The Time Traveler's Wife by Audrey Niffenegger. And Rock.
I just read the final chapters of "The Time Traveler's Wife". Ian Gillan has been screaming in my head for weeks. I realise now why "Child in Time" has been dogging me. It was briefly displaced by "Coming Home" from Iron Maiden's new album, but Ian is back with a vengeance this week. You have to understand, I don't actually play these records. I don't even own either of them. But still they fill my head. Audrey Niffenegger's book has engaged me like no other. Schindler's Ark read like a mail-order catalogue by comparison. All SF could be like this if only all SF were written by arty middle-aged, middle-class American women with red hair. And why not?