You can fly over a city or walk through it; your movement influences what you see and how. Your body cannot help but chart the shape of a building, the time it will take to reach the other side of the intersection, spaces and gaps. It generates a personal narrative, entangled in the endless stories of the city.

This also happens in books, although we rarely think about it. If the reader's movement is made explicit from one word to the next, from page to page, from a while ago to two minutes from now, time assumes a key role in our reading experience. The gaps in-between words and pages - all of the book that isn't black ink - resonate.

This is precisely what happens in Tree of Codes, an extraordinary journey that activates the layers of time and space involved in the handling of a book and its heap of words. Jonathan Safran Foer deftly deploys sculptural means to craft a truly compelling story. In our world of screens, he wels narrative, materiality, and our reading experience into a book that remembers it actually has a body.