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Mechanique: A Tale of the Circus Tresaulti
Come inside and take a seat; the show is about to begin...
Outside any city still standing, the Mechanical Circus Tresaulti sets up its tents. Crowds pack the benches to gawk at the brass-and-copper troupe and their impossible feats: Ayar the Strong Man, the acrobatic Grimaldi Brothers, fearless Elena and her aerialists who perform on living trapezes. War is everywhere, but while the Circus is performing, the world is magic.
That magic is no accident: Boss builds her circus from the bones out, molding a mechanical company that will survive the unforgiving landscape.
But even a careful ringmaster can make mistakes.
Two of Tresaulti's performers are entangled in a secret standoff that threatens to tear the circus apart just as the war lands on their doorstep. Now the Circus must fight a war on two fronts: one from the outside, and a more dangerous one from within.
Outside any city still standing, the Mechanical Circus Tresaulti sets up its tents. Crowds pack the benches to gawk at the brass-and-copper troupe and their impossible feats: Ayar the Strong Man, the acrobatic Grimaldi Brothers, fearless Elena and her aerialists who perform on living trapezes. War is everywhere, but while the Circus is performing, the world is magic.
That magic is no accident: Boss builds her circus from the bones out, molding a mechanical company that will survive the unforgiving landscape.
But even a careful ringmaster can make mistakes.
Two of Tresaulti's performers are entangled in a secret standoff that threatens to tear the circus apart just as the war lands on their doorstep. Now the Circus must fight a war on two fronts: one from the outside, and a more dangerous one from within.
320 pages, Paperback
First published April 23, 2011
108 people are currently reading
6304 people want to read
About the author
Genevieve Valentine
203 books319 followersGenevieve Valentine has sold more than three dozen short stories; her fiction has appeared or is forthcoming in Clarkesworld, Strange Horizons, Journal of Mythic Arts, Fantasy Magazine, Lightspeed, and Apex, and in the anthologies Federations, The Living Dead 2, The Way of the Wizard, Running with the Pack, Teeth, and more.
Her nonfiction has appeared in Lightspeed, Tor.com, and Fantasy Magazine, and she is the co-author of Geek Wisdom (out in Summer 2011 from Quirk Books).
Her first novel, Mechanique: A Tale of the Circus Tresaulti, is forthcoming from Prime Books in May 2011. You can learn more about it at the Circus Tresualti website.
Her appetite for bad movies is insatiable, a tragedy she tracks on her blog.
Her nonfiction has appeared in Lightspeed, Tor.com, and Fantasy Magazine, and she is the co-author of Geek Wisdom (out in Summer 2011 from Quirk Books).
Her first novel, Mechanique: A Tale of the Circus Tresaulti, is forthcoming from Prime Books in May 2011. You can learn more about it at the Circus Tresualti website.
Her appetite for bad movies is insatiable, a tragedy she tracks on her blog.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 502 reviews
September 25, 2019
Barely more than gibberish. I'm not persuaded it's steampunk, even though it's all about beings with clockwork parts. There's entirely too much rambling about clockwork wings. I'm not persuaded it's a novel. I'm not persuaded it's worth reading at all.
We get a lot of novelettes, vignettes on things that seem to have been designed to draw the reader's attention and hold him/her/them a captive audience. One of the parts is about constumes, one about government men and so on... But it doesn't work, primarily because the reader's attention is constantly jerked into a new direction. It's like: oh, here's a Winged Man, and here he's dead and no more in the circus and here's a duo that makes public uncomfortable and here's Ayar and here's ... you know? All this, it's not a book. It's a KunstKammer of random miscellanea.
Q:
(Sometimes when it rains, or in the winter, Elena feels a lonely pang along her ribs. She ignores it; you get all sorts of pains in this line of work. There’s nothing else to be done.) (c)
Q:
This is how you silence a pair of wings:
You find a barren plain on a windy day, and you sink to the ground as low as you can, and you bathe in the dust.
The first time is like resting your hand over guitar strings; you feel the vibration deeper than before, but the sound is softer, humming instead of singing.
The second time you bathe in the dust, it’s like setting down a guitar when you’ve finished playing; there’s the hint of motion, the echo of the song, but if you didn’t know what to listen for, you’d never know.
The third time, they are downy as a sparrow’s, and make as little noise, so no one can hear you passing overhead.
Then you can spread the wings as wide as you like, catch the wind without singing a note, go so high that the ground has no more hold on you.
Then you are the bird, and the bird, and the bird. (c)
Q:
Better to die here than in a cell; better to die fighting, no matter what comes. (c)
Q:
The last time she had been in a city at night, it had been the night of Queen Tresaulta, and she had stood outside the opera house with the last inch of a cigarette, watching the street lights snapping to life one by one down the line, a line of bulbs fighting the dark.
(The wreaths of lights have always been her favorite thing about the Circus.) (c)
Q:
The cage they’ve put her in is for a soprano bell; she can’t fully stand, can’t sit, and she knows this position will eventually break her legs, having to bear her weight in this half-bent way. ... She panics a little. (It’s quiet, thank goodness, so they don’t get satisfaction. When you live in the open, you learn that your doubts have to be silent or the whole thing falls to pieces.) (c)
Q:
“Whoever doesn’t die will need some music later.” (c)
Q:
“She deserves our fight. Without her, who of us would still be living?” (c)
Q:
It’s easy to trap a man alone. (c)
Q:
He asked her, “Have you felt anything?”
She thought about growing up during the war, dying, living through the circus.
“Not for a long time,” she said. (c)
Q:
“Could you cut out the bones of someone you loved?” (c)
Q:
There are some things Boss knows.
Boss knows that great events have a spirit of their own. Government men speak of it when they hold rallies in beautiful places lined with their soldiers, but they do not think it is true. Greatness seldom reveals itself to government men. (c)
Q:
She does not know why it is that some cities have a greatness that allows them to stand, and others crumble less than a hundred years after the circus has passed there. (c)
Q:
It took her three days to crawl out onto the top of the wreckage.
By the time she emerged, she was dragging pounds of detritus with her; springs she’d picked up without meaning to, gears that fell into her outstretched hands, twists of wire that peeled away from the wreckage as she climbed. She had tied a string of ten piano keys to her belt; she had pulled them free of the balcony wall.
The dome at the apex of the Opera House had been blasted sideways and embedded into what was left of the ceiling. She climbed inside the brass-lined curve and lay back, sucking in ragged breaths. When her panic had faded enough for her to move, she unknotted her skirts and arranged her collection at her feet in a little honor guard of metal bits and body parts. The conductor’s head rested near her left hand, gazing out mournfully at their city, where war had come.
From where she was curled against the cool metal, she could see burning roofs dotting the sky. Occasionally the sharp report of gunfire would float up from the streets, but it was rare. The fight here was over. Now it was just a matter of the new government grinding the old one to death underfoot, and beginning again with the next city in line. The men who would burn through the city would never even look up and think, What a beautiful building that was, with the brass dome and the music; they would never look up and think, What a pity.
“For this stone hall I lived,” she sang softly. Her lungs, stretching with the notes, felt like hers again after so many days of struggle. She finished the aria, an octave and a half below Annika’s rendition, so quietly that only the walls of the dome caught the sound. They rolled the notes back to her, tinny but true.
She rested the conductor’s head in her lap and smoothed its hair. “It was beautiful music,” she said. “My compliments.”
She watched the sky go from black to grey; slowly the fires burned themselves out, and the gunfire settled, and finally it was that long hour between night and dawn, and she was alone in the world. (c)
Q:
Most government men are not an accident.
Every so often, there’s a soldier in the ranks who happens to be standing after all the rest have fallen; there’s a rich young man maneuvered into place by those who have plans for him; there’s a bureaucrat who happens to keep out of the pit of vipers long enough to grow befuddled and white-haired and become a minister of something without really trying. But most true government men are hungry for it; most government men make plans; most government men are born, not made.
...
(Those with great hunger are born, not made.) (c)
Q:
When a particular young boy goes to the circus, and forgets to clap at the tumblers or the strongman because he is wondering if they could be of any use to him, he is a government man.
(While he watches them, he thinks of an agile militia; a way to prepare convicts before he puts them to labor; a body for himself. Government men are never too young to worry about dying before their work is finished.) (c)
Q:
Boss can see that the tall buildings had fallen first; their iron girders had groaned and bent and sent their towers crashing onto the low roofs, bringing the whole city to the ground.
That’s what happens, she thinks, if no one cares for the bones of a thing. (c)
Q:
But this is how memories are—always true, never the truth. (c)
Q:
No matter how much time passes, there are some people who don’t like a crowd made of metal, no matter how much they smile. (c)
Q:
Boss smiled thinly. Her griffins were trembling. (c)
Q:
She’s gone cold mad over the years. The wind blows right through Bird. (c)
Q:
People have no loyalty; that’s what it is. That’s the real pity. (c)
Q:
EXOTIC DANCING GIRLS, the poster says, though it’s only exotic because they’ve had to make it all up as they went along, so it’s foreign stuff even to them. (c)
Q:
That was his angle—she wanted him to look as if he had risen from a trash heap stronger than the men who had buried him beneath it. It was meant to inspire and to frighten—the junk-man resurrected. (Boss makes freaks, but she knows what she’s doing.) (c)
Q:
The dancing girls come next. They are all muscle under their filmy skirts—once they were soldiers or factory workers, they pack and unpack as much rig as the tumblers—but the audience demands dancing girls, so they make do. Over the years they have all learned the profit in the curled hand and the cocked hip.
Their eyes are rimmed with kohl and their lips are painted purple; they uncover as much as they can of their skin (you have to cover the scars, of course). (c)
Q:
It was for Alec she made the wings.
It was the only gift she ever gave him; it was the only gift she has ever given to someone without a new name attached, the only gift she's ever given without killing someone first. (c)
Q:
This is what happens when you take a step: you are moving closer to what you want. (c)
Q:
Tenderly, as only monsters are tender, he asks, “Are you afraid to be like us, Ying?” (c)
Q:
Even Ayar's back tells the right time twice a day, and it was my turn to be right. (c)
We get a lot of novelettes, vignettes on things that seem to have been designed to draw the reader's attention and hold him/her/them a captive audience. One of the parts is about constumes, one about government men and so on... But it doesn't work, primarily because the reader's attention is constantly jerked into a new direction. It's like: oh, here's a Winged Man, and here he's dead and no more in the circus and here's a duo that makes public uncomfortable and here's Ayar and here's ... you know? All this, it's not a book. It's a KunstKammer of random miscellanea.
