The Escapement

by Lavie Tidhar

Overview

2022 Philip K. Dick Award Special Citation, Best Novel

In this dazzling new novel evoking Westerns, surrealism, epic fantasy, mythology, and circus extravaganzas, World Fantasy Award winner Lavie Tidhar (Central Station) has created an incomparable dreamscape of dark comedy, heartbreak, hope, and adventure. Chronicling a lone man’s quest in parallel worlds, The Escapement offers the archetypal darkness of Stephen King’s The Gunslinger within the dark whimsy of a child’s imagination.

“Comic, tragic, and utterly magnificent.”
—Samantha Shannon, author of The Priory of the Orange Tree

“A wild, decadent hybrid of The Dark Tower and Carnivale.”
—Catherynne M. Valente, author of Deathless

Into the reality called the Escapement rides the Stranger, a lone gunman on a quest to rescue his son from a parallel world. But it is too easy to get lost on a shifting landscape full of dangerous versions of his son’s most beloved things: cowboys gone lawless, giants made of stone, downtrodden clowns, ancient battles, symbol storms, and shadowy forces at play.

But the flower the Stranger seeks still lies beyond the Mountains of Darkness. Time is running out, as he journeys deeper and deeper into the secret heart of an unforeseen world.

In his most compelling work to date, Lavie Tidhar has delivered a multicolored tapestry of dazzling imagery. The Escapement is an epic, wildly original chronicle of the extraordinary lengths to which one will go for love.

Product Details

ISBN-13:	9781616963286
Publisher:	Tachyon Publications
Publication date:	09/21/2021
Sold by:	Barnes & Noble
Format:	eBook
Pages:	256
File size:	1 MB

About the Author

Lavie Tidhar (A Man Lies Dreaming, Unholy Land) is an acclaimed author of literature, science fiction, fantasy, graphic novels, and middle grade fiction. Tidhar received the Campbell and Neukom Literary awards for his breakout novel Central Station, which has been translated into more than ten languages. He has also received the British Science Fiction, British Fantasy, and World Fantasy Awards. Tidhar's recent books include the Arthurian satire By Force Alone, and the series Adler. He is a book columnist for the Washington Post, and recently edited the Best of World SF anthology. Tidhar has lived all over the world, including Israel, Vanuatu, Laos, and South Africa, and he currently resides with his family in London.

Read an Excerpt

The Kid said, “I see your Magician and I raise you Death.”

The Stranger had the Emperor but not the Empress or the Wheel of Fortune, and though he retaliated with the Moon it was no good and the Kid swept the money to his side of the table with one scrawny arm. There was an old piano in the corner, and a one-eyed woman tickled the ivories, playing a Dibdin piece. She’d flashed the Stranger a grin when he’d come in earlier.

“So you’ve met the Lovers and lived,” she said.

The Stranger inched his head in reply. Then Temperanza went back to her playing. She looked like she was waiting for something; though she was probably just waiting for the train.

“I’m going to take a piss,” the Kid announced, and he strutted across the floor, his spurs making a rasping sound across the scuffed wood. The Kid had been drinking moonshine steadily throughout the game, but he was still beating the Stranger at cards.

The Stranger watched him go. The Kid wore his pistols low-slung on his hips and his hat at a cocky angle, but for all that he just looked like a kid playing at dressing up.

They were almost the only people at the bar. It was not a place that invited confidences or offered comfort. The tables were rough-hewn wood and tallow candles burned with oily smoke but offered little light. In one corner sat a small man cowled in shadow and now that the Kid had gone to the outhouse the man got up and sauntered over to their table and sat down without being asked.

“New in town, stranger?”

He had an ordinary face and hard black button eyes and his nails and his hair were both cut short. The Stranger looked, but he couldn’t see if there was a dagger hidden up the man’s sleeve, though he rather suspected so all the same. He said, “What’s it to you?”

“Just making conversation.”

The Stranger shrugged. “It’s no secret,” he allowed.

“You rode in from the Doinklands?” The black button eyes turned shrewd. “You didn’t happen to’ve come across the Thurston Brothers, did you? Scalp hunters, there’s a reward out for them. Good money, too.”

“I think that bounty’s claimed,” the Stranger said, and over by the piano Temperanza smirked without breaking melody.

