For a depressing time, call this book.
No, really. Here we are, hanging out with a biologist on an expedition with three other scientists who have been sent to explore Area X. They know that the previous twelve (is it twelve?) expeditions have all failed in one way or another; some people come back with terminal cancer, others don't come back at all...so why would anyone volunteer to go again? As the book unfolds, the biologist's reasons become semi-clear, but not before a conspiracy of her fellow expeditionists, the people that sent them, and even Area X itself are thrown in the mix.
The thing is, this book reads like a bad dream. Everyone is broken, including the narrator, and that equates to neurotic internal dialogues and paranoia. There's violence and revelatory discoveries and betrayal, but the narration wrestles around in a scratchy, depressing blanket of bland descriptions and not quite enough clear information to really make sense of anything. You can infer, you can guess, but the answers just aren't there.
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