Q:
(Sometimes when it rains, or in the winter, Elena feels a lonely pang along her ribs. She ignores it; you get all sorts of pains in this line of work. There’s nothing else to be done.) (c)
Q:
This is how you silence a pair of wings:
You find a barren plain on a windy day, and you sink to the ground as low as you can, and you bathe in the dust.
The first time is like resting your hand over guitar strings; you feel the vibration deeper than before, but the sound is softer, humming instead of singing.
The second time you bathe in the dust, it’s like setting down a guitar when you’ve finished playing; there’s the hint of motion, the echo of the song, but if you didn’t know what to listen for, you’d never know.
The third time, they are downy as a sparrow’s, and make as little noise, so no one can hear you passing overhead.
Then you can spread the wings as wide as you like, catch the wind without singing a note, go so high that the ground has no more hold on you.
Then you are the bird, and the bird, and the bird. (c)
Q:
Better to die here than in a cell; better to die fighting, no matter what comes. (c)
Q:
The last time she had been in a city at night, it had been the night of Queen Tresaulta, and she had stood outside the opera house with the last inch of a cigarette, watching the street lights snapping to life one by one down the line, a line of bulbs fighting the dark.
(The wreaths of lights have always been her favorite thing about the Circus.) (c)
Q:
The cage they’ve put her in is for a soprano bell; she can’t fully stand, can’t sit, and she knows this position will eventually break her legs, having to bear her weight in this half-bent way. ... She panics a little. (It’s quiet, thank goodness, so they don’t get satisfaction. When you live in the open, you learn that your doubts have to be silent or the whole thing falls to pieces.) (c)
Q:
“Whoever doesn’t die will need some music later.” (c)
Q:
“She deserves our fight. Without her, who of us would still be living?” (c)
Q:
It’s easy to trap a man alone. (c)
Q:
He asked her, “Have you felt anything?”
She thought about growing up during the war, dying, living through the circus.
“Not for a long time,” she said. (c)
Q:
“Could you cut out the bones of someone you loved?” (c)
Q:
There are some things Boss knows.
Boss knows that great events have a spirit of their own. Government men speak of it when they hold rallies in beautiful places lined with their soldiers, but they do not think it is true. Greatness seldom reveals itself to government men. (c)
Q:
She does not know why it is that some cities have a greatness that allows them to stand, and others crumble less than a hundred years after the circus has passed there. (c)
Q:
It took her three days to crawl out onto the top of the wreckage.
By the time she emerged, she was dragging pounds of detritus with her; springs she’d picked up without meaning to, gears that fell into her outstretched hands, twists of wire that peeled away from the wreckage as she climbed. She had tied a string of ten piano keys to her belt; she had pulled them free of the balcony wall.
The dome at the apex of the Opera House had been blasted sideways and embedded into what was left of the ceiling. She climbed inside the brass-lined curve and lay back, sucking in ragged breaths. When her panic had faded enough for her to move, she unknotted her skirts and arranged her collection at her feet in a little honor guard of metal bits and body parts. The conductor’s head rested near her left hand, gazing out mournfully at their city, where war had come.
From where she was curled against the cool metal, she could see burning roofs dotting the sky. Occasionally the sharp report of gunfire would float up from the streets, but it was rare. The fight here was over. Now it was just a matter of the new government grinding the old one to death underfoot, and beginning again with the next city in line. The men who would burn through the city would never even look up and think, What a beautiful building that was, with the brass dome and the music; they would never look up and think, What a pity.
“For this stone hall I lived,” she sang softly. Her lungs, stretching with the notes, felt like hers again after so many days of struggle. She finished the aria, an octave and a half below Annika’s rendition, so quietly that only the walls of the dome caught the sound. They rolled the notes back to her, tinny but true.
She rested the conductor’s head in her lap and smoothed its hair. “It was beautiful music,” she said. “My compliments.”
She watched the sky go from black to grey; slowly the fires burned themselves out, and the gunfire settled, and finally it was that long hour between night and dawn, and she was alone in the world. (c)
Q:
Most government men are not an accident.
Every so often, there’s a soldier in the ranks who happens to be standing after all the rest have fallen; there’s a rich young man maneuvered into place by those who have plans for him; there’s a bureaucrat who happens to keep out of the pit of vipers long enough to grow befuddled and white-haired and become a minister of something without really trying. But most true government men are hungry for it; most government men make plans; most government men are born, not made.
...
(Those with great hunger are born, not made.) (c)
Q:
When a particular young boy goes to the circus, and forgets to clap at the tumblers or the strongman because he is wondering if they could be of any use to him, he is a government man.
(While he watches them, he thinks of an agile militia; a way to prepare convicts before he puts them to labor; a body for himself. Government men are never too young to worry about dying before their work is finished.) (c)
Q:
Boss can see that the tall buildings had fallen first; their iron girders had groaned and bent and sent their towers crashing onto the low roofs, bringing the whole city to the ground.
That’s what happens, she thinks, if no one cares for the bones of a thing. (c)
Q:
But this is how memories are—always true, never the truth. (c)
Q:
No matter how much time passes, there are some people who don’t like a crowd made of metal, no matter how much they smile. (c)
Q:
Boss smiled thinly. Her griffins were trembling. (c)
Q:
She’s gone cold mad over the years. The wind blows right through Bird. (c)
Q:
People have no loyalty; that’s what it is. That’s the real pity. (c)
Q:
EXOTIC DANCING GIRLS, the poster says, though it’s only exotic because they’ve had to make it all up as they went along, so it’s foreign stuff even to them. (c)
Q:
That was his angle—she wanted him to look as if he had risen from a trash heap stronger than the men who had buried him beneath it. It was meant to inspire and to frighten—the junk-man resurrected. (Boss makes freaks, but she knows what she’s doing.) (c)
Q:
The dancing girls come next. They are all muscle under their filmy skirts—once they were soldiers or factory workers, they pack and unpack as much rig as the tumblers—but the audience demands dancing girls, so they make do. Over the years they have all learned the profit in the curled hand and the cocked hip.
Their eyes are rimmed with kohl and their lips are painted purple; they uncover as much as they can of their skin (you have to cover the scars, of course). (c)
Q:
It was for Alec she made the wings.
It was the only gift she ever gave him; it was the only gift she has ever given to someone without a new name attached, the only gift she's ever given without killing someone first. (c)
Q:
This is what happens when you take a step: you are moving closer to what you want. (c)
Q:
Tenderly, as only monsters are tender, he asks, “Are you afraid to be like us, Ying?” (c)
Q:
Even Ayar's back tells the right time twice a day, and it was my turn to be right. (c)
December 9, 2011
This is a fucking phenomenal prose poem. I know, it's billed as a novel, but trust me on this: it's a prose poem. The writing is just gorgeous. As soon as I finished, I started all over again, just so I could wallow in the language and recognize the things which resonated on the second reading and hadn't on the first. The last novel that impressed me this much was Nicola Griffith's Slow River, and this is frankly better than Griffth's debut, Ammonite, which is an impressive debut in its own right. Which is to say READ THIS OMG.
June 20, 2017
Poetic but grim. The Circus Tresaulti travels across a dystopian future. It's performers are lost souls, former soldiers turned aerialists, acrobats and a strong man, each a composite of human, copper and steel. Their relationships are intricate and complicated. Mechanique is about people not punk. Together they form an eclectic family ultimately called to fight for their creator. Highly original, and beautifully written in a unique almost documentary style. Everything that the over-rated Emily St. John Mandel's Station Eleven could have been but wasn't. Loved it. Recommended.
June 18, 2012
Sometimes stories exist that hit all of my buttons at the same time, and Mechanique is one of those rare finds for 2012 that really succeeded in keeping me glued to my ereader. Where do I start? Perhaps with my love for travellers. I watched both seasons of Carnivale a few years ago and that really captured my imagination. The concept of a group of misfits journeying together who somehow succeed in being a family. Then of course, Genevieve Valentine plays with a concept that is near and dear to my heart—that of a post-apocalyptic society. On top of that she adds magic that is never truly full explained and garnishes with a clockwork theme.
The result: beauty and a macabre yet gorgeous mutilation of art that left me breathless.
I’ll add a short warning here: I don’t think this novel is going to appeal to a broad base of readers. It jumps in point of view, sometimes first person, sometimes second and sometimes third, but somehow Valentine gets it all to hang together in a rich tapestry of imagery and text. That being said, once I got used to her style, I immediately plunged right into the narrative.
And there’s a lot going on here. Superficially Mechanique tells the story of the Circus Tresaulti that somehow exists outside of time as it travels from one ruined city to the next. The circus’s mistress, Boss, has the ability to defy death in her creations, her performers, who are modified and, in many cases “accept the bones” that set them apart from ordinary folk. A threat arises from the outside in the form of the government man, who sees the circus as an opportunity to create soldiers to aid him in his programme of world domination.
But within the circus there is tension too, particularly with regard to a pair of mechanical wings that two main characters both strive to. There’s more to this device that meets the eye, however, and I found the love/hate relationship between Bird and Stenos to be one of the pivotal story arcs within the novel.
Most of the story is told by Little George, Boss’s assistant, and his naïveté adds a freshness to the milieu. He is the glue that somehow holds all the others together, from the phlegmatic Ayar to the seemingly malicious Elena.
I can probably end this review with a whole bunch of superlatives. I’m not going to. All I can say is that if you’re looking for a mythical, multi-layered work of literary fantasy, then Mechanique is a welcome diversion from reality that will stay with you for a very long time, its characters enigmatic and unforgettable. Valentine has a fan for life.
The result: beauty and a macabre yet gorgeous mutilation of art that left me breathless.
I’ll add a short warning here: I don’t think this novel is going to appeal to a broad base of readers. It jumps in point of view, sometimes first person, sometimes second and sometimes third, but somehow Valentine gets it all to hang together in a rich tapestry of imagery and text. That being said, once I got used to her style, I immediately plunged right into the narrative.
And there’s a lot going on here. Superficially Mechanique tells the story of the Circus Tresaulti that somehow exists outside of time as it travels from one ruined city to the next. The circus’s mistress, Boss, has the ability to defy death in her creations, her performers, who are modified and, in many cases “accept the bones” that set them apart from ordinary folk. A threat arises from the outside in the form of the government man, who sees the circus as an opportunity to create soldiers to aid him in his programme of world domination.
But within the circus there is tension too, particularly with regard to a pair of mechanical wings that two main characters both strive to. There’s more to this device that meets the eye, however, and I found the love/hate relationship between Bird and Stenos to be one of the pivotal story arcs within the novel.
Most of the story is told by Little George, Boss’s assistant, and his naïveté adds a freshness to the milieu. He is the glue that somehow holds all the others together, from the phlegmatic Ayar to the seemingly malicious Elena.
