Who Are The Main Characters In The Waterworks?

Martin Pemberton’s my favorite—a journalist with a nose for trouble and a heart full of grudges. His dad’s 'resurrection' kicks off the plot, but it’s the side characters who steal scenes: Donne’s weary cop act, Sarah’s quiet resilience, Sartorius’ chilling arrogance. Even the bit players, like the hack writer or the orphans, add texture. Nobody’s purely good or evil; they’re just trying to navigate a rotten world. That’s what sticks with me—the humanity in the mess.

Oh, Martin Pemberton’s such a mood—a cynical reporter with a chip on his shoulder, but you root for him anyway. His dad, Augustus, is this creepy, almost ghostly figure who faked his death to dodge scandal. Captain Donne’s the kind of cop who’s seen too much, and his weary realism clashes with Martin’s idealism. Sarah’s the glue, honestly; she’s got this quiet strength that balances Martin’s chaos. The villains, like Dr. Sartorius, are terrifying because they’re so plausible—rich men playing god. The whole ensemble feels like a dark, twisted family.

If you peel back 'The Waterworks,' it’s really about how power warps people. Martin’s the lens—a man who thinks he’s uncovering a mystery but stumbles into a whole system of corruption. Augustus is the shadowy patriarch, a literal ghost of capitalism past. Donne represents the system’s tired enforcers, while Sarah’s the moral compass who’s often ignored. Dr. Sartorius? Pure hubris in a lab coat. Even the side characters, like the jaded editor or the street kids, serve as reminders of who gets crushed underfoot. It’s not a cheerful line-up, but that’s the point—they’re all trapped in the machine.

The Waterworks' cast is this fascinating mix of ambition and moral grayness, and I love how E.L. Doctorow crafts them. Martin Pemberton, the protagonist, is a skeptical journalist whose investigation into his father’s disappearance unravels a conspiracy involving wealth and corruption. Then there’s Captain Donne, the pragmatic police chief who’s both ally and obstacle. Augustus Pemberton, Martin’s supposedly dead father, becomes this eerie symbol of greed. The real standout for me is Sarah, Martin’s love interest—she’s sharp, understated, and quietly drives the emotional core.

What’s wild is how the supporting characters, like the manipulative Dr. Sartorius or the cynical McIlvaine, add layers to the story’s critique of Gilded Age excess. Even minor figures like the orphaned newsboys feel vivid. The book’s strength lies in how these characters mirror societal rot while still feeling deeply human—flawed, desperate, or just trying to survive. It’s less about heroes and more about complicity, which makes rereads so rewarding.