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How to review this without spoilers for things that it is definitely worth encountering at the speed they're written?

I found this a hard book to read, because so much of the plot is driven by the protagonist making decisions that are clearly bad in the moment they are made. I felt a bit like the stereotypical moviegoer wanting to shout "no, don't do it" at the screen. But I ultimately came to see it as a classic tragedy: a whole series of painful events driven by the hero's fatal flaw. And it is all aspects of the same flaw, and the flaw is one that's very recognisable looking around at society.

It's also a story of the right size for the novella format. Sometimes I get frustrated that novellas feel incomplete, rushing to an ending and/or leaving too few characters fleshed out. This one just felt tightly focussed.

And it has one of the best closing sentences of anything I've read, up there with The Dispossessed for how perfectly it recapitulates the whole story, and how little it will mean prior to having read the story.

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Time Shelter was our #SFFBookClub October 2025 pick.

I have such mixed feelings about this book. Thematically and topically, it manages to be quite consistent, but it felt like there were too many ingredients in the soup. It feels like there could have been a much tighter and less rambling story or two (or three) assembled from the various pieces of this novel, but then it wouldn't have been this book, either.

There's a lot that I enjoyed about this book, in terms of its discussions about the weaponization and productionization of nostalgia and the past. But also the way that we produce and manufacture memory as well, in similar fashion. I liked the parallels of the national and personal with respect to the uncertainty of the future and wanting to dwell safely in the past. The slow collapse of the narrator during the final chapters.

Despite that, I also struggle with "was this a good story" or "did I enjoy reading this". Probably not, if I'm being honest. I was gripped the most by the personal narrative and the narrator's relationship with his imagined collaborator/self Gaustine, but the story took so many tangents that I'm not sure that any of its threads came together for me satisfyingly.

(Truly also, I have been struggling with reading this month, and a book that challenged me so much as a reader is likely not the best fit for my current capacity. I feel like there is probably more here that I was unable to connect or fully grasp.)

There's an excellent book in here. An engaging story about individual and collective self-delusion and amnesia, with some very clear political messages and a grim humour to it. But at times, especially in the second quarter or so of the book, the author seems unclear whether he's writing a novel or a NY Review Of Books essay about individual dementia, collective amnesia, and the selective remembering of nostalgia. It's clear that he could write a fine essay and I'd enjoy reading that too, but the hybrid is clunky. From the POV of a novel reader the essay portions make the plot drag slowly enough that I started to lose interest. From the POV of a creative nonfiction reader, the actually fiction parts are jarring and confusing.

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I loved this book for several things:

• How real and solid the historical-London setting felt. I'm used to that sort of thing feeling very flimsy, but this is an author who clearly does deep research and lets it suffuse the writing without getting all 'splainy.
• The very palpable tension between the protagonist's precarious position and her need to have some freedom.
• The delightful-if-implausable retconning of Sir Christopher Wren's secret motive for shaping London the way he did.

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About halfway through and I have mixed feelings about this book. I find the plot such as there is one quite interesting and a very good vehicle for dissecting/mocking the 2010s-2020s turn to fascism. And I like the writing itself a lot. But Gospodinov seems perpetually unsure whether he's writing a novel or an essay.

The thing that's keeping me going is that he's a good enough writer and observer for it to be an enjoyable essay, but I am increasingly finding myself wanting the essayish digressions to get shorter so the plot can move more.

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Ok, I think I'm putting this down now - it has become a slog. I took a little break, thinking maybe I just needed a change of pace, but I'm just not into it.

I'm reminded a bit of when, having loved The Historian, I picked up The Shadow Land, also by Elizabeth Kostova. I spent much of the novel anticipating how the surreal elements were going to be introduced, only to eventually realize that it was just a "normal" mystery story (coincidentally also set in / revolving around Bulgaria).

Some of the concepts are intriguing, but they don't seem to be going anywhere (so far).

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