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311 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1987
To see a world in a grain of sand
And a heaven in a wild flower,
Hold infinity in the palm of your hand,
And eternity in an hour.
Every night and every morn
Some to misery are born,
Every morn and every night
Some are born to sweet delight.
Some are born to sweet delight,
Some are born to endless night.
God appears, and God is light,
To those poor souls who dwell in night;
But does a human form display
To those who dwell in realms of day.
All poetic excerpts in this review are from Auguries of Innocence by William Blake
It is right it should be so;
Man was made for joy and woe;
And when this we rightly know,
Thro' the world we safely go.
The whore and gambler, by the state
Licensed, build that nation's fate.
The harlot's cry from street to street
Shall weave old England's winding-sheet.
The questioner, who sits so sly,
Shall never know how to reply.
He who replies to words of doubt
Doth put the light of knowledge out.
The soldier, arm'd with sword and gun,
Palsied strikes the summer's sun.
The poor man's farthing is worth more
Than all the gold on Africa's shore.
After a fatal heart attack at age 43, Jeff Winston wakes up baffled to learn he is not dead, but a young college student again back in 1963, (no spoiler here) and as he begins to relive his life over and over and over again, he becomes a bit more prepared and curious each time. Wanting to know the cause of this unusual phenomena, he finally stumbles across an interesting clue resulting in an outcome that gives special meaning to his tumultuous recurring lives.
Replay is a fast moving 300 pages that can in no way compare to my two favorites in the world of time-travel, (Outlander and 11/22/63) but I still found it to be a unique and enjoyable read I'm glad I did not miss. Life IS So Short!
One of the things I believe is that a novel is written by both the author and the reader, who brings to the novel whatever views or worries or perceptions s/he/they has. The unique point of view the reader brings changes the novel; we none of us ever actually read the same novel. It's like looking at the same river. Impossible.