Freak Show Without a Tent

Bernard Setaro Clark is the secret weapon of *Freak Show Without a Tent*, turning what could’ve been a rambling, unfocused memoir into a propulsive listening experience. His voice crackles with the kind of infectious energy you’d expect from a carnival barker, but he dials it back just enough when Martell’s narration dips into darker territory—like his fraught relationship with his father or the sheer absurdity of chasing a career in sideshow revival. Clark’s timing is impeccable, especially during the book’s many cringe-worthy set pieces, where his delivery makes Martell’s missteps feel like punchlines you can’t help but groan at. That said, the audiobook’s pacing stumbles during the middle act, where Martell lingers a beat too long on the logistics of booking performers or the history of traveling fairs. It’s a minor quibble, but in a story this chaotic, even a few extra minutes of tangents start to feel like an eternity. Where the book truly shines is in its unflinching look at Martell’s own vulnerabilities—whether he’s getting fleeced by a con artist or realizing too late that "documenting" a sideshow is less about art and more about exploiting people’s pain for clicks. The narration never shies away from these moments, and Clark’s voice grounds them with a kind of weary empathy that keeps the audiobook from spiraling into outright cruelty. If you’re looking for a polished, feel-good memoir, this isn’t it—but if you want a raucous, occasionally heartbreaking, and always unpredictable ride through the fringes of American culture, *Freak Show Without a Tent* delivers in spades. Just maybe don’t listen to it while driving.