In Deep Past by Eugene Linden, anthropologist Claire Knowland makes a discovery that could rewrite everything we know about human evolution—but some truths are too dangerous to uncover. As powerful forces conspire to silence her, Claire must fight to protect a revelation that challenges the very foundation of what it means to be intelligent. “A fascinating thriller… Linden does a masterly job of integrating intriguing speculative science into a page-turning plot.” —Publishers Weekly, starred review.
Perfect for fans of Michael Crichton and James Rollins, this gripping sci-fi thriller explores the tantalizing possibility that human intelligence isn’t as unique as we thought—and the lengths some will go to keep that secret buried.
If you haven’t yet dived into Deep Past, now is the perfect time—because Claire’s journey continues in Resurrecting Bart, a provocative sequel that pushes the boundaries of science, ethics, and power.
Read the introduction to Deep Past below and start your book club on this thrilling series. Then, continue the conversation with Resurrecting Bart, and explore its fascinating ethical dilemmas with our book club discussion guide.
DEEP PAST by Eugene Linden
INTRODUCTION
There are places on the planet whose scale reminds us that we are but a crushed bug on the
windshield of time. The great Kazakh Steppe is one such place, bounded by the endless
grasslands of Mongolia to the east, the formidable mountain ranges of Russia to the north, the
arid deserts to the south, and the Caspian Sea and Europe’s forests to the west. It stretches
over one thousand miles, and travelers making their way across this landscape encounter
interminable empty vistas to remind them of their insignificance.
There are also places on the planet where the weather serves as a constant reminder of just
how tenuous is our hold on life, places that serve notice that the clement circumstances that
permit us to grow crops and prosper is not a right, but a lucky break. In the Sahara, it’s the heat
and aridity that provide this useful lesson; in Antarctica, the cold; while on the Kazakh Plain, it’s
all of the above—and the constant wind. The scale of the place, its uninterrupted expanses, its
position between the cold north and the hot south, and the very turning of the planet combine
to channel and augment the winds into an implacable force.
And when these winds hit, say, the Quonsets erected for the camp of an archaeological
expedition, they give voice in protest, rising intermittently from a moan to a shriek and then
fading, but never dying. The sound is desolation itself.
The wind also shapes and scours. Carrying dust over thousands of miles, it buries the present
and, very rarely, uncovers the past. Most often it’s the near past that’s revealed, scrap from
Soviet-era military maneuvers, a fire pit from a nomadic encampment. Rarer still, the wind
might uncover the long-buried detritus of the ancient cultures that transited the plain: a
weathered sword sheath worn by one of Genghis Khan’s warriors, an ornament from the Botai
culture, the first nomads to leave any trace of their presence.
Rare is a term that has no meaning when the wind has had eternity to remold the plain. In this
context contradictions collapse, and the impossible becomes the inevitable. And so, amid an
epic storm, the wind blew the last bits of dirt off a mound lying where scrubland gave way to
desert, and something that by any probability should never have seen the light of day lay
exposed to the sunlight; something impossible, but also—it would later come to be
understood—inevitable.
Published with permission from the author.