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Mechanical marvels and raw emotions,
This review is from: The Chemistry of Tears (Hardcover)
In this short gripping novel Peter Carey constructs a delightful conspiratorial confection which has pleasing hints of Thomas Pynchon and Lawrence Norfolk. It is the second significant novel this year in which the narrator is the grandson of a London clockmaker: but apart from that the approach is very different to Nick Harkaway in Angelmaker.
Carey, as in Parrot and Olivier in America, has two narrators, but here one is contemporary and female. Her raw emotional state of bereavement, and the fraught relationships which she has with her colleagues, portray an edgy view of life behind the scenes at the imaginary museum of clockwork and automata. There is a wider background of environmental catastrophe and cultural fragmentation, and it becomes clear that her project is vital as the museum struggles to survive the financial difficulties posed by the current government.
The nineteenth century narrator is an equally vulnerable character, in a mould that will be familiar to readers of Carey's earlier novels. He is far from home, overseeing the commissioning of an animated duck, which will be magical, but will also hint at a future of computing and of motorisation, where three dimensional cams and "specially contrived axles and bevelled gears" will rule the day. Carey resolves his parallel plot with aplomb, but not without an appropriately tantalising hint of mystery and even conspiracy.