I purchased my first of many copies of the Penguin paperback edition at a library book fair when I was in high school. Rereading it over the decades has always messed with my perspective, but perhaps never more so than after I entered the book trade.
In the utopian novel, Julian West wakes up from a 113-year snooze to discover that, among other notable shocks, the future of books is POD self-publishing (He wasn't quite tuned in to the future enough to anticipate e-books or AI authors) for the masses.
Bellamy predicted a 21st-century book trade that had freed itself from the shackles of hype, greed, and uncertainty, writing that "the universally high level of education nowadays gives the popular verdict a conclusiveness on the real merit of literary work which in your day it was as far as possible from having.... Every author has precisely the same facilities for bringing his work before the popular tribunal."
The printing department, he wrote, "is bound to print all that is offered it, but prints it only on condition that the author defray the first cost out of his credit. He must pay for the privilege of the public ear, and if he has any message worth hearing we consider that he will be glad to do it."
Sitting at his writing desk in the 19th century, Bellamy couldn't envision a future publishing industry that once gave us the trade show formerly known as BookExpo, which annually offered up the vision of a promising future in the midst of a muddled present. The illusion of a clear, unspoiled book path lying just ahead of us is more than just idle speculation in our business, however. We do time travel to the future daily as readers, via manuscripts, catalogs, ARCs, and other tools of the trade. At BookExpo, a utopian vision was always grandly on display. Books that would be published in the fall hadn't failed yet; first-time authors were always promising; any book might grow up to be a bestseller.
Where does the book time go?
In The Time Machine, a brief foray into the future is also a fitting image for the act of reading as time travel: "I stopped. No Change. Everything exactly as it had been before. But no, the clock said 6:31 when I started, and now it was 8:09. And the candle! Shorter by inches. And yet, by my watch, which was in the machine with me, only a few seconds had passed."
Likewise, no matter the genre, reading time passes unmarked as we live in an alternate dimension that is nothing like our concept of "real time." Aging performs the same trick, subtly altering our timeline as we go. "You're saying if you live long enough, your life turns into sci-fi?" asks a character in Exit Party. Well, yes, it does.