The Paper Bird: A novel

A blank map. A pencil that won't hold its marks. And a child waiting in the salt. >No salary is offered. No return date. No rescue protocol. On the salt flats, the archivist finds a child sitting at the center of a white horizon. The child does not speak. The child does not blink. The child waits three hours and then holds out one hand. Together they walk west through cities of shifting names, sulfur plains where every word returns as three contradictory meanings, mirror fields that show faces the archivist has never worn, and a train station where a radio broadcasts the names of everyone who has ever been forgotten. But the Erasure is not a place. It is a verb. And the archivist is carrying a machine-one built years ago, one that cannot be reversed-that has already erased the only thing that mattered. The Paper Bird is a haunting work of literary speculative fiction about parental grief, the ethics of forgetting, and the long walk toward remembering what you chose to destroy. For readers of Kazuo Ishiguro's*The Buried Giant, Jeff VanderMeer's Annihilation, and Juan Rulfo's Pedro Páramo. "The map is not the territory. But sometimes the map is all the territory there is."