This book was disappointing. It had such an interesting premise and a lot of potential and the author manages to turn it into some sort of badly-written chick-lit that pretends it's some sort of intelligent romance novel.
The book basically reads like this: Henry time-travels, Clare pines away for him, and then he comes back and there are needlessly graphic descriptions of them having sex (in fact, the sex scenes are completely gratuitous). Lather, rinse, and repeat. This cycle is sometimes interrupted by interactions with Clare's art school friends (who sit around and talk about capitalism! and anarchy! and is basically the author's poor attempt at proving she's worldly and intelligent), Henry's old caretaker (a Korean lady who provides opportunities for stereotypical and racist descriptions), and all sorts of name-dropping (to show the reader that Audrey Niffenegger is so cool! and hip! and smarter than you!).
I get that Clare's dependency on Henry was intentional, something about the theme of cause and effect I suppose, but it was just not written in any sort of interesting or compelling way. The characters themselves were also so poorly developed that I could only see them as a string of letters on a page rather than actual people.