I can probably end this review with a whole bunch of superlatives. I’m not going to. All I can say is that if you’re looking for a mythical, multi-layered work of literary fantasy, then Mechanique is a welcome diversion from reality that will stay with you for a very long time, its characters enigmatic and unforgettable. Valentine has a fan for life.
January 11, 2012
This is written like my dreams.
I honestly cannot say whether this novel will resonate for others the way it did for me. The story is exceedingly nonlinear, the narration bounces from first person to second to third close to third omniscent between chapters. There are parts that do not quite make sense on a logical plane when examined closely, mysteries that are never explained or even justified. Many of the characters are not particularly likeable people.
But the writing aches.
I dream in deeply vivid imagery, often with a overwhelming narrative that has a strong internal logic that does not quite work upon waking. The worlds are mysterious and deeply strange, often a little disturbing, but so heartbreakingly beautiful that I cannot quite find the words to convey them when I wake.
Valentine did.
What doesn't connect in regular logic works on a dream logic level. And while not everything makes sense on a logistical sense (it's not supposed to), it does make sense emotionally. And the images--of tortured Alec with his singing wings, of Panadrome the human pipe organ, of broken Bird, and haunted Stenos, and the mercenary tumblers and the Boss who holds them all together, body and soul--I think they will haunt my dreams for some time to come.
I honestly cannot say whether this novel will resonate for others the way it did for me. The story is exceedingly nonlinear, the narration bounces from first person to second to third close to third omniscent between chapters. There are parts that do not quite make sense on a logical plane when examined closely, mysteries that are never explained or even justified. Many of the characters are not particularly likeable people.
But the writing aches.
I dream in deeply vivid imagery, often with a overwhelming narrative that has a strong internal logic that does not quite work upon waking. The worlds are mysterious and deeply strange, often a little disturbing, but so heartbreakingly beautiful that I cannot quite find the words to convey them when I wake.
Valentine did.
What doesn't connect in regular logic works on a dream logic level. And while not everything makes sense on a logistical sense (it's not supposed to), it does make sense emotionally. And the images--of tortured Alec with his singing wings, of Panadrome the human pipe organ, of broken Bird, and haunted Stenos, and the mercenary tumblers and the Boss who holds them all together, body and soul--I think they will haunt my dreams for some time to come.
June 8, 2012
There were things I liked about this book... and there were things that annoyed me about this book.
I felt as if any Readers Advisory Service out there would say? What? You loved China Mieville's 'The Scar?' and you loved Erin Morgenstern's "The Night Circus?" Well then, HAVE I GOT A BOOK FOR YOU! And I have to say... "but...no."
This book does indeed have many of the elements that I've loved from both of those books. Grotesquely mechanically enhanced people. A circus with performers who do not die. A land torn by conflict. Lots of ambiguity, lots of metaphor.
But somehow, it just didn't come together for me, emotionally or intellectually, like the other two books. (This book was actually published slightly before The Night Circus, the authors were probably working on the books at the same time, so I do not actually think one imitated another; they just happen to have many of the same elements and themes.)
I've spent some time now thinking about why it didn't wholly come together for me.
Part of it was aesthetic. I really did not like how the author keeps taking time out to refer to the reader as "you." I felt like it was a device intended to lure me into the story; which had the opposite effect, and pushed me out of the story... with feelings of aggravation.
The other thing was that: Mechanical enhancements are usually about ingenuity, technology, the uses and misuses of physical ability. Here, they are not. The enhancements/mutilations as they function in this story, are fully and completely magical. There is no reason, plotwise, for them to be mechanical; they don't actually function as if they are mechanical.
I also was just not drawn in by the love/hate conflict over "who gets the wings." I didn't feel it. Many of the characters were too vaguely drawn. (For example: we know Elena is a cruel bitch, because we are told how mean she is ad infinitum. But I did not once notice, or feel, her being particularly cruel.) I wanted to know the characters as people; to know what drove them to their extreme decisions. Instead they felt like stock characters in fairy tales. The time and place are ambiguous - and I liked that - but I felt like it needed some sharply human figures to anchor it.
On the other hand, there were things about the book I liked very much. I thought that the war-torn land, in near-eternal conflict, with the circus endlessly making its circuit, worked very well. I ended up really liking the Boss - and the thwarted feelings of her musician for her were understated and effective. Nice themes of dependency, independence, sacrifice, oppression, responsibility, loyalty. And the final conflict, where it comes down to a choice between letting herself and those who personally depend on her die... or potentially destroying all of her larger dreams - it's horribly effective.
I felt as if any Readers Advisory Service out there would say? What? You loved China Mieville's 'The Scar?' and you loved Erin Morgenstern's "The Night Circus?" Well then, HAVE I GOT A BOOK FOR YOU! And I have to say... "but...no."
This book does indeed have many of the elements that I've loved from both of those books. Grotesquely mechanically enhanced people. A circus with performers who do not die. A land torn by conflict. Lots of ambiguity, lots of metaphor.
But somehow, it just didn't come together for me, emotionally or intellectually, like the other two books. (This book was actually published slightly before The Night Circus, the authors were probably working on the books at the same time, so I do not actually think one imitated another; they just happen to have many of the same elements and themes.)
I've spent some time now thinking about why it didn't wholly come together for me.
Part of it was aesthetic. I really did not like how the author keeps taking time out to refer to the reader as "you." I felt like it was a device intended to lure me into the story; which had the opposite effect, and pushed me out of the story... with feelings of aggravation.
The other thing was that: Mechanical enhancements are usually about ingenuity, technology, the uses and misuses of physical ability. Here, they are not. The enhancements/mutilations as they function in this story, are fully and completely magical. There is no reason, plotwise, for them to be mechanical; they don't actually function as if they are mechanical.
I also was just not drawn in by the love/hate conflict over "who gets the wings." I didn't feel it. Many of the characters were too vaguely drawn. (For example: we know Elena is a cruel bitch, because we are told how mean she is ad infinitum. But I did not once notice, or feel, her being particularly cruel.) I wanted to know the characters as people; to know what drove them to their extreme decisions. Instead they felt like stock characters in fairy tales. The time and place are ambiguous - and I liked that - but I felt like it needed some sharply human figures to anchor it.
On the other hand, there were things about the book I liked very much. I thought that the war-torn land, in near-eternal conflict, with the circus endlessly making its circuit, worked very well. I ended up really liking the Boss - and the thwarted feelings of her musician for her were understated and effective. Nice themes of dependency, independence, sacrifice, oppression, responsibility, loyalty. And the final conflict, where it comes down to a choice between letting herself and those who personally depend on her die... or potentially destroying all of her larger dreams - it's horribly effective.
August 15, 2011
Shortish and weird version: I love this book. If I were a tattoo person (by which I mean a person who gets tattoos, not a literal tattoo person, imprisoned in someone else’s skin), I’d want this book tattooed on my body, but a 3D style tattoo, which would look weird (and would probably look like a growth or a goiter), I know, but I can’t help how I feel!
Longer version: This book is another lesson in there being no absolutes in “things I don’t like” statements, at least when it comes to art. A lesson I’m happy to continually learn (as I learned with The Last Werewolf). So, I usually don’t like circus stories, a trope used in many a bad horror story/novel. I have also uttered the phrase “I can’t stand steampunk” multiple times, out loud, even saying it once in front of Genevieve only hours after having met her. Foot in mouth and personal tastes notwithstanding, Mechanique is a brilliant novel.
The circus troup Tresulti (complete with strong man, aerialists, and more, including them once having a winged-man) travels a war-ravaged landscape, their shows equal parts beauty, wonder, menace, and unease. Most of the performers have been brutally rebuilt with copper bones and other metal parts (all of which become integral extensions of the characters and the story) by the mysterious circus ringleader Boss (she of the large griffin tattoos on her arms). The latest/greatest attempt at government wants to use Boss’s talents to create super soldiers, to help bring back the old world, a world that Boss was once a part of and secretly longs for. But that’s really only one of the many threads of the story. The interplay of all the characters, their motivations and desires, is brilliantly done. The short chapters from various points of view, tenses, and styles acts as an extension of the circus itself and all its myriad bits. Part of the magic of this gothic, dark, wildly imaginative book is that Genevieve has somehow managed to create an incredibly complex story that is still, I think, quite accessible. Certainly unforgettable. Go read it right now.
Longer version: This book is another lesson in there being no absolutes in “things I don’t like” statements, at least when it comes to art. A lesson I’m happy to continually learn (as I learned with The Last Werewolf). So, I usually don’t like circus stories, a trope used in many a bad horror story/novel. I have also uttered the phrase “I can’t stand steampunk” multiple times, out loud, even saying it once in front of Genevieve only hours after having met her. Foot in mouth and personal tastes notwithstanding, Mechanique is a brilliant novel.
The circus troup Tresulti (complete with strong man, aerialists, and more, including them once having a winged-man) travels a war-ravaged landscape, their shows equal parts beauty, wonder, menace, and unease. Most of the performers have been brutally rebuilt with copper bones and other metal parts (all of which become integral extensions of the characters and the story) by the mysterious circus ringleader Boss (she of the large griffin tattoos on her arms). The latest/greatest attempt at government wants to use Boss’s talents to create super soldiers, to help bring back the old world, a world that Boss was once a part of and secretly longs for. But that’s really only one of the many threads of the story. The interplay of all the characters, their motivations and desires, is brilliantly done. The short chapters from various points of view, tenses, and styles acts as an extension of the circus itself and all its myriad bits. Part of the magic of this gothic, dark, wildly imaginative book is that Genevieve has somehow managed to create an incredibly complex story that is still, I think, quite accessible. Certainly unforgettable. Go read it right now.
October 17, 2015
There's some lovely writing here, but the story is told in such an episodic fashion - changing narrators, jumping around in time - it makes for a frustrating, rather than fascinating read. The descriptions provided were sparse, making visualization difficult, and the characters do not have distinct personalities. One of them is apparently "a bitch," though this is alluded to, rather than demonstrated.
Just because something is made of spare parts, does it have to be soulless?
How can someone named Valentine be so cold and cruel?
Just because something is made of spare parts, does it have to be soulless?
How can someone named Valentine be so cold and cruel?
September 27, 2017
Demorei até comprar a ideia desse livro. As idas e vindas da narrativa, com seus PDVs alternando e entrelaçando personagens, tempo e trama, e toda a aura excessiva de mistério a cada página, cada movimento, cada maldita motivação (e assim permaneceu, até o fim do livro) foram um desafio a ser superado nos 50% iniciais.
