In a good book, the author plants tiny instances throughout the story that build and grow on each other. At the time that subtle sentence here, that brief paragraph there, may seem insignificant to the reader. We breeze over them without a thought. Later, however, we see them for all their vitalness to the story. We gasp to ourselves as the story comes together and it all makes sense in the end. We wonder at the brilliance of the author, at the ability to weave those instances so intricately, so beautifully, without us even realizing them, or remembering them, until the story finishes.