The other man nodded.

“Is that so, is that so. Well, never mind, I’m sure. The world’s a better place for it and so on.”“Professional interest?” the Stranger said. The other man shrugged.

“Listen,” he said. “Out there, did you see any sign of the war?”

The Stranger nodded. “The Titanomachy rages on. I saw a battle in the distance, but I didn’t go close, and who won it, if any, I don’t know. Why?”

“No reason, no reason,” the other man said. “Only, there’s rumours, see? I am looking for something, yes, yes, there could be a handsome reward in it for a man such as you. A piece of materiel, rumour says. Some sort of weapon. Yes. What it does, no one knows for certain. Something big, though.”

The Stranger thought uneasily about the tinkerers; and about the vast slab of mechanical fish he had caught sight of, for just a moment, hidden under blankets in the back of their wagon. But he shook his head, slowly. It could have been anything.

“You’re a Pilkington?” he said. The other man shrugged.

“We all got a job to do, ain’t we?” he said.

“Bit far from base,” the Stranger said.

“Pilkingtons go wherever they must,” the other man said. At that moment the Kid came sauntering back into the room and sat down, glaring at the Pilkington.

“I thought I told you to keep out of my business, Clem,” he said.

“This ain’t your business, kid.”

“Fucking Pilkingtons,” the Kid said. The other man glared at him but said nothing.

At that moment, the Stranger felt the wind change. The tinkle of wind chimes began to sound ethereally in the air, and the smell of rotten eggs and custard intensified. Faint on the breeze, the Stranger thought he could hear a demonic laughter, like a distorted echo of the sounds one heard when one came upon the Colossi walking the Escapement. But this was not the inhuman sound of the Colossi but a terrifying, yet very human, sound. He heard two gunshots go off outside, one after the other in rapid succession, coming from two different places.

The three men moved independently but almost in unison. Temperanza alone, unconcerned, remained at the piano, and the music she played was haunting and sad.

The Kid held his pistol and the Pilkington, Clem, had a sawed off shotgun that seemed to just appear out of nowhere, and the Stranger had the uneasy feeling it had been taped to the underside of the table.

He himself held his revolver. They had all moved to the window, guns drawn, and the Stranger peered out onto Main Street. He saw the shops were rapidly closing, their internal lights extinguished, and the people outside were running for shelter, and in mere moments the street was deserted. Behind them, he heard the owner of the bar loudly pump a shotgun.

“He’s coming,” she said.

“Who?” the Kid said.

But then they heard it. The cries, faint at first, but growing in volume, from one side of Main Street to the other.

“Pogo!”

“Pogo’s coming!”

“Pogo’s coming!”

The Stranger and the Kid exchanged bewildered looks; but Clem, the Pilkington, grinned in savage satisfaction. The Stranger stared out. The burning multicoloured lights cast the street in a non-linear chiaroscuro. Even those prospectors passed out on the side of the road from Sticks were gone now, dragged away by their comrades to safety.

Then he saw it.

Reading Group Guide

The Kid said, “I see your Magician and I raise you Death.”

The Stranger had the Emperor but not the Empress or the Wheel of Fortune, and though he retaliated with the Moon it was no good and the Kid swept the money to his side of the table with one scrawny arm. There was an old piano in the corner, and a one-eyed woman tickled the ivories, playing a Dibdin piece. She’d flashed the Stranger a grin when he’d come in earlier.

“So you’ve met the Lovers and lived,” she said.

The Stranger inched his head in reply. Then Temperanza went back to her playing. She looked like she was waiting for something; though she was probably just waiting for the train.

“I’m going to take a piss,” the Kid announced, and he strutted across the floor, his spurs making a rasping sound across the scuffed wood. The Kid had been drinking moonshine steadily throughout the game, but he was still beating the Stranger at cards.

The Stranger watched him go. The Kid wore his pistols low-slung on his hips and his hat at a cocky angle, but for all that he just looked like a kid playing at dressing up.

They were almost the only people at the bar. It was not a place that invited confidences or offered comfort. The tables were rough-hewn wood and tallow candles burned with oily smoke but offered little light. In one corner sat a small man cowled in shadow and now that the Kid had gone to the outhouse the man got up and sauntered over to their table and sat down without being asked.

