Michael Shelbourne is a physicist with broad interests in history and literature. We never learn how he comes into possession of three iPod-like "converters" that allow their owners to travel through time, although he presumably had a hand in inventing them. When Michael disappears, the converters fall into the hands of his son Shel and his multilingual friend Dave. After some initial fumbling to learn the tricks of time travel, the two are off into the past. Their initial goal is to find Shel's father, but the agenda expands to include historical sight-seeing, rescue of lost manuscripts, and lucrative art investing. Big fun!
The story has interesting strengths. No time is wasted with pages of invented pseudoscience justifying time travel technology. Technical concerns are limited to keeping the hand-held time machines charged and dry. There is a constraint that each converter can only transport one person--and there are only three of them. (Actually, with time-hopping and fast-fingered borrowing, there can sometimes be more than three.) This leads to situations where one time traveler gets in trouble and another has to get him out. They range from the mundane "my converter is out of juice" through several varieties of converter theft and loss to more complex scenarios where a time jump might create a paradox.
And there are weaknesses. Big ones, unfortunately. The main characters are disappointingly shallow. Shel and Dave have a few moving experiences, such as attending the Selma civil rights march and spending an evening with Ben Franklin's discussion group. These are exceptions. They more often hop into an historical event, watch the highlights, snap a few pictures, and push the big, black go-home button. Much of their onsite behavior is almost comically out-of-touch. They introduce themselves with their real names, shake hands with everybody, and even get to know some historical figures by "taking them to lunch." Nobody seems to think this strange.
The shallowness extends to the plot. Too many promising subplots never lift off. We see many of Dave's romantic troubles without seeing how they resolve. Lost Greek plays are released into modern times, but we learn little about the public's reaction. Long-time Jack McDevitt fans--and I count myself one--often divide his work into two groups. There are cleverly-written, big-idea stories like
A Talent For War and
The Engines of God that engage readers in solving a mystery, either scientific or historic. And there are a few directionless meanders like
Eternity Road that just don't go anywhere. I must regrettably place Time Travelers Never Die in the second category. It is a tapestry loosely weaved, with many stray threads.
That said, Jack McDevitt fans should read this book and will enjoy it. First-timers should first read one of his stronger works. And both types of reader should contrast this book with David Gerrold's
The Man Who Folded Himself to see how a concept-driven time travel story can be done well.