The memory theater

Review by Booklist Review

Tidbeck's latest builds off of stories from her 2012 collection Jagannath, specifically those relating to "the Gardens," an otherworldly plane where ageless, fairy-like lords and ladies experience the same eternal day of revelry and perform "beautiful" cruelties on the abducted children who serve them. Among those under the thumb of these decadent aristocrats are Thistle, a boy close to puberty and therefore his ritual hunting and dismemberment by the masters, and his closest friend Dora, the disowned homunculus child of the lord Walpurgis. Thistle and Dora manage to escape, but this only begins their journey as they try to find the exiled lady Augusta, who holds Thistle's name and his memories. Their search across dimensions will lead them to encounter a troupe of shapeshifting actors, the crossroads at the center of the multiverse, and Sweden in the midst of WWII. Tidbeck easily expands themes from her shorter fiction into a cohesive, effective whole, creating a world where love, cruelty, and wonder all exist side by side. Highly recommended for fans of Tanith Lee, Michael Moorcock, or Mervyn Peake as well as any fantasy reader who prefers their writing sharp and glittering and their fairy worlds full of menace and thorns.

From Booklist, Copyright (c) American Library Association. Used with permission.

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Review by Publisher's Weekly Review

Tidbeck straddles fantasy, coming-of-age drama, and horror with an exciting, sometimes wrenching tale of friendship and time travel. The parallel world of the Gardens was conceived by its founders to be "perfect, innocent, unravaged by the passage of time, like the Arcadia of myth," says a librarian who helped with the project. Except, of course, it's not that innocent. Members of a ruling class called the Masters live only for pleasure; those who serve them have their real names withheld and are constantly tortured with body art carved into them with teeth and nails; and when teenagers grow up they are killed. Dora and Thistle are best friends who manage to escape the Gardens and embark on a journey through the outside world. As Dora and Thistle look for their names and a way back home, they travel through a variety of worlds in which the meaning of humanity changes often and the duo learn to trade favors on their way to freedom. Expansive and wildly imaginative, the narrative mixes fantasy elements with enough violence to satisfy horror fiction lovers ("Thank you for your service. Your death will be slow," says a Master before stabbing a boy with a knife). This fast-paced fantasy will please fans of quest stories who don't mind a bit of darkness. (Feb.)

(c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved

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Review by Kirkus Book Review

Two children who are growing up set out on a journey to find escape, home, and revenge. When Augusta stole Thistle's name, she trapped him in the Gardens, forcing him to work as a servant until he grows up, though even that will bring no freedom: Unwanted servants become fodder for the hunt. The servants' masters, however, never grow old, because the Gardens exist out of time, allowing the lords and ladies to endlessly relive their revels. Thistle's other task is protecting his friend Dora, daughter of the earth, who is neither a servant nor a master. Then, when Thistle's mistress, Augusta Prima--first seen in Tidbeck's short story of the same name in Weird Tales (2011)--asks him to explain time, things in the Gardens begin to change. The appearance of a mysterious trader and traveler of the multiverse allows Thistle and Dora to escape, but Thistle is still without his name, and so they must search for Augusta, who holds the key to his past. Along the way, they encounter the Memory Theater, whose plays tell the story of all the worlds, as well as other creatures of myth and folklore. Augusta, meanwhile, has done some exploring of her own, leaving destruction in her wake. Tidbeck pieces together multiple worlds against a background of Swedish folktales and history. The fairy-tale quality of the prose adds to the folkloric themes of the novel but creates distance from the characters, who never develop true depth. Nevertheless, the strange and unique cast and the twists of the plot between weird and recognizable landscapes make for a satisfying read. A dark fairy tale that snakes through the multiverse while maintaining the familiar tropes of legend. Copyright (c) Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.

Copyright (c) Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.

