Few narrators are as capable as Sophie Amoss at conveying the singular mix of ennui, angst, bravado, and drama that consume teenage girls. This short audiobook follows an unnamed privileged girl over the course of a pivotal summer at the shore. It’s a time when she begins to see the world through more mature eyes. Amoss emphasizes the teen’s emotional turmoil as the protagonist is haunted by the drowning of a local girl, becomes aware of her parents’ faults, worries about her brother’s self-destructive behavior, and generally questions the power and constraints of growing up female. Equally important, Amoss honors author Steinberg’s poetic rhythm and adds drama to the teen’s unrelenting thoughts as she pieces together aspects of the drowning accident and imagines the various causes and consequences of that death. C.B.L. Winner of AudioFile Earphones Award © AudioFile 2019, Portland, Maine
★ 06/17/2019
This singular first novel from Steinberg (Spectacle) has the elements of crime fiction: a seaside setting with a dark underbelly, a family torn apart by infidelity, the tragic death of a beautiful young girl. But Steinberg makes the familiar story new, in part, by deconstructing her elements: “I’ll say the setting is the boathouse; the setting is a washroom; the setting: night and summer.” The book begins with an unnamed narrator, the rebellious young daughter of a successful businessman, standing near the water at the shore: “we all knew of the girl who drowned,” she relates, “she sank like a stone, they said; she was showing off that night, they said; the guys all said.” Though the girl’s death has little direct bearing on the narrator’s main story, it’s emblematic of the uneasy tone Steinberg establishes and becomes a dark motif for the events that follow. With the summer drawing to a close, the narrator recounts her wild vacation: the tenuous connection she had to the dead girl, desires she doesn’t understand, her disturbed brother’s increasingly reckless behavior, her father’s flagrant affair and insistence that she keep it a secret, her rage at the other woman, building finally to her family coming apart. What makes this tale so thrilling is Steinberg’s artistry with form; she fractures narrative into its fundamental parts. Steinberg writes prose with a poet’s sense of meter and line, and a velocity recalling the novels of Joan Didion. The result is a dizzying work that perfectly evokes the feeling of spinning out of control. (Aug.)
“Steinberg’s daring experiments with style and perspective make clear that such stock suspense isn’t the point. The narrator’s real quest is to discover whether a soul—hers, if it exists—can be saved.”—The Atlantic
“Steinberg writes in small, interconnected, and poetic fragments. . . . Heartbreaking, eerie, and acutely observant.”—Kirkus Reviews, starred review
“What makes [Machine] so thrilling is Steinberg’s artistry with form; she fractures narrative into its fundamental parts. Steinberg writes prose with a poet’s sense of meter and line, and a velocity recalling the novels of Joan Didion. The result is a dizzying work that perfectly evokes the feeling of spinning out of control.”—Publishers Weekly, starred review
“Otherworldly, and every-other-line sublime, Machine reads like the text messages Laura Palmer might send back from the Black Lodge. It’s a timely reminder of why our culture remains haunted by dead girls, and of the different ways we find to drown them.”—Bennett Sims
“Machine is an astonishment. . . . Another breakthrough for modern fiction.”—Sam Lipsyte
“Susan Steinberg is a conventions-defying, form-innovating wizard of a writer, and I already can’t wait to reread her newest book, Machine. Unique, astounding, and terribly and splendidly moving, this novel is a revelation.”— R. O. Kwon
★ 2019-05-27
Teenagers spend a hazy summer at the shore. One girl comes to terms with both her emerging independence and the mysterious death of a girl just like her.
Steinberg (Spectacle, 2013) writes in small, interconnected, and poetic fragments. She follows one unnamed teenager through a summer of partying that results in the drowning death of another local girl under mysterious circumstances. This is "a story about salvation," she says, "but that doesn't mean this girl was saved; and it doesn't mean that we were saved; or that anyone was, or ever would be; it only means that something, in this moment, needed saving." Through Steinberg's poetic prose and chapters that braid together different timelines from the same summer, we come to learn of the girl's feelings of guilt about her friend's death. The same summer, the girl discovers her parents' shortcomings and begins to fight against the stereotype of the drunken party girl that she sometimes embraces. Steinberg's observations of the delicate workings of interpersonal relationships are astute. Her protagonist says, "What I mean is, girls, there is no love the way you think of love." Love is the mysterious promise that hangs over all the sexual encounters at the shore; adults and teens alike allow the promise of love to draw them away from sensible behavior. Through her reflections on the night of the drowning and her conversations with her family following a shocking discovery about her father, the girl is both discovering her power and the gendered expectations that cage it. She begins to find her own voice, and she questions the culture that allowed her friend to drown—even though she is a complicit participant in that culture. "And that's what happens when you drink," she tells us, parroting the town's gossip. "And that's what happens when you fool around."
Heartbreaking, eerie, and acutely observant.