Só que, quando passei disso e me acostumei, o livro passou rápido e de uma forma bastante agradável. Isso se deve muito ao fato da autora ter parado de simplesmente apresentar os personagens de forma episódica e movimentar a trama.
Apesar de simples, o plot é eficiente em te impelir adiante (o que me fazia ficar irritado quando via que o capítulo seguinte era sobre o passado de algum personagem que eu não me importava!), e a história fecha bem.
Outro ponto a se ressaltar é a narrativa. Apesar de causar estranheza, ela faz o livro ser inventivo. É uma mistura de texto de teatro com poema em prosa, que hora segue do ponto de vista de um personagem, hora torna-se uma narrativa em primeira pessoa e... Bom, pra resumir, é uma bagunça.
E funciona.
Ao menos funcionou para mim. É especial não por ser bonita (não achei a prosa tão elegante, mas ela tem charme e voz própria, o que é o básico para que eu ache uma narrativa boa), mas por arriscar, por fugir do padrão. Ela me lembrou alguns textos de RPG pbf, talvez por isso tenha funcionado tão bem comigo.
(Ou talvez, não, talvez o mérito dela seja próprio.)
Ao terminar o livro pensei em dá-lo três estrelas, mas ele me causou uma boa impressão, e cresceu no meu conceito enquanto eu pensava nisso. Foi uma experiência diferente, e é bom ser surpreendido às vezes.
Só que, quando passei disso e me acostumei, o livro passou rápido e de uma forma bastante agradável. Isso se deve muito ao fato da autora ter parado de simplesmente apresentar os personagens de forma episódica e movimentar a trama.
Apesar de simples, o plot é eficiente em te impelir adiante (o que me fazia ficar irritado quando via que o capítulo seguinte era sobre o passado de algum personagem que eu não me importava!), e a história fecha bem.
Outro ponto a se ressaltar é a narrativa. Apesar de causar estranheza, ela faz o livro ser inventivo. É uma mistura de texto de teatro com poema em prosa, que hora segue do ponto de vista de um personagem, hora torna-se uma narrativa em primeira pessoa e... Bom, pra resumir, é uma bagunça.
E funciona.
Ao menos funcionou para mim. É especial não por ser bonita (não achei a prosa tão elegante, mas ela tem charme e voz própria, o que é o básico para que eu ache uma narrativa boa), mas por arriscar, por fugir do padrão. Ela me lembrou alguns textos de RPG pbf, talvez por isso tenha funcionado tão bem comigo.
(Ou talvez, não, talvez o mérito dela seja próprio.)
Ao terminar o livro pensei em dá-lo três estrelas, mas ele me causou uma boa impressão, e cresceu no meu conceito enquanto eu pensava nisso. Foi uma experiência diferente, e é bom ser surpreendido às vezes.
December 11, 2025
This is a dystopian steampunk fantasy novel, the debut of Genevieve Valentine. I read it as a part of the monthly reading for December 2025 at Hugo & Nebula Awards: Best Novels group. The novel was nominated for Nebula in 2012 but lost to Among Others. It also took 2nd place among debut SFF novels nominated for Locus (the winner was interestingly enough, another book about circuses, namely The Night Circus).
The novel starts quite boisterously with a circus coming to a town. There, readers find out that the level of tech is roughly early 20th-century Europe/USA – lightbulbs, guns, and some kind of engines. And the circus is unique because most of its troupe has copper/bone grafts, which allow them to show supernatural feats of power and dexterity. There was even a winged man… From there, readers can assume that this is a steampunk story, for there are definitely some attributes, even if steam or steam engines aren’t mentioned. However, a bit later we find out that there is radiation still present in some areas and the overall mood is not “the is a rightful progress and a happier tomorrow” but “there were big wars that turned into smaller skirmishes, and a circus that travels a route so complicated that it can be only seen once per average lifetime. Moreover, even if it isn’t clear from the start, the abovementioned grafts are unique.
The story it told by several characters, in first, second and third person. The main first-person narrator is Little George (a young man of 17-22 years), the circus’ barker, general errand boy, and assistant to the ringmaster, Boss. The Boss is a massive woman with a strong voice, who ‘creates’ / grafts the troupe. Her powers aren’t a mad science but pure magic of unknown provenance. The chapters are short and often repeat the same story or its parts from different POVs, so the book feels a bit repetitious, especially in the first part, where the troupe and their story before and during their circus career is presented.
So, readers become accustomed to the team, their backstories and conflicts. The most prominent conflict is between a former thief, Stenos, and a mad young woman known as Bird. They perform together, but they both want to possess the pair of unique metal wings, which the Boss created for her lover, Alec and locked after his death. Whoever can convince the Boss to surgically install the wings on their body will be transformed into a half-human, half-bird creature. There also appears an external threat – the Government Man, who needs this powerful magic to pursue his goals.
I found the book interesting and unusual, even if bouncing between narrators and times, a large collective, which makes sticking backstory to each character a little hard and decreases my enjoyment. I recommend it to readers seeking an unusual short fantasy novel, which is a rarity these days.
The novel starts quite boisterously with a circus coming to a town. There, readers find out that the level of tech is roughly early 20th-century Europe/USA – lightbulbs, guns, and some kind of engines. And the circus is unique because most of its troupe has copper/bone grafts, which allow them to show supernatural feats of power and dexterity. There was even a winged man… From there, readers can assume that this is a steampunk story, for there are definitely some attributes, even if steam or steam engines aren’t mentioned. However, a bit later we find out that there is radiation still present in some areas and the overall mood is not “the is a rightful progress and a happier tomorrow” but “there were big wars that turned into smaller skirmishes, and a circus that travels a route so complicated that it can be only seen once per average lifetime. Moreover, even if it isn’t clear from the start, the abovementioned grafts are unique.
The story it told by several characters, in first, second and third person. The main first-person narrator is Little George (a young man of 17-22 years), the circus’ barker, general errand boy, and assistant to the ringmaster, Boss. The Boss is a massive woman with a strong voice, who ‘creates’ / grafts the troupe. Her powers aren’t a mad science but pure magic of unknown provenance. The chapters are short and often repeat the same story or its parts from different POVs, so the book feels a bit repetitious, especially in the first part, where the troupe and their story before and during their circus career is presented.
So, readers become accustomed to the team, their backstories and conflicts. The most prominent conflict is between a former thief, Stenos, and a mad young woman known as Bird. They perform together, but they both want to possess the pair of unique metal wings, which the Boss created for her lover, Alec and locked after his death. Whoever can convince the Boss to surgically install the wings on their body will be transformed into a half-human, half-bird creature. There also appears an external threat – the Government Man, who needs this powerful magic to pursue his goals.
I found the book interesting and unusual, even if bouncing between narrators and times, a large collective, which makes sticking backstory to each character a little hard and decreases my enjoyment. I recommend it to readers seeking an unusual short fantasy novel, which is a rarity these days.
February 5, 2015
3.5
First and foremost let me say this is a book of characters and ideas. Meaning it's not about the plot, and, as such, the plot that does exist is a bit slow going and mostly serves to further develop the characters.
As long as I'm interested in the characters or the ideas, I am totally cool with this. For those who are not, though, this is not the book for you.
I also really loved the voice of the story. It's got that whole dreamy quality to it. It's sort of like The Night Circus as written by Catherynne M. Valente with occasional shades of Caitlín R. Kiernan.
It changes perspectives and pretty much covers the spectrum from first-person through third-person omniscient. I'm not sure what it is about circus books and random second person chapters, but it annoyed me here a little less than in Night Circus - maybe 'cause it was so rare, or maybe because the you is still sort of referring to someone in the book, so it's not really breaking the fourth wall.
And it also shifts around in time a bit. It starts telling the story, and then will fill you in on some backstory by going back in time in little vignettes.
There's no demarcation of these changes, and you just have to follow them - but, honestly, I didn't have much trouble with it. Every now and again I might have to take a second or two to situate myself in the timeline, especially in the very beginning, but, after awhile, I just went with it - and it works.
As to the story itself - well, it is what it says on the tin: a tale of the Circus Tresaulti.
Set in some unstated timeframe (though I think it's easily future dystopian), a world is falling apart after decades of war, and this circus tries to get by.
But the circus is populated with people who have brass bones - but it's not really steampunk, 'cause this sucker is all magic. Crazy, undefined, random, beautiful magic.
But in this war torn land, can the circus stay safe when the power at Boss's fingertips can be put to much more dire purposes?
***
The reason I'm giving it 3.5 instead of a full 4 is because while I did really like it, I also didn't find it compulsive. It's one of those books that, while I was reading, would wrap around me and pull me in... but when I put it down, I would almost forget what it was that had me so enraptured in the first place.
I think, in a way, that's one of the downsides of the dream-prose... like a dream it's ephemeral and frail.
That said, while this is, thus far, a standalone book, I would definitely be on board for more.
First and foremost let me say this is a book of characters and ideas. Meaning it's not about the plot, and, as such, the plot that does exist is a bit slow going and mostly serves to further develop the characters.
As long as I'm interested in the characters or the ideas, I am totally cool with this. For those who are not, though, this is not the book for you.
I also really loved the voice of the story. It's got that whole dreamy quality to it. It's sort of like The Night Circus as written by Catherynne M. Valente with occasional shades of Caitlín R. Kiernan.
It changes perspectives and pretty much covers the spectrum from first-person through third-person omniscient. I'm not sure what it is about circus books and random second person chapters, but it annoyed me here a little less than in Night Circus - maybe 'cause it was so rare, or maybe because the you is still sort of referring to someone in the book, so it's not really breaking the fourth wall.
And it also shifts around in time a bit. It starts telling the story, and then will fill you in on some backstory by going back in time in little vignettes.
There's no demarcation of these changes, and you just have to follow them - but, honestly, I didn't have much trouble with it. Every now and again I might have to take a second or two to situate myself in the timeline, especially in the very beginning, but, after awhile, I just went with it - and it works.
As to the story itself - well, it is what it says on the tin: a tale of the Circus Tresaulti.
Set in some unstated timeframe (though I think it's easily future dystopian), a world is falling apart after decades of war, and this circus tries to get by.
But the circus is populated with people who have brass bones - but it's not really steampunk, 'cause this sucker is all magic. Crazy, undefined, random, beautiful magic.
But in this war torn land, can the circus stay safe when the power at Boss's fingertips can be put to much more dire purposes?
***
The reason I'm giving it 3.5 instead of a full 4 is because while I did really like it, I also didn't find it compulsive. It's one of those books that, while I was reading, would wrap around me and pull me in... but when I put it down, I would almost forget what it was that had me so enraptured in the first place.
