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� 5/5 | genre-bending brilliance, with maths, memory, and melancholia �

I’ll admit it: I picked up The Expert of Subtle Revisions because of its cover. I was fully prepared for quirky. What I got was something astonishingly tender, dazzlingly clever, and quietly profound.

This book is, in a word, a vibe. Think Cloud Atlas by way of Sea of Tranquility, with a whisper of The Seven Moons of Maali Almeida if it were written by someone who solves equations in verse. It’s about time travel, sort of. But it’s also about memory, grief, the tyranny of history, and the precise moments when a life bends into a different shape.

There’s a woman in 2016 named Hase who edits Wikipedia pages and lives in the shadows, waiting for her father to arrive by sailboat. There’s a group of mathematicians in 1930s Vienna arguing over theories of time while fascism closes in like fog on the Danube. And somewhere in between, there’s a music box that might alter the shape of a life. Or a century.

Each narrative thread is exquisitely rendered. Menger-Anderson does something rare: she gives her characters intellect and interiority in equal measure. Hase isn’t quirky for the sake of it—she’s strange in the way that grief makes us all strange. Josef is abhorrent, but never cartoonish. Anton broke my heart in three well-timed intervals.

Time travel, in fiction, is often about spectacle. This isn’t that. Here, it’s quieter. Less about machines and more about possibility. Less about paradox and more about personal recursion—how we loop through our regrets, how history repeats itself in small, cruel ways, and how art (and mathematics, and queerness, and stubbornness) might be our only rebellion.

And the writing? Gorgeous. Crisp. Oddly elegant. It doesn’t shout. It doesn’t perform. But every line is calibrated, like the balance on an old scale—delicate, deliberate, and slightly dangerous.
There’s queerness here, but not as subplot. It’s stitched into the logic of the book, like a hidden proof. There’s philosophy, but not the kind that makes your eyes glaze. And there's a finale that isn’t a twist, exactly—it’s more like finding the edge of the map and realizing it was drawn by someone who loved you.

It’s rare to find a book that feels like it’s thinking with you, like you’re solving something together. Rarer still to finish it and feel like something has subtly shifted—just one degree, but enough to change your trajectory.

The Expert of Subtle Revisions is brilliant in every sense of the word. Give it your attention. Let it bewilder you a little.