Maybe my first novel in four years should be something else. Maybe this isn’t the first thing to show my new agent, Sally Harding. Marks Wildlife Refuge, complete with abandoned lighthouse. Maybe the book is just an aimless ramble about four women wandering a facsimile of the 14-mile trail I hike out at St. Most expeditions meet with disaster.Īs I wait for Ann’s verdict, I’m filled with doubts. For 30 years, Area X has been closed off from the rest of the world by an invisible border and peculiar things are happening inside. What the hell have I written? The book is about a dysfunctional secret agency called Southern Reach and its efforts to solve the mysteries behind Area X, a strange pristine wilderness. I’m nervous as hell and finding it hard to concentrate on the highway-that boring part of I-75 that serves as a gullet down toward the artificial guts of Disney World. My wife, Ann, is in the passenger seat, reading the manuscript of my new novel, Annihilation. I’m driving down to Orlando for a conference on the fantastic in the arts.
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