I think, in a way, that's one of the downsides of the dream-prose... like a dream it's ephemeral and frail.
That said, while this is, thus far, a standalone book, I would definitely be on board for more.
August 24, 2011
Though it has steampunk flavoring, Mechanique is a hybrid novel, much like the half-human/half-mechanical characters (creatures?) it describes. It’s a New Weird dark fantasy tale set in a dystopian war-torn landscape. The structure of the story and its narrative cogs are very postmodern. The text vacillates between first person narrative (in the voice of Little George, the Circus gofer) and third person points-of-view that range from brief character sketches to omniscient mis en scenes.
The novel tells the story of how the circus came to be. It was created by a former opera singer who discovers she has the power bind living flesh to skeletons made of copper. The process is magic, rather than scientific. She becomes just Boss, a ringmaster and owner of the Circus Tresaulti, which features mechanical aerialists, strongmen and a walking one-man orchestra. The circus travels over a bleak landscape of crumbling cities.
One story-line tells how each of the damaged folk managed to join, and describes the personal politics of the various members, who have all seen horrible things or come from bad backgrounds. Little George’s story has a bildungsroman arc; other characters, such as the prickly aerialist Elena have their own arcs while other circus folk, like the cipher-like Bird, emerge as characters through indirect observation. The other story-line is about a ‘Government Man’—who like Boss has no name save his job title—and his desire to learn Boss’ powers for creating remade people for his own nefarious means.
Valentine employs a variety of techniques, from poetic quasi-fables, to brief anecdotes to full-fledged action sequences. Her world-building is suggestive rather than exhaustive—the Balkanized citystates the circus travels through have a vagueness that is more allegorical than precise. The story is ultimately about finding loyalty and beauty in dark times. Lovers of the work of the Brother Quay or Terry Gilliam, the painter Mark Ryder or the novel Geek Love by Katherine Dunn will find much to admire here.
The novel tells the story of how the circus came to be. It was created by a former opera singer who discovers she has the power bind living flesh to skeletons made of copper. The process is magic, rather than scientific. She becomes just Boss, a ringmaster and owner of the Circus Tresaulti, which features mechanical aerialists, strongmen and a walking one-man orchestra. The circus travels over a bleak landscape of crumbling cities.
One story-line tells how each of the damaged folk managed to join, and describes the personal politics of the various members, who have all seen horrible things or come from bad backgrounds. Little George’s story has a bildungsroman arc; other characters, such as the prickly aerialist Elena have their own arcs while other circus folk, like the cipher-like Bird, emerge as characters through indirect observation. The other story-line is about a ‘Government Man’—who like Boss has no name save his job title—and his desire to learn Boss’ powers for creating remade people for his own nefarious means.
Valentine employs a variety of techniques, from poetic quasi-fables, to brief anecdotes to full-fledged action sequences. Her world-building is suggestive rather than exhaustive—the Balkanized citystates the circus travels through have a vagueness that is more allegorical than precise. The story is ultimately about finding loyalty and beauty in dark times. Lovers of the work of the Brother Quay or Terry Gilliam, the painter Mark Ryder or the novel Geek Love by Katherine Dunn will find much to admire here.
July 19, 2013
Wouldya look at that, I finally finished reading this? I'm not entirely sure why I stopped: it's not a hard read, and the short chapters pull you on through the story pretty well. There's some gorgeous writing, and the whole structure of it -- the mix of POVs, tenses, etc -- makes it pretty absorbing as you try to figure out all the whys and wherefores. Some of the imagery is just... disgusting, visceral, beautiful, all at once.
The characters are not exactly likeable, but fascinating: Elena, who you slowly come to understand; Bird and Stenos, with their yearnings; Boss, with her strange abilities...
All in all, it's an interesting read, and it'll stick in my mind, but not a favourite, I think.
The characters are not exactly likeable, but fascinating: Elena, who you slowly come to understand; Bird and Stenos, with their yearnings; Boss, with her strange abilities...
All in all, it's an interesting read, and it'll stick in my mind, but not a favourite, I think.
May 22, 2016
Tinha tudo para 'dar certo', mas apesar da linguagem quase poética, do ar de mistério e da beleza que o universo do circo representa num mundo em guerra, para mim o livro não 'aconteceu'. A história tem bons momentos, personagens interessantes e admito que por um momento quase fui envolvido no mistério das motivações de cada um e da existência do próprio circo, mas ficou no quase mesmo.
October 11, 2012
Saying too much about the story of this book could spoil it, especially since it's not terribly long. So I'll try not to be too specific, although I'd like to fill up the character limit with all the things I found striking about it.
I enjoyed getting to know the characters, and became quite attached to a handful of them. (The character described as "bitch" practically the second she walked onstage ended up being the one I most empathized with.)
About two-thirds of the way through, a plot showed up, and a character I'd found bland in his point-of-view chapters took a central role, and I was almost disappointed. I'd have been just as happy if the book just gave me a picture of what life and relationships were like for the various characters in the circus, and some of the events in its past, and left it at that. But although it wasn't a great plot, I liked how it tied in with the character building from earlier in the book. I was really rooting for everyone, feeling joy and sorrow and regret along with them as they... well, never mind.
The subtitle "A Tale" hints that there is more to come. I'm looking forward to it.
I enjoyed getting to know the characters, and became quite attached to a handful of them. (The character described as "bitch" practically the second she walked onstage ended up being the one I most empathized with.)
About two-thirds of the way through, a plot showed up, and a character I'd found bland in his point-of-view chapters took a central role, and I was almost disappointed. I'd have been just as happy if the book just gave me a picture of what life and relationships were like for the various characters in the circus, and some of the events in its past, and left it at that. But although it wasn't a great plot, I liked how it tied in with the character building from earlier in the book. I was really rooting for everyone, feeling joy and sorrow and regret along with them as they... well, never mind.
The subtitle "A Tale" hints that there is more to come. I'm looking forward to it.
August 15, 2017
Ai, esse livro.
Minhas 5 estrelas para esse livro vão para os personagens e para a escrita que são coisas completamente maravilhosas.
Esse realismo mágico é muito intrigante e todo o conceito é muito interessante também, mas os personagens e a escrita foram o que me ganharam completamente.
Eu amo todo mundo desse circo e quero proteger todos eles. Nunca poderia escolher um favorito porque MEU DEUS ELES SÃO TODOS FANTÁSTICOS.
Não que sejam todos as melhores pessoas do mundo, alguns deles são bem "ruinzinhos" até, mas a forma como foram apresentados e tudo o que você aprende sobre eles não deixa espaço pra você sentir outra coisa senão um leve fascínio, pelo menos comigo foi assim.
Eu demorei para entrar na história porque os pontos de vistas são trocados, as vezes tá em primeira pessoa e logo depois não tá mais e tá no passado e depois já tá no presente, mas quando eu me acostumei com isso foi só amores.
Quando o final do livro estava chegando eu já estava com medo tipo "Por favor, não morra ninguém ou então eu morro junto."
Simplesmente adorei.
SÉRIO, A ESCRITA DESSA MULHER É TODA POÉTICA E LINDA DEMAIS.
Minhas 5 estrelas para esse livro vão para os personagens e para a escrita que são coisas completamente maravilhosas.
Esse realismo mágico é muito intrigante e todo o conceito é muito interessante também, mas os personagens e a escrita foram o que me ganharam completamente.
Eu amo todo mundo desse circo e quero proteger todos eles. Nunca poderia escolher um favorito porque MEU DEUS ELES SÃO TODOS FANTÁSTICOS.
Não que sejam todos as melhores pessoas do mundo, alguns deles são bem "ruinzinhos" até, mas a forma como foram apresentados e tudo o que você aprende sobre eles não deixa espaço pra você sentir outra coisa senão um leve fascínio, pelo menos comigo foi assim.
Eu demorei para entrar na história porque os pontos de vistas são trocados, as vezes tá em primeira pessoa e logo depois não tá mais e tá no passado e depois já tá no presente, mas quando eu me acostumei com isso foi só amores.
Quando o final do livro estava chegando eu já estava com medo tipo "Por favor, não morra ninguém ou então eu morro junto."
Simplesmente adorei.
SÉRIO, A ESCRITA DESSA MULHER É TODA POÉTICA E LINDA DEMAIS.
March 18, 2017
Adorei a escrita da Genevieve. Ela tem um jeito delicioso de misturar diferentes POV, passado, presente e futuro, e tudo fazer sentido. Confesso que no começo eu me senti um pouco perdida de como a história ia funcionar e o contexto, mas aos poucos tudo foi tomando forma. É difícil escolher um membro do circo favorito. As relações entre eles foram, pra mim, a alma do livro; durante a leitura nós temos que montar a personalidade e relações entre os personagens com pequenos trechos de diferentes pontos de vista. Uma experiência de leitura original e muito gostosa
March 12, 2012
This book has a plot, it does, it surely does, but the presentation obscures the action almost to the point where it swallows it whole, for the tale is told in first, second and third person and also in the story's present and its past. Confusing? Yes.
Absorbing? Yes. Frustrating? Most certainly. Brilliant? Possibly. Flawed? I think so. Whether the flaws outweigh the brilliance is yes to be decided.
I bought this book for my Kindle because it's on the Nebula shortlist for best novel and I thought I should try to catch up with at least some of the listed books. The reviews I've read seem to think it's a masterpiece debut novel and – indeed – it is remarkable. But does it deserve to be Best Novel of 2011?
The viewpoint switches are dizzying at first – maybe deliberately so in the way it spins you up into the air and then drops you suddenly as if you are actually a participant in the high-flying trapeze act that is this book. Little George is the first person narrator, but having settled into that idea, Valentine rips you out of your comfort zone and drops you immediately into third person. Unused to such confusing switches, it takes a while to realise that you are in someone else's head now. The head-hopping is something you just have to get used to because the whole book continues in like mode.
It's disorienting and disturbing. Do not read unless you actually like to be disturbed by your fiction.
And the plot? A bunch of magically and mechanically enhanced circus performers travel from place to place across a dystopian landscape, a land destroyed by war. Not quite post-apocalypse because the apocalypse is not yet over. Cities have been reduced to rubble, the people reduced to soldiers or citizens surviving on the soldiers' goodwill, and there isn't much goodwill around.
The circus exists out of time. The performers have died, some many times, but are not yet dead. Boss, herself created by tragedy, magically transforms bones and bodies with copper wire and bits of junk. This could be classed as steampunk, but it's not really. The disparate performers have all come to the circus as a refuge and despite themselves they have become a family, though dysfunctional in the extreme. Little George is the only one amongst them who is still human. When he walks out on brass mechanical legs to paste up the posters announcing the circus is in town they are a casing for his own human limbs. Not so Big George, whose metal arms have become a living trapeze for cruel Elena's troupe of aerialists.
