this book is not about fish
Shaw found something else they could drink–the end of a litre of Absolut so old the shoulders of the bottle were sticky with all the condensed, gritty airs of London–and, sitting on the edge of the bed, unwrapped the housewarming present.
“Look at that!” Victoria said, as if their roles were reversed and he had given it to her. It was made of silver, with an articulated body five or six inches long and hinged sidefins. “It’s Peruvian,” she said. “It’s a fish. It’s quite old, 1860.”
Shaw weighed the fish in his hand, moved one of the fins cautiously. Its scales were tarnished and cold. “Hi fish,” he said.
“See,” Victoria said. “You like it. You like it already.”
“I do like it,” he said.
Gollancz, July 25 2020. Preorder at your usual outlets.
Tweet your guesses about the actual subject matter of the book to #TheSunkenLandBeginsToRiseAgain. Or just go here and here to read the description & epigraphs. As soon as I have more information, I’ll put up a dedicated page.