Near the beginning of Kaliane Bradley’s The Ministry of Time, a charmingly clever time travel romance, the unnamed narrator articulates the standard take on such stories: “Anyone who has ever watched a film with time-travel, or read a book with time-travel, or dissociated on a delayed public transport vehicle considering the concept of time-travel, will know that the moment you start to think about the physics of it, you are in a crock of shit.”
Read Full Article »