When the Government Man sees the circus performers as a template for a new breed of soldier if only he can find out how they are made he takes Boss in for questioning and the dysfunctional family must decide whether to continue travelling as she has instructed or to stage a rescue.
Beneath this main story arc are numerous stories of how the performers came to submit to Boss' alterations from the musical director who is nothing more than a severed head on a mechanical orchestra, to Bird who came only for the wings – the wings that Boss once made for Alec, who chose to die for real rather than continue to wear the brass and bone feathers with the terrible secret.
There are many things to admire about this book. It's a lyrical prose poem of a book, but it's neither a comfortable nor an easy read. It's confusing and frustrating, but does eventually reach a climax, though there were times when I wondered whether it was going to. It is, however very effective in creating an impression of this broken world full of broken people.
Absorbing? Yes. Frustrating? Most certainly. Brilliant? Possibly. Flawed? I think so. Whether the flaws outweigh the brilliance is yes to be decided.
I bought this book for my Kindle because it's on the Nebula shortlist for best novel and I thought I should try to catch up with at least some of the listed books. The reviews I've read seem to think it's a masterpiece debut novel and – indeed – it is remarkable. But does it deserve to be Best Novel of 2011?
The viewpoint switches are dizzying at first – maybe deliberately so in the way it spins you up into the air and then drops you suddenly as if you are actually a participant in the high-flying trapeze act that is this book. Little George is the first person narrator, but having settled into that idea, Valentine rips you out of your comfort zone and drops you immediately into third person. Unused to such confusing switches, it takes a while to realise that you are in someone else's head now. The head-hopping is something you just have to get used to because the whole book continues in like mode.
It's disorienting and disturbing. Do not read unless you actually like to be disturbed by your fiction.
And the plot? A bunch of magically and mechanically enhanced circus performers travel from place to place across a dystopian landscape, a land destroyed by war. Not quite post-apocalypse because the apocalypse is not yet over. Cities have been reduced to rubble, the people reduced to soldiers or citizens surviving on the soldiers' goodwill, and there isn't much goodwill around.
The circus exists out of time. The performers have died, some many times, but are not yet dead. Boss, herself created by tragedy, magically transforms bones and bodies with copper wire and bits of junk. This could be classed as steampunk, but it's not really. The disparate performers have all come to the circus as a refuge and despite themselves they have become a family, though dysfunctional in the extreme. Little George is the only one amongst them who is still human. When he walks out on brass mechanical legs to paste up the posters announcing the circus is in town they are a casing for his own human limbs. Not so Big George, whose metal arms have become a living trapeze for cruel Elena's troupe of aerialists.
When the Government Man sees the circus performers as a template for a new breed of soldier if only he can find out how they are made he takes Boss in for questioning and the dysfunctional family must decide whether to continue travelling as she has instructed or to stage a rescue.
Beneath this main story arc are numerous stories of how the performers came to submit to Boss' alterations from the musical director who is nothing more than a severed head on a mechanical orchestra, to Bird who came only for the wings – the wings that Boss once made for Alec, who chose to die for real rather than continue to wear the brass and bone feathers with the terrible secret.
There are many things to admire about this book. It's a lyrical prose poem of a book, but it's neither a comfortable nor an easy read. It's confusing and frustrating, but does eventually reach a climax, though there were times when I wondered whether it was going to. It is, however very effective in creating an impression of this broken world full of broken people.
July 8, 2015
I taught a class called Ideas to Outlines, or Outlining for Organics. As part of the process I presented, I tried to cover all the possible starting points for a novel. The hardest for me was a mood story, because I hadn’t actually encountered one with that focus. I’m all about story, and in most modern novels at least, that means plot-focused.
Mechanique proved me wrong in the most delightful way. This is not a book for the plot-driven, straight-forward reader, but if you’re willing to lay yourself open to a twisted, tangled journey that often reminded me of an Escher painting, Mechanique will surprise and awe you.
This novel does not hold to point of view conventions, uses second person and intrusive narrators at times, gives no warning when thrusting you into past events, and the story unfolds in glimpses, just enough to have you thinking you’ve found the main point only to lose it again.
At the same time, there is a clearly defined story. Well, actually several of them. This is not a naval-gazing, stream of consciousness novel. Valentine knows exactly where it’s going and how all the pieces fit together, or at least that’s how it comes across.
The characters are compelling, each with their own story and their own reasons behind what they do. The world itself is introduced bit by bit until you get a surreal picture that is so concrete it becomes real. But the strongest part of this novel is the mood. It’s hard to explain because it’s part the world, part the language, part how the story unfolds, and part how everything comes together. I recommend Mechanique wholeheartedly. It’s more than just a read. It’s an experience.
I’ve talked about what made Mechanique special, but neglected the basics. It’s a steampunk apocalyptic novel about a traveling circus. However, the feel of the novel is more important than the genre in this case. It’s worth giving a read.
I got the title from NetGalley or I might not have come across it, but I’m glad it caught my eye.
Mechanique proved me wrong in the most delightful way. This is not a book for the plot-driven, straight-forward reader, but if you’re willing to lay yourself open to a twisted, tangled journey that often reminded me of an Escher painting, Mechanique will surprise and awe you.
This novel does not hold to point of view conventions, uses second person and intrusive narrators at times, gives no warning when thrusting you into past events, and the story unfolds in glimpses, just enough to have you thinking you’ve found the main point only to lose it again.
At the same time, there is a clearly defined story. Well, actually several of them. This is not a naval-gazing, stream of consciousness novel. Valentine knows exactly where it’s going and how all the pieces fit together, or at least that’s how it comes across.
The characters are compelling, each with their own story and their own reasons behind what they do. The world itself is introduced bit by bit until you get a surreal picture that is so concrete it becomes real. But the strongest part of this novel is the mood. It’s hard to explain because it’s part the world, part the language, part how the story unfolds, and part how everything comes together. I recommend Mechanique wholeheartedly. It’s more than just a read. It’s an experience.
I’ve talked about what made Mechanique special, but neglected the basics. It’s a steampunk apocalyptic novel about a traveling circus. However, the feel of the novel is more important than the genre in this case. It’s worth giving a read.
I got the title from NetGalley or I might not have come across it, but I’m glad it caught my eye.
October 3, 2012
This book won't be for everyone, and everything I loved - the terse and taut writing style, the ruthless characterisation, the unflinching slow collision of tragedies and unravelling of mysteries - might be something others don't like. True for everything, and I really did love this.
It's about belonging and being outside, it's about refuge and sacrifice, it's about wanting and about refusing... it's about loving someone so hard and for so long that you no longer see them, and hating someone so closely that you need them. And it's all delivered with the elegance of poetry, or performance, but no airy-fairy nonsense. The language is picked for punch and the author does not care to hide behind polysyllabic show-off words (...unlike me :D).
But it lingers, and well after I closed the final page, I'm still thinking about the story, the themes, the characters. And that is the real mark of something strong and enduring.
It's about belonging and being outside, it's about refuge and sacrifice, it's about wanting and about refusing... it's about loving someone so hard and for so long that you no longer see them, and hating someone so closely that you need them. And it's all delivered with the elegance of poetry, or performance, but no airy-fairy nonsense. The language is picked for punch and the author does not care to hide behind polysyllabic show-off words (...unlike me :D).
But it lingers, and well after I closed the final page, I'm still thinking about the story, the themes, the characters. And that is the real mark of something strong and enduring.
May 12, 2011
MECHANIQUE is an enormous book—not in size (for it is rather physically compact) but rather in scope. Valentine has an astonishing talent for suggesting a thousand words of backstory with a dozen or so well-crafted words. And yet, the effect is not at all spare or stripped down; you walk away feeling as though you've just read an epic. All the characters are fascinatingly flawed, full of contradictions. There are no villains in this story; everyone's motivation is understandable and, to varying degrees, sympathetic. The antagonist, if there is one, is human desire: specifically, the desire to create (to "play God") or the desire to be free of a creator's tyranny. All the characters play out this drama in one way or another, against a lush and seedy background of greasepaint and spangles.This is a wonderful book that will reward repeat reading--I recommend it highly.
April 15, 2016
I didn't leave a review when I read this in 2014. I should have. But I probably couldn't. I still can't. This book was magic. And, at the time, like nothing I'd ever read before. I sniffed at "Steampunk" and as with The Siren and BDSM and Him with M/M, I was put in my place. And now I beat everyone I love over the head with it.
READ!(Whack)
THIS!(Whack)
BOOK!(Whack)
DAMMIT!(Whack) (Whack) (Whack)
READ!(Whack)
THIS!(Whack)
BOOK!(Whack)
DAMMIT!(Whack) (Whack) (Whack)
July 15, 2012
Beautiful descriptions of horrific things? Mysterious Boss builds her circus - she has rules of just what kind of person she allows to join her travelling troup. I liked the performers and how they deal with the war outside the circus, the war within, each other, and Boss.
January 21, 2017
Esse livro foi bem decepcionante. Narrativa ruim, personagens rasos que em momento algum consegui me identificar. O único ponto positivo desse livro é a edição e as ilustrações. Sem mais.
August 1, 2011
One of the best things about blogging is the exposure to books I wouldn't have known about if it wasn't for the various relationships forged along the way. One of my favorite authors (Alex Bledsoe) recently recommended the book Mechanique: A Tale of the Circus Tresaulti by Genevieve Valentine and once I read that the story was about a "steampunk-flavored circus," I was in.
Mechanique is a meandering story, much like the circus it depicts. Set some time in a distant future in a world torn apart by bombs and fractured into townships led by petty government men, the Circus Tresaulti comes to town amid a minor fanfare of colorful posters and a parade through town to display their magnificent mechanical parts. You won't notice the slightly tattered condition of the circus tents as you marvel as the strongman with a clock set in his scrap-metal spine or the men who use their long, powerful steel arms as the swinging trapeze.
This isn't your usual circus in more than the obvious ways. It isn't the gears that sets these performers apart, it's their hollow, copper bones and the strange agelessness that comes with them. There's a magic that the ringmaster possesses, with her griffin tattoos, that no one quite understands. She weaves her spell over acrobats and jugglers, but it's the musical, haunted wings that really draw in the crowds-- at least they did once upon a time. Now the wings are a dream to those who fight over them.
But a larger enemy has an eye on the circus now... and he wants the boss's secrets to built the perfect army.
