Here in this world of Jenny-sweeters and opium dens, penny Rembrandts and fanny boys, three storylines gradually coalesce into a picture of a fourth, overarching narrative of, and by, a voiceless woman whose fate lies at the heart of the story.
The novel opens when a night-soil collector and small-time prizefighter discovers a half-drowned baby in a tenement privy, a near-tragedy that leaves him searching the neighbourhood for clues as to who abandoned her and why.
Meanwhile, a young sideshow performer boards a ferry from Coney Island to Manhattan in the hope of finding her twin sister, who disappeared without explanation after a fire at the circus in which they were raised, which killed their mother and friend.
And then there is the mortician's wife who awakes to find herself in Blackwell lunatic asylum, her dreams of respectability stripped away just as they were about to be realised and with a precious secret she must protect at all costs.
The narrative moves back and forth between the trio, revealing their pasts and drawing them together in a series of chance encounters and revelations that culminate in a moment of unity before sending each of them off on a new and potentially more hopeful trajectory.
The publicity for the novel compares it with Erin Morgenstern's beautiful fantasy, The Night Circus.
But its grounding in, and strong evocation of, the gritty and often ugly reality of life in a major fin-de-siecle American city reminded me much more of Emma Donaghue's Frog Music, which I reviewed last year.
As a result I was left less than convinced by either the series of happy coincidences upon which the plot depends or the optimism with which Parry's characters greet the future.
But if you are after a glimpse into the particular time and place in which it is set, Church of Marvels is worth the read.
• Cushla McKinney is a Dunedin scientist.
