a crew of time travellers from the third millennium will think that a novel as an art form is an ugly and vulgar way to waste consciousness and therefore shouldn't have existed. they wouldn’t have been time travellers before that thought will occur in their minds, however — only after, once they will realise that the only way to stop a novel from spreading is to invent a Time Machine and kill the best writer who could have potentially created the most novelistic novel — but at the same time an anti-novel, thus making it circularly complete and fold onto itself — in the past to prevent the ugly and vulgar art form from spreading. only then, once the machine will have been invented, will they travel to the 19th century and exposed Anton Pavlovich Chekhov, the best writer of the 19th and 20th centuries, to tuberculosis so he died not even experiencing a mid-life crisis → didn't write his novelistic magnum opus → doomed the novel as an art form to a short life and eventual obscurity → gave the people of the third millennium a chance to live a happy life