St. Martin's Press, March 2010
I had high hopes for Dexter Palmer's The Dream of Perpetual Motion - a romantic steampunk vision in which Harold Winslow, a greeting card writer imprisoned aboard a zeppelin perpetually circling the globe, sets down his life's story, a story intricately entwined with those of millionaire-inventor Prospero Taligent and his daughter, Miranda.
Prospero and Miranda - if the names sound familiar it is because they are those of the magician protagonist and his daughter in William Shakespeare's The Tempest, the play from which Dexter Palmer draws much inspiration in both characters and theme.
It is the end of the age of miracles, the end of a time when, according to Harold's father, "You could be strolling down a sidewalk one morning, minding your own business, chewing on a still-steaming hot cross bun and planning your day's youthful exploits, and then suddenly an angel would fly out of nowhere and stand in your path and just stare at you." In the place of miracles there are machines. The twentieth century is a mechanical age, ushered in by the ambitions of Prospero Taligent, who has harnessed his genius and riches in providing the citizens of Xeroville with progress. In this age, mechanical men walk Xeroville's streets. They are everywhere, built to mimic humans in every way except one - the absence of a soul - but Prospero is working on that.
I had high hopes for Dexter Palmer's The Dream of Perpetual Motion - a romantic steampunk vision in which Harold Winslow, a greeting card writer imprisoned aboard a zeppelin perpetually circling the globe, sets down his life's story, a story intricately entwined with those of millionaire-inventor Prospero Taligent and his daughter, Miranda.
Prospero and Miranda - if the names sound familiar it is because they are those of the magician protagonist and his daughter in William Shakespeare's The Tempest, the play from which Dexter Palmer draws much inspiration in both characters and theme.
It is the end of the age of miracles, the end of a time when, according to Harold's father, "You could be strolling down a sidewalk one morning, minding your own business, chewing on a still-steaming hot cross bun and planning your day's youthful exploits, and then suddenly an angel would fly out of nowhere and stand in your path and just stare at you." In the place of miracles there are machines. The twentieth century is a mechanical age, ushered in by the ambitions of Prospero Taligent, who has harnessed his genius and riches in providing the citizens of Xeroville with progress. In this age, mechanical men walk Xeroville's streets. They are everywhere, built to mimic humans in every way except one - the absence of a soul - but Prospero is working on that.
Palmer is an accomplished wordsmith whose description enlivens his characters and scenes. We learn early on that Miranda, while lovely, is a very strange girl who "looks at you like she knows the name of the man who'll dig your grave." His dystopian world, which has much to say about our own march toward progress, is full of inventive twists on technology. For instance, the "Critic-O-Matic" is a sensory deprivation chamber in which a student volunteer floats with sensory nodes attached to her head and body to measure her physiological responses to student writing. Papers are read into the chamber via an attached microphone, and the occupant's biofeedback becomes the basis for the style and marketability of the writing.
Despite Palmer's cool dystopic vision and Shakespearian underpinnings, the book read more like a series of disconnected scenes than a novel. The playful structure, which flits between past and present through various points of view, contributes to this, but ultimately The Dream of Perpetual Motion simply lacks tension enough to draw the reader into the plight of its protagonists. Miranda's character was tragic, for sure - a daughter imprisoned by her maniacal father - but she was too wooden and mechanical to love. And while I could see Harold's fortune unraveling, I already knew his fate, and I just didn't care.
Despite Palmer's cool dystopic vision and Shakespearian underpinnings, the book read more like a series of disconnected scenes than a novel. The playful structure, which flits between past and present through various points of view, contributes to this, but ultimately The Dream of Perpetual Motion simply lacks tension enough to draw the reader into the plight of its protagonists. Miranda's character was tragic, for sure - a daughter imprisoned by her maniacal father - but she was too wooden and mechanical to love. And while I could see Harold's fortune unraveling, I already knew his fate, and I just didn't care.
Disclosure: A review copy was provided by the publisher. For more information, please see our Ethics Policy.
