We marvel at technology, the magic of a made thing. The uncanny robot, the wind-up toy, the clever automaton—all are sources of endless fascination. We indulge the tricks of a puppet sideshow with a knowing smile, but a vague feeling of horror lingers beneath our certainty that it’s nothing more than sleight of hand. Adrian Tchaikovsky has taken this mix of emotions and given them a fine edge in Made Things, a rollicking novella with some dark twists that will keep you turning the pages late into the night.
The characters are an endearing band of rakish rouges. Coppelia is the plucky heroine, an orphan and a thief, determined to carve out a place for herself in the rougher parts of the city of Loretz. Coppelia was born, but her companions were made: she has teamed up with two six-inch-tall homunculi whose forebears were brought to life by a rogue mage. In order to prosper and grow, the homunculi need someone to craft new bodies for their next generation, and and they need magic for the secret ritual that brings new homunculi to life. As the child of a master craftsman, Coppelia can make the bodies. Getting the magic is another matter, however. That’s where the thievery comes in.
magical mechanics, the spark of life and laughter in the ballet of Coppelia at Covent Garden in 2014
Tchaikovsky has a well earned reputation as an author who excels at creating deeply imagined worlds. The setting in Made Things is richly layered, filled with distinct cultures, environments, and a history of conflict. His use of magic in this world is especially intriguing. In Fountains Parish, Loretz is the city of the magi, and every inhabitant is at least half-mage. Magic here is an inexact science. It is part gift, part technique, and the foundation of commerce. Loretz is highly stratified in the style of Dickens’s London: Archmages vie with Mage-Lords for ultimate power, while beneath them a privileged class of magi are served by middle-class merchants. There is a workhouse for the impoverished, and a disreputable slum for the rascals like our heroine. But the difference between half and full mage isn’t what you’re born with, as Copellia’s mentor tells her:
“It’s not skill that makes them mage-lords. It’s a fat inheritance is all … not talent, not personal power, but they have the stuff, dear heart. Staves, crowns and gems, enchanted spoons and the querns that turn corn into bees and all that other nonsense. The good stuff, that we never see.”
Magic begets more magic. Those who have, hoard their objects to increase their power. Those in power preserve it through those objects, which they use to imbue more objects with charms. The analogy is not subtle, but it is apt and resonates with reality.
In another section, Copellia muses on the loss of her parents, who were likely forced into labor for some powerful mage because of their exquisite skills and artistry. She notices that if someone from her neighborhood disappears, the upper echelons of the city close ranks and say the missing deserved their fate. The powerful “went on telling the same old stories of justice and just dessert, because to do otherwise might be uncomfortable.”
Beneath the fun (and there is so much fun in this story) there is an implied conflict that draws a straight line from the distant past to the present. Long ago, one mage left the toxic conventions of privileged Lorentz and gave himself entirely to the task of imbuing his creations with the spark of life. Meanwhile, another mage also sought the secret of life, but wished to use that knowledge to preserve his own at any cost. The cost of immortality is high, however. Almost every character seeks to make puppets of others in this world, desiring to control life for their own ends. Magic is just a means to power. But despite her shrewdness, Copellia carries wonder in her heart, she makes friends, and that’s what wins out in the end.
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