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It is near impossible to imagine a novel with a greater scope than this one, which spans all of cosmic eternity from big bang to the energy death of the universe... and perhaps beyond. In Stapleton's convulsively expanding reference frame humans are almost immediately inconsequential, and shortly thereafter almost any reference to specific planet or even solar system. Some narrative momentum and personal attachment is sacrificed to the remarkable breadth, but this is necessary, and he gets around the problem admirably. Less successful, to me, is some of the exaltation and mysticism that comes up, but this is also obvious from the start given the title of the book.

For a little while, I was expecting this to be a retelling of the Iranian folk story of the , surely Borges' fault.