The shortest distance between two points is a line, uncurved and precise. This linear truth is at the center of all things equal and just. The reality makes us feel safe and secure, all is going to be right. Phases of life, father time's eventual end, declines of bodies and minds, as intended. And all that is fine. Get in line everybody, put on a frown, cry. Hurt and moan. The Boo Hoo Blues, the Wine Whines, the Vape Vampires. Not that linear thought or travel or reading is all bad, The Fantastic Formalities Of Tennis could be read in that comfortable manner, perhaps during hammock time. A leisurely exercise in absorbing the tennis and tangents approach. The demonstrations, declarations, and pronations. Stories of heroes and fools, legends and chumps, grits and gangs, grunters and grinders. Mudders. Characters, less developed, more revealed. Like, real. Damn the timeline, it is merely a secondary guidepost anyway, like a lighthouse, like a beacon. Lines remain important and they are protected. The eyes of digital hawks will ensure. Laser beams will validate. Chains, strings, telescopes. Microchips.
The work of the writer and reader is in the curves, our top spinning, our dancing, our ride. Whirl around like they do in space. Float a bit. To make the float float a bit quicker, if only for terminology reasons, reading Chapter 15 of Part I--ISM to start could be beneficial.
This is clearly a sub sub sub culture you will observe through these parts and chapters. Much is assumed, but the top of the the iceberg is enough. We know what is below. Linear is not always best.