Synopsis

“It is a dreadful thing to be possessed, to be invaded by a spirit woman who commands your body and soul and looks out at the world through your eyes. It happened to me in 1778. Pray it will never happen to you.”

Adele’s diary tells the story of her domination by an incubus Lynne, a serving girl in a London ale house who died a violent death and commandeered Adele’s body for eight years. Can Adele be held responsible for Lynne’s crimes? Will the evil spirit return and renew her tyranny over Adele’s mind?

Lynne has moved on into the 21st century, but the transmigration has left her emotions flat. Lynne is eager to go back to her first life and experience once more the passion she felt for her lover, Jack. To do so, she needs a channel to the past: the manuscript of Adele’s diary, if only she can find it.

A time-slip novel set in contemporary Los Angeles and 18th century London, The Loneliness of the Time Traveller is a story of love, crime, and adventure combined with fantasy, a little bit of Jane Austen-style irony, and a healthy serving of social criticism.

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Praise

“This is a fast-paced page turner. A suspenseful, thrilling roller coaster ride with lots of twisty, loopy sections. Head Games is an apt title for this enthralling read. “- Joy Renee, Joy Story

“Identity’s a big theme in this work, so if you’ve ever felt you were someone other than yourself, if you thought you might like to try living in someone else’s skin, if you’ve wondered whether your friends and loved ones were not exactly who they claimed to be, then this psychological labyrinth might just be your winding road to a good read”.- Carole Giangrande, Words to Go

“This was a book that grabbed me from the start. It’s a period in history that offered much to the world but also had some of man’s darkest moments. Due to that it does provide rich material for a novelist and Ms. Rummel does an excellent job of taking her reader on a dangerous journey through the twists and turns of what many faced during the time. The characters are well developed and defined. The scenes are well described and I found myself feeling like I was actually walking the streets with the characters of the book.”-Patty, Books Cooks Looks

“To live during such tumultuous times would be horrible. You would have to be careful of every word that came out of your mouth. That might be easy when you are alert, but what about when you are so tired that you can’t even think? This book made me thankful that I was born in America in the 20th century. Any fan of riveting historical fiction will get lost in this book from page one.”-Lisa, Lisa’s Writopia

Excerpt

NOSTALGIA.  It started a week ago in New York, at a farewell party the Shearers gave me.  Maybe I should call it a good-riddance party because I wasn’t popular at Argus Investments. My success left a bitter taste in the mouths of my colleagues. Bitch! they said behind my back, but I caught them in the act. Bitch was hovering in the air.

Stockbrokers are realists. They believe in statistics, in calculable risks, in tangible facts. They don’t believe in telepathy and the ability to read a person’s mind. But that’s my forte. Thoughts are visible to me, whether they come out as words or remain tucked away in people’s minds. I see them swirling around their heads, little puffs of vapour merging with other people’s thoughts, turning into clusters, becoming trends.  I know what people think, about me, about currencies, about real estate, tar sands, copper mines, steel production, oil platforms. That’s how I made my money on the stock market, predicting the next big thing, spying on the thoughts of traders and investors, watching the aura of greed tremble in the air and build toward a boom, or the fears gather and burst the bubble. That’s how I knew it was the right time to leave Argus Investments and cash out. The market was at its peak. The downward slide started two days after I sold my holdings. The rancour among my former partners was palpable. They resented my perfect timing. I could see the question in their eyes, casting an opaque shadow: How the fuck did she know? It couldn’t have been pure luck.  She must have a hook-up. — I do. Reading people’s minds is my hook-up.

So the Shearers put themselves out and gave me a party. They thought it was a good investment.  I might be useful to them in future.  I could see the idea sticking up from Dan’s head like the crest of a Mohawk: Let’s keep on friendly terms with Lynne. She’s got connections. Smiles were painted on every face around the table and reflected in the gleaming silverware. Thoughts coiled around every head, wound tightly to prevent them from unravelling and turning into slippery words. It was a perfectly staged party. There were enough flowers for a wedding or a funeral. The caterers had planned the dinner to the last delicious detail, although gourmet food and vintage wines are wasted on this crowd. They are hungry only for stock market news.

“So what’s up next, Lynne?” Dan Shearer asked me.

The conversation around us stopped as people leaned in to hear my answer.

“Just moving on,” I said.

They thought it was a metaphor, as in: moving on to a new company, to new investments. No, I meant it literally, as in: transmigration. I suppose Dan Shearer would call that a hook-up, too.  If he believed in paranormal phenomena such as time travel and switching bodies.