"Mechanique" is one of the most unique stories I have ever read because of the way it was written. When I say 'meandering' I mean it. The narrative jumps around quite a bit and the timeline is rather confusing at first. It took me a good fifty pages to get a grip on the story. And it isn't just the timeline that's confusing. Valentine uses a parenthesis throughout the book to offer asides in the story and it confusing until you catch on to the rhythm of the book. But then a strange thing happens; you get caught up in the story and the confusion melts away.
Everything about this story skips around, perhaps in sympathy with the nomadic lives of the circus performers themselves. First there's Boss; the ringleader with the mysterious capability to grant hollow bones and immortality. Panadrome; the one-man band who is never without his instruments. Elena; the hard leader of the trapeze artists who may or may not hide a caring heart behind a cold exterior. Little George; the barker who desperately wants to get his bones and belong to the circus once and for all. Ayar; who took the bones against his will to save his partner Jonah. And Alec; the man who wore the musical wings crafted of bone and gold who slowly went mad with their tormented legacy. Many of the performers are former soldiers who take to the unsettled life in the circus because it has it's own stability and sense of family.
The things that could be a detriment to the book end up being its strength because the unusual style adds to the sense of magic. It has a flair and flow that's hard to describe but easy to recommend. It's not one of those books that bombards you with action, though it has more than its share. Valentine parcels out the accounts of the characters and their histories and leaves enough of the setting as a blank page for us to fill in with our imagination. Some things never change, like the character of the "government man"-- some truths are obvious to any reader. Just as the cost of war is also universal at any time and any place. And it's the combination of the surreal circus superimposed over the dystopian landscape that makes "Mechanique" stand out in such a memorable way.
I really liked "Mechanique." The combination of the circus with the steampunk elements works so well. It's just a genius combination. And I think that the marriage of style and substance utilized in this work takes it beyond something interesting and turns it into something special.
Mechanique is a meandering story, much like the circus it depicts. Set some time in a distant future in a world torn apart by bombs and fractured into townships led by petty government men, the Circus Tresaulti comes to town amid a minor fanfare of colorful posters and a parade through town to display their magnificent mechanical parts. You won't notice the slightly tattered condition of the circus tents as you marvel as the strongman with a clock set in his scrap-metal spine or the men who use their long, powerful steel arms as the swinging trapeze.
This isn't your usual circus in more than the obvious ways. It isn't the gears that sets these performers apart, it's their hollow, copper bones and the strange agelessness that comes with them. There's a magic that the ringmaster possesses, with her griffin tattoos, that no one quite understands. She weaves her spell over acrobats and jugglers, but it's the musical, haunted wings that really draw in the crowds-- at least they did once upon a time. Now the wings are a dream to those who fight over them.
But a larger enemy has an eye on the circus now... and he wants the boss's secrets to built the perfect army.
"Mechanique" is one of the most unique stories I have ever read because of the way it was written. When I say 'meandering' I mean it. The narrative jumps around quite a bit and the timeline is rather confusing at first. It took me a good fifty pages to get a grip on the story. And it isn't just the timeline that's confusing. Valentine uses a parenthesis throughout the book to offer asides in the story and it confusing until you catch on to the rhythm of the book. But then a strange thing happens; you get caught up in the story and the confusion melts away.
Everything about this story skips around, perhaps in sympathy with the nomadic lives of the circus performers themselves. First there's Boss; the ringleader with the mysterious capability to grant hollow bones and immortality. Panadrome; the one-man band who is never without his instruments. Elena; the hard leader of the trapeze artists who may or may not hide a caring heart behind a cold exterior. Little George; the barker who desperately wants to get his bones and belong to the circus once and for all. Ayar; who took the bones against his will to save his partner Jonah. And Alec; the man who wore the musical wings crafted of bone and gold who slowly went mad with their tormented legacy. Many of the performers are former soldiers who take to the unsettled life in the circus because it has it's own stability and sense of family.
The things that could be a detriment to the book end up being its strength because the unusual style adds to the sense of magic. It has a flair and flow that's hard to describe but easy to recommend. It's not one of those books that bombards you with action, though it has more than its share. Valentine parcels out the accounts of the characters and their histories and leaves enough of the setting as a blank page for us to fill in with our imagination. Some things never change, like the character of the "government man"-- some truths are obvious to any reader. Just as the cost of war is also universal at any time and any place. And it's the combination of the surreal circus superimposed over the dystopian landscape that makes "Mechanique" stand out in such a memorable way.
I really liked "Mechanique." The combination of the circus with the steampunk elements works so well. It's just a genius combination. And I think that the marriage of style and substance utilized in this work takes it beyond something interesting and turns it into something special.
November 18, 2015
What kind of apocalypse leaves such magic in its wake?
The threadbare, rattletrap Circus Tresaulti ("It doesn't look shabby until you've already paid"—p.7) travels through an unrecognizable landscape, from the outskirts of one bombed-out city to the next, astonishing war-weary audiences (who pay with bartered fuel and food) with its trapeze artists, jugglers, clowns and strongmen—many of whom are ex-soldiers, refugees and deserters from the unspecified conflict that devastated these nameless territories.
Mechanique is not strictly science fiction. Nor is it steampunk, exactly, although you could be forgiven for casually shelving it there. The Circus Tresaulti uses electric lights and travels in trucks that run on petroleum fuel, and many of its performers are hardened ex-soldiers who know quite well how to handle a gun... but the music of the Circus is played by Panadrome, who is little more than a human head atop a mobile calliope, and the members of the troupe are directed (and, in many cases, have been constructed) by a Boss whose powers seem little short of magical, who has replaced their bones, organs and other parts with clanking copper, brass and steel, tubing and wires and clattering gears.
Mechanique's setting, grim as it is, reminds me a lot of the seamier corners of Cordwainer Smith's Instrumentality. Even ignoring the devastation and general societal collapse, the Circus itself is often on the run, chased from town to town by xenophobia or greed, or—worse—by petty warlords who see its members' many talents as strategically desirable. Genevieve Valentine's prose is all that makes it beautiful—it's no small task to marry the sordid and the surreal and keep them in harmony, but Valentine does so here with no false steps.
Consider this passage; consider in particular the word "almost":
Valentine's story meanders, as does the Circus Tresaulti itself, but it does reach a climax and a conclusion which are—if not entirely without loss—ultimately satisfying.
I acquired this book in a little bookstore on the Oregon coast, in a little town which has not, as yet, felt the full brunt of our own post-apocalyptic present. At least, as far as I know, the Circus Tresaulti has never pitched its tents there. If you're ever in Yachats, though, I encourage you to check out Mari's. And, if you ever see a poster for the Circus Tresaulti in your travels... well, you'll want to bring enough to barter for a good seat, one down near the front...
The threadbare, rattletrap Circus Tresaulti ("It doesn't look shabby until you've already paid"—p.7) travels through an unrecognizable landscape, from the outskirts of one bombed-out city to the next, astonishing war-weary audiences (who pay with bartered fuel and food) with its trapeze artists, jugglers, clowns and strongmen—many of whom are ex-soldiers, refugees and deserters from the unspecified conflict that devastated these nameless territories.
Mechanique is not strictly science fiction. Nor is it steampunk, exactly, although you could be forgiven for casually shelving it there. The Circus Tresaulti uses electric lights and travels in trucks that run on petroleum fuel, and many of its performers are hardened ex-soldiers who know quite well how to handle a gun... but the music of the Circus is played by Panadrome, who is little more than a human head atop a mobile calliope, and the members of the troupe are directed (and, in many cases, have been constructed) by a Boss whose powers seem little short of magical, who has replaced their bones, organs and other parts with clanking copper, brass and steel, tubing and wires and clattering gears.
Mechanique's setting, grim as it is, reminds me a lot of the seamier corners of Cordwainer Smith's Instrumentality. Even ignoring the devastation and general societal collapse, the Circus itself is often on the run, chased from town to town by xenophobia or greed, or—worse—by petty warlords who see its members' many talents as strategically desirable. Genevieve Valentine's prose is all that makes it beautiful—it's no small task to marry the sordid and the surreal and keep them in harmony, but Valentine does so here with no false steps.
Consider this passage; consider in particular the word "almost":
If you are like them, then when you enter the workshop there is no pile of scrap, no steel table wiped almost clean of blood. There is no terrifying rack of drills and ratchets, no coils of cord to lash your bones back in place. There is no Boss to inflict her will on you, to build you up and wake you with a new name and a body she knows will look good at the center of the stage.
For you, the world narrows to a single point as you step inside the workshop. (This is what happens when you take a step: you are moving closer to something you want.)
For you, the workshop is only the roof that has been pitched over your waiting wings.
—p.35
Valentine's story meanders, as does the Circus Tresaulti itself, but it does reach a climax and a conclusion which are—if not entirely without loss—ultimately satisfying.
I acquired this book in a little bookstore on the Oregon coast, in a little town which has not, as yet, felt the full brunt of our own post-apocalyptic present. At least, as far as I know, the Circus Tresaulti has never pitched its tents there. If you're ever in Yachats, though, I encourage you to check out Mari's. And, if you ever see a poster for the Circus Tresaulti in your travels... well, you'll want to bring enough to barter for a good seat, one down near the front...
January 14, 2013
This novel, which received a Nebula nomination for Best Novel, takes place in a post-war landscape. The particulars are left vague: we know that there were bombs and radiation, followed by smaller wars for control, and the creation of city-states. Outside of these, borders have become fluid, and life brutal.
To stay out of trouble, the Circus Tresaulti travels a wide circuit; the towns they visit may not exist by the time they return. Those who join the circus are looking for a measure of security, or a job that doesn’t involve killing. Most were soldiers once.
In this world, people don’t live long. So, for a select few, the idea of having boss (the powerful woman who runs the circus) replace their body parts with metal gadgets seems like an attractive option, even if that means becoming something no longer quite human.
I adore circus imagery and metaphors (obviously), and post-industrial settings, but I had some problems with the novel, stylistically. For example, the death of Alec, the winged man, is referenced so often that by the time I saw this important scene actually play out, it felt anticlimactic.
Another odd choice was the abundance of parenthetical asides, in the voice of the main narrator (boss’ assistant, George). Occasionally they added insight, but more often I found them distracting, awkward and exposition-heavy.
The plot, which doesn’t really emerge until the latter part of the novel, revolves around two conflicts. The first is between boss and the government man, who wants to use boss’ magic and the circus for his own nefarious purposes – an intention she seems determined to resist at any cost, even death.
The other conflict involves a cold war between two of the performers, Stenos and Bird. Forced by boss to perform together, they are rivals for possession of the finely-wrought metal wings that boss reclaimed after Alec’s death. Whomever can convince boss to surgically install the wings on their body will be transformed into a half-human, half-bird creature. That the wings may also drive the owner insane is risk both seem eager to take.
