There has existed all through the Ages an extraordinary idea that puppets are inanimate creatures controlled by human beings; but after spending some years behind the scenes in manipulating the strings of marionettes I am well assured that the position is quite the reverse, and that a puppet-showman is entirely at the mercy of his figures. - Walter Wilkinson, The Peep Show 1933. I can think of better quotation that sets the stage for this magnificent collection of timeless and haunting tales by British weirdsmith Daniel Watt. This new edition of the author's collection, An Emporium of Automata, delivers a thesis of the theatrically strange. In these stories the frightening hints penned above by a literate Punch and Judy man long ago are cunningly proven and made starkly manifest. This fine new edition places in the hands of all seekers after the beautiful and weird a grand collection which, for so long, has been privy to the locked bookcases of collectors and conisseurs of the macabre and fantastique. Story after uncanny story unfolds before the reader; a maze of carnival mirrors that we fear we might never escape from. Here are missing tales from some lost, darkly romantic Germanic madman's attic. The rotting, wooden fissures that manifest fill in a gaping and pockmarked wooden maw somewhere between E.T.A. Hoffmann, Nabokov and Ligotti. To name these vaguely reminiscent stylists is far too simple. Daniel Watt dips first and foremost into his own, personal experience. Through his sepia colored lens we are allowed to gape inside the old trunks of puppet men who have sold their souls in the rain, so that they might write such stories as these. The reader senses the authenticity of these cryptic pains, ritualistic longings, gorgeous and slow destructions. A literary answer to the modern neon sewer, these pages embrace the worship of decay, the altars of the desolate and all things archaic or fundamentally grotesque. The violently attractive, dangerously jagged islands of the mind which Mr. Watt guides us to are his own half-charted territories. I must also te that the book is structured in a manner, and so dense, that one is really getting three books of first-rate outre literature for the price of one. Puppets rejoice! Read herein these baroque fables in which the drifting souls, toys and ticking things of men revert to fulfil far more ancient impulses. You have thing to lose but the strings of your mind. Just as Walter Wilkinson was finally convinced that a puppet-showman is entirely at the mercy of his figures. so too, the reader of An Emporium of Automata will find themselves utterly at the mercy of dark conductor, D.P. Watt, who wields his rusty-scalpel words with the precision and mad gusto of a wildly leering, yet jaded, carnival showman.