When I reach the point of ennui, when success no longer keeps away boredom, I make my move. It’s a natural cycle. The current begins to flow in the right direction, the winds pick up, impatience runs in my veins like sap. It’s the season to slough off my old body and slip into a new skin, to enter new territory. I know the danger, but I can’t resist the call. Reading people’s minds and migrating into their bodies are, shall we say, related activities. One is only a brief incursion — a hit-and-run operation to prey on their thoughts. The other involves all-out war, a battle for total control, the permanent occupation of a foreign body. You become them. They become you. Timing is crucial in transmigration. The battle begins when the body’s owner has reached a low point and is ready to cede control to Death. That’s when I make my move and contest his take-over bid. It’s an operation that requires a high level of competence. I’ve honed my transmigration skills over more than two centuries and still can’t say that I’ve perfected the method. It’s always risky. You have to take into account a large number of variables when you challenge Death for control over a body. You have to time your entry exactly and strike with military precision. One mistake, and you are in a disaster zone. Death wins, you die. But there is glory in fighting Death, a poetic beauty in the glint of danger, the rush of blood, the terror of an uncertain fate, and in the end, the exhilaration of victory.  I’ve never lost a battle yet. I am a survivor.

“Not giving anything away?” Dan said and smiled a knowing smile.

I smiled back at him.

“Sorry, Dan, but that’s confidential for the time being.”

I don’t remember the rest of the conversation because my attention was arrested by a painting on the opposite wall. When Dan leaned forward to talk to me, it came into full view and hit me between the eyes – that’s what it felt like, a violent knock, someone demanding to get into my head. What I saw was a large white canvas. In the upper left corner was a tangle of green letters like graffiti marking gang territory. In the centre of the painting, a gash spurted tiny blood-red letters that said LA to NY, NY to LA. It looked like an itinerary, and I recognized the thing that had punched me in the head: nostalgia. I’d moved to New York from Los Angeles twelve years ago. Was I nostalgic for L.A., for a time when my interests were more genteel, when I studied history at UCLA and worked as an intern at the Clarkson Rare Book Library? Yes, those memories played into my nostalgia, but for some reason the painting on the wall had triggered a longing for something further back.  It was nostalgia for my first life, in London, two centuries ago. I wanted to go home. I wanted to see Jack again. For some inexplicable reason, when I looked at that painting, Jack’s name flared up in my brain, a lick of fire. I ran hot and cold. I could feel his mouth on mine, making me shiver with pleasure.  I could hear his voice in my ear, an urgent whisper making my heart beat faster: Come back, Lynne!

Perhaps the cliché is true, and you can’t go home again. In my travels I’ve always moved on.  I don’t know how to reverse the flow of time, or let’s say, I tried it once, in Los Angeles twelve years ago, and it didn’t work, but when I looked at that painting in Dan Shearer’s apartment, I made a decision: I’ll give it another try.  I’ll find a way to go back home to London, to my first life.

Guest Review by Nora

19^th century London. A world that is easy enough for some, but heinously difficult for others. This is the story of two young woman from different worlds that come together in a very unexpected way.

Lynne is a serving girl from the seedy side of the city. In love with a criminal, she is suddenly murdered one day by an enemy of her lover, Jack. Somehow, though, her spirit survives beyond death. You see, Lynne is what is called a ‘transmigrant.’ A spirit that is able to migrate between bodies to keep themselves alive.

Lynne is only able to enter bodies that are dying, and, as such, she finds a girl named Adele who is suffering from a life-threatening fever. Making herself right at home in Adele’s body, Lynne spends the next eight years slowing gaining control over the poor girl and ruining her life.

After Lynne leaves Adele to move onto someone else, the latter woman writes a memoir about her experiences with the body-snatching evil spirit. And, after centuries of spanning the globe, taking others lives and eventually moving on when she gets bored or the body loses it’s luster, Lynne finds herself desperate to return to Adele’s life—and she decides to use Adele’s original manuscript to do it.

Lynne believes that touching the words that Adele wrote will allow her to time travel back to the 19^th century, and she is willing to do whatever it takes to obtain the manuscript and test her theory.

Having read one of Erika Rummel’s books before, I’ve come to know her as a very talented author especially in respect to her ability to write historical scenes. The scenes that looked back at Adele’s life were some of my favorites in this book, and so well written that they momentarily made me forget I wasn’t reading a novel from that era.

This is Rummel’s first foray into science fiction and she hit a home run! I want to give this more stars, but I will have to settle for five, since that is the standard. Do not miss out on this captivating novel!

About the Author

Award winning author, Erika Rummel has taught history at the University of Toronto and Wilfrid Laurier University, Waterloo.

She divides her time between Toronto and Los Angeles and has lived in villages in Argentina, Romania, and Bulgaria.

She has published eight novels and more than a dozen books on social history of the Renaissance. A recipient of international fellowships and literary awards, she was honored in 2018 with a lifetime achievement award by the Renaissance Society of America.

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Giveaway

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This giveaway ends on October 8, 2022 midnight, pacific time.

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