“New in town, stranger?”

He had an ordinary face and hard black button eyes and his nails and his hair were both cut short. The Stranger looked, but he couldn’t see if there was a dagger hidden up the man’s sleeve, though he rather suspected so all the same. He said, “What’s it to you?”

“Just making conversation.”

The Stranger shrugged. “It’s no secret,” he allowed.

“You rode in from the Doinklands?” The black button eyes turned shrewd. “You didn’t happen to’ve come across the Thurston Brothers, did you? Scalp hunters, there’s a reward out for them. Good money, too.”

“I think that bounty’s claimed,” the Stranger said, and over by the piano Temperanza smirked without breaking melody.

The other man nodded.

“Is that so, is that so. Well, never mind, I’m sure. The world’s a better place for it and so on.”“Professional interest?” the Stranger said. The other man shrugged.

“Listen,” he said. “Out there, did you see any sign of the war?”

The Stranger nodded. “The Titanomachy rages on. I saw a battle in the distance, but I didn’t go close, and who won it, if any, I don’t know. Why?”

“No reason, no reason,” the other man said. “Only, there’s rumours, see? I am looking for something, yes, yes, there could be a handsome reward in it for a man such as you. A piece of materiel, rumour says. Some sort of weapon. Yes. What it does, no one knows for certain. Something big, though.”

The Stranger thought uneasily about the tinkerers; and about the vast slab of mechanical fish he had caught sight of, for just a moment, hidden under blankets in the back of their wagon. But he shook his head, slowly. It could have been anything.

“You’re a Pilkington?” he said. The other man shrugged.

“We all got a job to do, ain’t we?” he said.

“Bit far from base,” the Stranger said.

“Pilkingtons go wherever they must,” the other man said. At that moment the Kid came sauntering back into the room and sat down, glaring at the Pilkington.

“I thought I told you to keep out of my business, Clem,” he said.

“This ain’t your business, kid.”

“Fucking Pilkingtons,” the Kid said. The other man glared at him but said nothing.

At that moment, the Stranger felt the wind change. The tinkle of wind chimes began to sound ethereally in the air, and the smell of rotten eggs and custard intensified. Faint on the breeze, the Stranger thought he could hear a demonic laughter, like a distorted echo of the sounds one heard when one came upon the Colossi walking the Escapement. But this was not the inhuman sound of the Colossi but a terrifying, yet very human, sound. He heard two gunshots go off outside, one after the other in rapid succession, coming from two different places.

The three men moved independently but almost in unison. Temperanza alone, unconcerned, remained at the piano, and the music she played was haunting and sad.

The Kid held his pistol and the Pilkington, Clem, had a sawed off shotgun that seemed to just appear out of nowhere, and the Stranger had the uneasy feeling it had been taped to the underside of the table.

He himself held his revolver. They had all moved to the window, guns drawn, and the Stranger peered out onto Main Street. He saw the shops were rapidly closing, their internal lights extinguished, and the people outside were running for shelter, and in mere moments the street was deserted. Behind them, he heard the owner of the bar loudly pump a shotgun.

“He’s coming,” she said.

“Who?” the Kid said.

But then they heard it. The cries, faint at first, but growing in volume, from one side of Main Street to the other.

“Pogo!”

“Pogo’s coming!”

“Pogo’s coming!”

The Stranger and the Kid exchanged bewildered looks; but Clem, the Pilkington, grinned in savage satisfaction. The Stranger stared out. The burning multicoloured lights cast the street in a non-linear chiaroscuro. Even those prospectors passed out on the side of the road from Sticks were gone now, dragged away by their comrades to safety.

Then he saw it.

