There’s something in the way time moves through and around a novel, and through us and around us when we are reading it, that is singular to books, that is transcendent, that causes us to rise above the highway, to contemplate time’s passage and its meaning, and to feel its wistful power and wrenching distortions. I think this is truer and more pronounced with novels than with any other form.
— Jess Walters, author of Beautiful Ruins