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1 Dora and Thistle spent the party hiding under a side table. The lords and ladies twirled between the marble statues on the dance floor, heels clattering on the cracked cobblestones to a rhythm that slid back and forth in uneven and hypnotic syncopation. One-two-three-four-five, one-two-three-four-five-six . Satin skirts brushed against brocade coats; playful eyes glittered in powdered faces. Lady Mnemosyne, resplendent in her laurel wreath and leafy dress, watched from her throne. It was like any other feast in this place, in eternal twilight, under a summer sky. At the edge of the dance floor, servants waited by buffet tables laden with cornucopias and drink. Thistle sighed. "You've got grass all over your front." Dora blinked and peered down at her pinafore. It did have grass on it. The dress itself smelled sour and sat too tight over her chest and upper back, and the edges of the veil around her shoul­ders were frayed. She was not at all as clean and neat as Thistle, who sat with the coattails of his celadon livery neatly folded in his lap. His lips and cheeks were rouged, his hazel eyes rimmed with black, his cropped auburn curls slicked against his skull. Dora reached out and rubbed the collar of Thistle's coat be­tween her fingers. The velvet felt like mouse fur. Thistle gently pried her hand off. "You need to be more careful," he said. A loud crash made them jump, and Dora lifted the tablecloth to peek outside. One of the ladies had upended a buffet table and sprawled in the ruins of a cornucopia. She laughed and smeared fruit over her skirts. Thistle took Dora's free hand and began to clean her nails with a small rosewood stick. "Servants!" Heels clicked over the stones. A hoarse voice called out: "Ser­vants! Servants!" It was Lady Augusta, Thistle's mistress. Dora dropped the tablecloth. Thistle quickly veiled Dora's face and crawled away to find his lady. A shock of lily of the valley perfume stung Dora's nose, and she tried to stifle a sneeze. There was a rustle and This­tle returned and settled down next to her. He folded the veil back again. "It's nothing. Nothing you have to worry about. Here, dry your nose." Thistle smiled at Dora and gave her a handkerchief. His face was pale under the rouge. He continued Dora's manicure, and she gnawed on the cuticles of her other hand. Somewhere above them, Lady Mnemosyne's voice boomed in the air: "Drink to eternal beauty, my friends! Revel in our glory. Now dance and kiss and be joyful!" Dora let the noise of applause and shouts wash over her and relaxed into the good little pain of Thistle digging for dirt under her nails. When she opened her eyes again, it was quiet. "They've gone to sleep," Thistle said. "We can go." They crawled out from under the table and picked their way across cobblestones littered with cups and crystal shards. Thistle led Dora in an arc around the debris to where the dance floor ended and the path through the birch grove began. The black soil swallowed the sound of their footsteps, and Thistle let out a long breath. Dora took his hand as they walked between the trees in silence. In the middle of the grove, Porla was asleep in her pool. She floated just under the surface, blond hair waving in the water like seaweed. Her greenish face looked innocent: you'd never know that her teeth were sharp and she kept the body of a dead servant under the roots of a tree that grew next to the water. She had been a lady; then she dived into the water and never left. She had tried to lure Dora and Thistle in for "tea" more than once. They gave the pool a wide berth. A breeze wafted into the grove, thick with the smell of apples. Dora and Thistle stepped out from between the birch trees and into the orchard under the big ultramarine bowl of sky. The air bit into Dora's lungs. The orchard's gnarled apple trees were planted in neat rows. You could stand in any spot and stretch out your arms and pre-tend that the trees streamed from your fingertips. The branches hung heavy with fruit: every other tree carried big red apples, and the rest juicy- looking green ones. Dora had compared most of the trees. They all looked the same, down to the smallest twig and fruit. The apples tasted the same, too: hard and tongue- shriveling sour for the green, mealy and sweet for the red. Dora sniffed an apple on the nearest tree, then bit into it. It smelled better than it tasted. Her feet made a swishing noise in the damp grass. Next to her, Thistle was quiet. She glanced at him. His steps were so light; he moved like a wading bird, like the lords and ladies. He looked so frail next to her, little stolen boy. Dora should be minding him instead of the other way around. She didn't say this out loud, just stopped and held him close. "What are you doing?" Thistle mumbled against her shoulder. He had stopped speaking in the boy voice now that they were alone. Male servants with low voices were doomed. The lords and ladies hadn't noticed because Thistle was short and good at shaving. "You're so small." He chuckled. "I can't breathe." Dora let go again. Thistle looked up at her and smiled. The paint around his eyes was smudged. "Come on, sister." He took her hand. Excerpted from The Memory Theater: A Novel by Karin Tidbeck All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.

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