Editorial Reviews

Philip K. Dick Award Special Citation
Locus Recommended Reading List
Den of Geek Top New Fantasy Book
An AFPL Journal Best New Book
A Foreword Book of The Day

“Tidhar is a spellbinding stylist with a spell-casting imagination. Part fantasy, part sci-fi, part surreal mainstream, this novel plonks the reader into a vast, surreal landscape, the Escapement, in which clowns and stone monsters and cowboys and classic fictional characters coexist in a shifting tableau. The Stranger is our hero, a warrior searching for mythical flowers, even as in another universe he sits at his sick boy’s side in a hospital. None of this should work but all of it does, the author managing to evoke sadness, awe, and even humor. I could only compare my reading to old Philip K. Dick married to Samuel R. Delaney. The Escapement is a captivating triumph of imagination.”
—Watch

“A father wrangles with his impending grief in a steampunk, Wild West alternate universe in Lavie Tidhar’s dazzling novel The Escapement . . . Those who enter the Escapement should strap themselves in for horrors and wonders galore. Filled with contorted fairy tales, myths, and familiar stories, Lavie Tidhar’s latest novel is both a fantastical diversion and a moving articulation of deep parental love.”
—Foreword

“Can we just all admit now that Lavie Tidhar’s a genius? He’s written another brilliant book—a beautiful fever dream that somehow manages to be laugh-out-loud funny, psychedelically weird, and deeply moving.”
—Daryl Gregory, award-winning author of Spoonbenders

“To say The Escapement is unique sells it way short. It’s part weird western and part quest; half dream and half epic adventure tale set in a memorable Daliesque landscape. Tidhar lets his imagination run wild in this vivid book, all told in spare, beautiful prose.”
—Richard Kadrey, bestselling author of the Sandman Slim series

“Comic, tragic, and utterly magnificent—a masterpiece of fantasy. Lavie Tidhar has crafted a wonderfully strange and surreal world in The Escapement, setting a liminal stage for both a gripping adventure and a poignant meditation on grief. I can't wait to read it again”
—Samantha Shannon, author of The Priory of the Orange Tree

5/5 stars “Lavie Tidhar’s The Escapement (2021) is a fantastic and fantastical fever dream of a novel, a Weird Western via Lewis Carroll . . . Defying genre, defying categorization, even perhaps defying plot, Tidhar has crafted a baroque hallucinatory tale. you have to let wash over you as much as you read it.”
—Fantasy Literature

“Somewhere, in some city, a nameless man attends his dying son's bedside, powerless to save the boy. Desperate to find a cure, he slips into the Escapement: a Western world of maniacal whimsy populated by bounty hunters, stone giants, mimes, and clowns. Here, the ghost of John Wayne Gacy becomes a bloodthirsty giant, and P.T. Barnum is recast as a clown-enslaving general. The man, known in the Escapement as the Stranger, is not alone; most of the people in this weird desert come there from the real world by way of dream, drink, or death. Studded with features like the Big Rock Candy Mountains and the Desert de Soleil, the land bears intimate connections to the dying boy in the hospital bed—a boy who loves the circus and its clowns—and it's here that the Stranger hopes to find his son a panacea: Ur-shanabi, the Plant of Heartbeat. In keeping with its roots in midcentury Westerns, Tidhar's novel casts the Escapement's clowns as Native American analogs, turning the Stranger into their White savior and avenger, a man who knows that ‘one should never be unkind to clowns.’ The author draws from an eclectic mix of sources to create a dazzling story that is more than the sum of its parts, and much of the fun of reading it comes from recognizing its homages. Knowledgeable readers will notice shades of Stephen King, Lewis Carroll, and Westworld here, and Tidhar himself cites Z. Ariel's fairy tale, “The Heart of the Golden Flower,” the Epic of Gilgamesh, Salvador Dalí, tarot cards, and Sergio Leone as particular sources of inspiration. A delightfully cacophonous novel, teeming with character.”
—Kirkus

“The Escapement is absorbing, bizarre, haunting, and compelling. Lavie Tidhar continues to shatter the boundaries of literary and genre fiction with a novel that is equal parts horrifying dreamscape and an affecting meditation on parental love. There are a lot of books out there, but this is an experience.”
—David Liss, author of The Peculiarities

“Lavie Tidhar is a voice to be reckoned with. With The Escapement, he fearlessly crests the wave of the New New Weird with a wild, decadent hybrid of The Dark Tower and Carnivale. A vivid beach read, if the beach was made of greasepaint and gunpowder.”
—Catherynne M. Valente, author of Deathless

“A surreal blend of Barnum and Bailey meets Stephen King’s Dark Tower and Sergio Leone’s The Good, The Bad and the Ugly . . . The genius of Tidhar, which he has repeatedly demonstrated, is that he can turn these literary and pop culture references into a gripping, moving narrative unlike anything you’ve read before.”
—Locus

