Clockwork Alchemist

I’ll admit, I rolled my eyes at first when I saw *another* Victorian fantasy—until the opening scene dropped me into a back-alley autopsy where the corpse’s ribs were *winding themselves like a pocket watch*. Roethle’s worldbuilding is relentlessly inventive, but it’s the moral ambiguity that hooked me. The "heroes" are thieves and grave-robbers, the villains quote poetry while dissecting orphans, and the line between science and sin blurs with every vial of stolen ichor. Arserio’s performance sells this moral murk beautifully; her delivery of the protagonist’s internal monologues makes you *feel* the weight of each compromised choice, not just hear it. That said, the pacing stumbles in the middle—there’s a lab sequence where the alchemical jargon (while immersive) risks losing listeners who aren’t chemically inclined. And while the steampunk action is visceral, some character arcs feel rushed in the final act, as if the plot’s gears were turning faster than the emotional payoffs could keep up. Still, the audiobook’s production elevates it: the clink of glassware during experiments, the distant *tick-tick-tick* of a bomb’s fuse in the background. It’s a rare fantasy that trusts its audience to sit with discomfort, where the real horror isn’t the monsters but the cost of playing god. If you like your historical fantasy with teeth—and a narrator who can make a grocery list sound like a death threat—this is your next obsession.