Living Dolls: A magical history of the quest for mechanical life by
Gaby Wood, Faber & Faber, £12.99, ISBN 0571178790
AS SHE approaches the late 19th century, and the end of her history of
mechanical dolls, Gaby Wood observes with regret: “It seemed the worlds of
science and amusement had taken resolutely forking paths.”
A mechanical puppet models human behaviour, parodies it, calls its
specialness into question. Sometime in the 1830s Johann Maelzel, maestro of a
1769-vintage chess-playing automaton known as The Turk (surely that puppet,
dressed like a pasha before an outsize board, cannot really play chess—can
it?) meets circus impresario P. T. Barnum. Barnum’s big earner at this time is
an eightysomething circus performer called Joice Heth, who’s claiming to be 161
years old. After watching The Turk creak through its moves, Barnum decided to
put around the rumour that Joice, like The Turk, was a wood-and-rubber
automaton. Barnum knew a good thing when he saw one but, at the same time, he
had missed the point. The Turk’s uncanny appeal was not simply visual, it was
philosophical: “If I can do this, what does that make you ?”
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Only years later, in science fiction—in Blade Runner’s
replicants and Asimov’s Bicentennial Man—do we find dolls whose
visual appeal clothes real philosophical substance. Wood’s is a solid historical
study, modishly expressed, as she traces the fault line between fairground
attraction and philosophical toy.