Just finished reading this. It’s one of those novels that when I turn the last page, I sit in silent wonder for a bit.
I’ve mentioned before how much I enjoy Ann Christy’s writing. Unexpected plot developments, characters you come to love, the imagery evoked, and the sheer quality of her writing style. That last bit is a reason I love reading Poul Anderson and Robert Silverberg.
There’s always a danger of overselling something you’ve enjoyed. All I can say is that about 40 years ago, Martian Time Slip left me feeling fascinatingly out of synch with time for about two weeks. This is the first time I’ve felt about time this way since that time.