Our Take
What makes Tomorrow, and Tomorrow, and Tomorrow special is how it treats friendship with the same gravity most novels reserve for romance. Sam and Sadie's partnership, built and broken and rebuilt across decades of game design, becomes a lens for talking about creativity, disability, grief, and what it means to make something together without ever quite being able to say what you mean to each other. Zevin writes with an obvious love for gaming as an art form, but you don't need to know anything about consoles or code to feel the pull of these characters. If you loved the sprawling, time hopping intimacy of A Little Life or the collaborative creative tension in The Interestings, this will hit familiar notes, though Zevin's tone is warmer and less punishing. There's also a kinship with Station Eleven in how it treats art as a way of surviving loss. It's ambitious in structure but never shows off, and it earns its emotional weight scene by scene rather than demanding it upfront. A book about makers, made with real craft.
