The Book Of Lost Hours

Secular new year is right around the corner, and it wreaks havoc in writers mental space. Everyone and their uncle is busy putting out lists of “favorite books of the year.” Large media outlets, prestigious awards, and most individual bloggers are ranking this years reads. For a writer, not finding their book on those lists- or finding it on someone’s list of least favorite reads- can be devastating. Which is why I like to remind people that what feels permanent and momentous now, may actually prove fleeting in the grand scheme of things. Which brings me to Hayley Gelfuso’s masterpiece of a debut, The Book of Lost Hours, and the mysterious nature of human memory.

The book opens on Kristallnacht when a father attempts to save his daughter Lisavet by stashing her in the time space – a giant library of human memory that can be accessed by individuals with special watches. He runs off in search of his son, and unfortunately never returns, leaving Lisavet trapped with nothing but all of human memory for company. As Lisavet watches government agents attempt to burn inconvenient memories out of existence – including her father’s – she realizes that memory, and history, are fungible things. No two people remember an event the same way, and the truth is probably found somewhere between them. To preserve this sacred truth, she starts salvaging memories others are attempting to destroy. 

In a dual timeline, teenager Amelia is thrust into the time space by sketchy government agents who claim her uncle was killed in there by rival government agents. Amelia is not exactly a super spy, but even she can tell that something is off, and she quickly learns that everyone is keeping secrets from her. Especially when it comes to the memories of a person named Lisavet.

Somewhere between all the intrigue, Gelfuso finds time to explore a poignant love story and the complex nature of parenthood. The Book of Lost Hours is a meditation on time, memory, and humanity’s obsessive need to classify and codify it all. Nobody owns time. Nobody owns memory. Hardest of all – there may not be an objective truth. One generations idea of “good” can be another generations horror show. All we can do is try and live with integrity and love in the time we are given. Which I find oddly comforting. Who cares if nobody put you on their “best of 2025” list? In twenty years from now nobody will even remember half of them. Instead of worrying about when it will be our time, we should join those list makers in celebrating the good parts of our present and fighting for a more honest tomorrow – like Lisavet. 

I devoured The Book of Lost Hours with a rare speed for a book dealing with such serious themes. My only tiny quibble was that I found the ending almost too happy/perfect. I know this is a bizarre statement from me, I’m the queen of happy endings, and the conclusion will be a huge wish fulfillment for many readers who wish they could repair history’s most terrible moments. I am a child of my past, just as Amelia is of hers, and I have a strong aversion to any kind of happy ending to a story that starts on Kristallnacht. Even though I only exist because some Jews did indeed survive and find their happy endings. I guess I’m like Lisavet – I want to remind people of the pasts they would rather forget. 

Find It: Amazon | Bookshop