For the first time ever I have read a book in which I felt the film adaptation was vastly superior to it's written counterpart. The film smacked of originality, romance, power and a sweet melancholy. The book was a repetitive dirge. The initial scenes were very good, well written and original. Setting up the scenario of a man whose abilities to time travel were, for once, uncontrollable by himself and caused by genetic rather than the old cliched 'mad scientist' device was handled extremely well. However, after the first two or three time travelling episodes the author ran out of ideas. How many times can we invent instances where he disappears suddenly and reappears in a potentially life-threatening or hazardous situation? The answer? As many times as you like but don't expect the reader to be excited by it when they realise that it is in fact a cheap way of furthering the plot along. Don't read the book. Just watch the film.