“Tidhar has done a brilliant job not just of weaving together a wide variety of myths and stories.”
—Rebecca Glazer, author of My Throat is an Open Grave

“These shifts of consciousness between worlds and the drawing of themes and symbols from one reality into another remind me of Iain Banks’ The Bridge. But The Escapement is an original masterpiece that is all Tidhar, full of echoes of his earlier stories and novels.”
—Sci Fi Mind

“Like nothing else you've read. I'd recommend it entirely on that basis, but it's also beautifully written, thoughtful and deep, and resonant for anyone who's been a parent, or a child.”
—Andrew Wheeler, Antic Musings

“[The Escapement] feels like a surrealist cartoon co-written by Dr. Seuss and Ray Bradbury.”
—Forward

“This was the weirdest book I think have ever read, and I loved every minute of it.”
—Into the Heart Wyld

"5/5 stars. The descriptions are amazing throughout and the clown world is incredibly creative and imaginative. I loved some of the imagery here and never knew what surprise I would find on the next page.”
—Hidden in Pages

“Yes, there’s a narrative thread to follow throughout the book, but it’s only here in order for Tidhar to masterfully weave all sorts of different things together that make the reader's brain explode, or at the very least make readers shake their heads in bewilderment, but, ultimately, wonderment.”
—Mt Void

“If you're a fan of bizarre fantasy world, absurdist stories or even magical realism, I think this book is perfect for you . . . The writing is very fluid, beautiful and fever dream-like.”
—The Ink Slinger

“Surreal, twisted and unusual but also incredibly intriguing. I think this is one of those books you would get more out of on every read. It’s almost begging to be read more than once. And at its very core, I can’t help but get Dark Tower vibes from this book. I really enjoyed it!”
—Of Worlds Forgotten

Praise for Lavie Tidhar

On Central Station

John W. Campbell Award Winner / Neukom Literary Arts Award Winner/ Arthur C. Clarke Award Finalist / NPR Best Books / Barnes and Noble Best Science Fiction and Fantasy / Locus Recommended Reading List

“Beautiful, original, a shimmering tapestry of connections and images.”
—Alastair Reynolds, author of the Revelation Space series

“A dazzling tale of complicated politics and even more complicated souls. Beautiful.”
—Ken Liu, author of The Grace of Kings

[STARRED REVIEW] “Readers of all persuasions will be entranced.”
—Publishers Weekly

[STARRED REVIEW] “A fascinating future glimpsed through the lens of a tight-knit community.”
—Library Journal

From the Publisher

2021-07-14
Tidhar's latest offering transports readers to a liminal otherworld of spaghetti Western pastiche.

Somewhere, in some city, a nameless man attends his dying son's bedside, powerless to save the boy. Desperate to find a cure, he slips into the Escapement: a Western world of maniacal whimsy populated by bounty hunters, stone giants, mimes, and clowns. Here, the ghost of John Wayne Gacy becomes a bloodthirsty giant, and P.T. Barnum is recast as a clown-enslaving general. The man, known in the Escapement as the Stranger, is not alone; most of the people in this weird desert come there from the real world by way of dream, drink, or death. Studded with features like the Big Rock Candy Mountains and the Desert de Soleil, the land bears intimate connections to the dying boy in the hospital bed—a boy who loves the circus and its clowns—and it's here that the Stranger hopes to find his son a panacea: Ur-shanabi, the Plant of Heartbeat. In keeping with its roots in midcentury Westerns, Tidhar's novel casts the Escapement's clowns as Native American analogs, turning the Stranger into their White savior and avenger, a man who knows that "one should never be unkind to clowns." The author draws from an eclectic mix of sources to create a dazzling story that is more than the sum of its parts, and much of the fun of reading it comes from recognizing its homages. Knowledgeable readers will notice shades of Stephen King, Lewis Carroll, and Westworld here, and Tidhar himself cites Z. Ariel's fairy tale, "The Heart of the Golden Flower," the Epic of Gilgamesh, Salvador Dalí, tarot cards, and Sergio Leone as particular sources of inspiration.

A delightfully cacophonous novel, teeming with character.

Kirkus Reviews