Ada

About Ada

## Blurb Ada is not a woman. Ada is not a person. Ada is not a living thing. Ada is an exquisite counterfeit, assembled from stolen remains of the dead. Her heart once belonged to a Cornish baron's beloved daughter, who wished to see the world. Her eyes are one of an Aberdonian sculptor who perished to melancholy and one of a Catalan captain who saw El Dorado in his dying dreams. Her head, in its unblemished beauty, is that of a Rouennaise model who exchanged her life for her child's. Her desirable body used to be caressed by Paris's gentlemen of means. The fume-choked lungs of an Amsterdammer chemist moves the air so that a murdered Bohemian revolutionary's tongue can speak. Her hands are hammers of a dockworker from Cardiff. Her legs come from a Baselerin mountaineer who dared to summit the Matterhorn. Her soul is a quiet void. Ada is an alchemical creation, composed of remains of lives cut too short and a mercury-filled calculator. For the lack of a personality - the set of strangenesses that might make Ada her own person - s

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