My greatest enjoyment in reading this novel was in the detailing of the mechanical circus, the nuanced interactions between very different personalities forced to live and work together in close quarters, and the notion that the ways in which some of the circus performers are altered makes them more than human in some ways, and less than human in others.
This is not a book for those who require a tightly woven plot. Written in loosely connected vignettes, it’s more of a poetic, mood piece than a traditional novel. The story meanders back and forward in time, full of allusions to events that have happened in the past, and hints of events to come. Those who can’t get enough of post-industrial, post-apocalyptic settings and steampunk-esqe creations will most likely find Circus Mechanique an enjoyable read.
To stay out of trouble, the Circus Tresaulti travels a wide circuit; the towns they visit may not exist by the time they return. Those who join the circus are looking for a measure of security, or a job that doesn’t involve killing. Most were soldiers once.
In this world, people don’t live long. So, for a select few, the idea of having boss (the powerful woman who runs the circus) replace their body parts with metal gadgets seems like an attractive option, even if that means becoming something no longer quite human.
I adore circus imagery and metaphors (obviously), and post-industrial settings, but I had some problems with the novel, stylistically. For example, the death of Alec, the winged man, is referenced so often that by the time I saw this important scene actually play out, it felt anticlimactic.
Another odd choice was the abundance of parenthetical asides, in the voice of the main narrator (boss’ assistant, George). Occasionally they added insight, but more often I found them distracting, awkward and exposition-heavy.
The plot, which doesn’t really emerge until the latter part of the novel, revolves around two conflicts. The first is between boss and the government man, who wants to use boss’ magic and the circus for his own nefarious purposes – an intention she seems determined to resist at any cost, even death.
The other conflict involves a cold war between two of the performers, Stenos and Bird. Forced by boss to perform together, they are rivals for possession of the finely-wrought metal wings that boss reclaimed after Alec’s death. Whomever can convince boss to surgically install the wings on their body will be transformed into a half-human, half-bird creature. That the wings may also drive the owner insane is risk both seem eager to take.
My greatest enjoyment in reading this novel was in the detailing of the mechanical circus, the nuanced interactions between very different personalities forced to live and work together in close quarters, and the notion that the ways in which some of the circus performers are altered makes them more than human in some ways, and less than human in others.
This is not a book for those who require a tightly woven plot. Written in loosely connected vignettes, it’s more of a poetic, mood piece than a traditional novel. The story meanders back and forward in time, full of allusions to events that have happened in the past, and hints of events to come. Those who can’t get enough of post-industrial, post-apocalyptic settings and steampunk-esqe creations will most likely find Circus Mechanique an enjoyable read.
June 16, 2011
If you like strange and different and are fascinated by the idea of a steampunk circus, then don’t miss Mechanique It’s unlike anything I have read before. I didn’t dislike it, but I couldn’t say that I really liked it either. The idea is great, the story good but the way it’s written made it hard for me to get into.
The first half of this book jumps between characters, events and times so much that I was never sure who was narrating the story. The primary narrator didn’t have a name, sex or description (I never did get a picture of him) and when the name did appear, it took me some time to confirm that the narrator was in fact Little George - except when it wasn’t. But how did George know all those things about the others that they didn’t know themselves? I guess the words in brackets were the voice of the writer. The effect was novel, but also confusing and tended to distance me from the characters and their well-portrayed world. The style was a brave departure from the norm, and I congratulate the author for going for it, but I found myself thinking that it would have engaged me better had it been written in a more normal way.
The reader learns about the different characters and how they came to the circus in a series of scenes, parts of which overlap with other scenes, but seen from different points of view. I loved this overlapping of pivotal events and thought the author pulled it off well. It could easily have been repetitive, but it wasn’t, because each time we came back to an event, we discovered something new about it. The voice of the narrator(s) – present tense - gave a distinct feel to the book, (for me, its most endearing aspect,) a future/past flavour mixed with the grit of circus life and a strange magic whose nature was gradually revealed as the book progressed.
I never really felt like I got to know Little George. I came to know Elena best and Stenos, but I never developed a fondness for them and the other characters including Boss, only ever remained shadowy. The circus as a whole, however, came over clearly as one big dysfunctional family.
About half way through, after the character introductions and back-stories, the story moved into a normal narrative structure, beginning with the visit of the Government man. At that stage, I felt like the story had finally begun and happily followed it through its twists and turns to a satisfying conclusion.
I give it 3 stars.
The first half of this book jumps between characters, events and times so much that I was never sure who was narrating the story. The primary narrator didn’t have a name, sex or description (I never did get a picture of him) and when the name did appear, it took me some time to confirm that the narrator was in fact Little George - except when it wasn’t. But how did George know all those things about the others that they didn’t know themselves? I guess the words in brackets were the voice of the writer. The effect was novel, but also confusing and tended to distance me from the characters and their well-portrayed world. The style was a brave departure from the norm, and I congratulate the author for going for it, but I found myself thinking that it would have engaged me better had it been written in a more normal way.
The reader learns about the different characters and how they came to the circus in a series of scenes, parts of which overlap with other scenes, but seen from different points of view. I loved this overlapping of pivotal events and thought the author pulled it off well. It could easily have been repetitive, but it wasn’t, because each time we came back to an event, we discovered something new about it. The voice of the narrator(s) – present tense - gave a distinct feel to the book, (for me, its most endearing aspect,) a future/past flavour mixed with the grit of circus life and a strange magic whose nature was gradually revealed as the book progressed.
I never really felt like I got to know Little George. I came to know Elena best and Stenos, but I never developed a fondness for them and the other characters including Boss, only ever remained shadowy. The circus as a whole, however, came over clearly as one big dysfunctional family.
About half way through, after the character introductions and back-stories, the story moved into a normal narrative structure, beginning with the visit of the Government man. At that stage, I felt like the story had finally begun and happily followed it through its twists and turns to a satisfying conclusion.
I give it 3 stars.
March 17, 2014
Review in portuguese by blog MON PETIT POISON
Infelizmente mais um livro que eu deixei de descobrir seus mistérios antes de chegar as páginas finais, apesar de toda a boa crítica que li pela blogosfera, em nenhum momento fui avisada que o mesmo não era exatamente uma história linear e sim pequenos contos/momentos narrados pelo ponto de vista de um dos personagens sobre o circo.
A narrativa não me agradou, apesar dos capítulos curtíssimos, a narrativa não me empolgava, ela é bem arrastada e não convidativa a continuar. Era raro conseguir ler mais do que cinco capítulos sem me sentir entediada ou com vontade de ir ler outra coisa.
A ideia do circo também não me agradou, talvez até onde tenha lido (capítulo 26/página 88) as coisas não foram tão explicadas assim, o personagem que ‘narra’ suas percepções sobre a vida/circo conta como eles chegam ou seu amor por algum deles, mas tudo de uma forma sucinta e bem rasa. No final eu tinha um monte de personagens a minha volta e não sabia exatamente quem era quem.
O ponto mais legal do livro são as imagens que aparecem aleatoriamente entre os capítulos, elas são belas e algumas têm a ver com os personagens, em certos momentos é bom até para entender o quê exatamente o autor quis mostrar sobre um personagem.
Pelo fato dos capítulos não serem narrados de forma linear e sim como se fossem pensamentos soltos e sentimentos, até onde cheguei digo que não entendi a proposta do livro. Fala de alguma espécie de lugar que é refúgio para algumas pessoas por motivos diversos? O circo pode ser algo mais do que foi mostrado? Essas perguntas começaram comigo desde o início, mas até onde li não foram respondidas. E como o interesse pelo livro foi baixo praticamente desde o início, preferi não continuar.
http://www.monpetitpoison.com/2014/03...
Infelizmente mais um livro que eu deixei de descobrir seus mistérios antes de chegar as páginas finais, apesar de toda a boa crítica que li pela blogosfera, em nenhum momento fui avisada que o mesmo não era exatamente uma história linear e sim pequenos contos/momentos narrados pelo ponto de vista de um dos personagens sobre o circo.
A narrativa não me agradou, apesar dos capítulos curtíssimos, a narrativa não me empolgava, ela é bem arrastada e não convidativa a continuar. Era raro conseguir ler mais do que cinco capítulos sem me sentir entediada ou com vontade de ir ler outra coisa.
A ideia do circo também não me agradou, talvez até onde tenha lido (capítulo 26/página 88) as coisas não foram tão explicadas assim, o personagem que ‘narra’ suas percepções sobre a vida/circo conta como eles chegam ou seu amor por algum deles, mas tudo de uma forma sucinta e bem rasa. No final eu tinha um monte de personagens a minha volta e não sabia exatamente quem era quem.
O ponto mais legal do livro são as imagens que aparecem aleatoriamente entre os capítulos, elas são belas e algumas têm a ver com os personagens, em certos momentos é bom até para entender o quê exatamente o autor quis mostrar sobre um personagem.
Pelo fato dos capítulos não serem narrados de forma linear e sim como se fossem pensamentos soltos e sentimentos, até onde cheguei digo que não entendi a proposta do livro. Fala de alguma espécie de lugar que é refúgio para algumas pessoas por motivos diversos? O circo pode ser algo mais do que foi mostrado? Essas perguntas começaram comigo desde o início, mas até onde li não foram respondidas. E como o interesse pelo livro foi baixo praticamente desde o início, preferi não continuar.
http://www.monpetitpoison.com/2014/03...
July 14, 2012
I got a copy of Mechanique at WorldCon last year and ended up reading it in one sitting on the flight home. I would describe it kind of as a post-apocalyptic steampunk version of the TV series Carnivale (though with an actual circus instead of sideshows). The book is written in a more "literary" style, so it's not a straightforward, plot-driven narrative. It jumps about between first-person, second-person and third-person viewpoint and jumps around in time, weaving incidents from the past into the present. At first, that can be hard to follow, but eventually all the timelines click into place so that you really get what's going on. There's something about all that jumping around and vagueness that makes it rather hypnotic, and although I felt that it was skimming past things and never really telling us much about the characters, by the end of the book I felt like I really knew and understood them and their world. When I finished the book with at least half an hour left in my flight, I wished there had been more because I didn't want to leave that world and I wanted to know more about those people. I couldn't make myself get into anything else after finishing it, so I read the SkyMall catalogue for the rest of the flight. It's definitely different and probably not for everyone, but I found it captivating (the book, not the SkyMall catalogue). I think I'll have to re-read this one now that I know how it all fits together because that will likely change the way I see things.
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