My Time Machine takes off when Carol Lay’s silver-haired protagonist (who happens to resemble the author) embarks on a foolhardy odyssey that transports her from the politically addled and environmentally anxious America of 2020 to a bleak and distant future. “When I came to, I had that ‘Where am I?' feeling. “Only it was more like, ‘When am I?’” Trapped in a glitchy time machine at the end of the world, a strange creature banging unnervingly at the door, what else is an exhausted amateur time traveler to do but sit back and play her concertina? Having inherited the blueprints designed by the Time Traveler of H.G. Wells’ historical account, our curious and all-too-human adventurer enlists her genius ex-husband to construct a modern version of the time machine. Torn between wanting to fix the past and needing to know what lies ahead, she decides to see how our follies will play out in order to bring back information that might help save civilization from itself. She anticipates trouble, but it’s far worse ― not only has humanity failed to mitigate climate change, but by 2035 the world has succumbed to fascism. Then, by 2045, it has devolved to anarchy. Intrigued by the possibilities detailed in Wells’ book, she decides to visit the year 802,701 to verify the original Traveler’s tale. In that inexplicably lush land she encounters enemies that propel her to the earth’s last, hellish days. Carol Lay’s My Time Machine is serious and funny, a sly cautionary political satire, and a rollicking time travel story full of puzzling paradoxes, edge-of-your-seat suspense, breezy badinage, and a deeply felt wonder at the universe.