In the icy desolation of the North Atlantic, senseless with cold and shock, Christopher Hadley Martin, temporary lieutenant, is drowning. Then, unbelievably, out of the mirk looms a grotesque shape, larger than any ship. When he has hauled himself on to it and come to his senses a bit, Martin realizes where he must be: on that rock projecting from the sea-bed which appears only on weather charts. To drink there is a pool of rainwater; to eat there are weed and sea-anemones; to talk to there is himself. And through the long hours of sleep, dreams and terror, there is the truth must be assembled, piece by appalling piece