A writer wakes up in the house of his biggest reader. Two people, one room, and a typewriter.
Much the better book next to It, which I read the same month, because the constraint forces everything into the room. No town, no mythology, no supernatural explanation. Just an increasingly resourceful man and someone who is going to notice.
It is also a book about writing to order and resenting the audience, which the author is clearly working out in public.
Read April 1999.
