The Night Circus
(2012, Ages 16 and Up)
11/4/22
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November is an important month in the writing community, for it is National Novel Writing Month, better known as NaNoWriMo. The basic goal is to write or begin writing a 50,000-word manuscript within one month. What began as a small writing project in 1999 is now a full-fledged nonprofit organization designed to encourage creative writing and provide various resources for aspiring authors. Charitable work aside, I’m personally glad that the project’s timing was moved from July to November as writing is a good activity for not-so-good weather. This fantasy novel, completed by its author in a span of three NaNoWriMo’s, is likewise an excellent story to while away those dreary days of grey—or to complement them, as the case may be.
To the untrained eye, Le Cirque des Rêves—the Circus of Dreams—may be the most unusual circus ever to come to town. It has no schedule; is only open from sunset to sunrise; and, rather than the traditional kaleidoscope of color in one large tent, offers many small tents of black, white, and all non-colors in between. What few realize, however, is how magical it truly is. The circus, in reality, is the setting for a fantastic duel between two powerful prodigies: Celia Bowen, daughter of the arrogant stage magician Prospero the Enchanter, and Marco Alastair, the orphaned ward of the enigmatic man in the grey suit. Trained since childhood in the vastly different ways of their volatile masters, Celia and Marco pit their magical skills against one another under the guise of creating ever more elaborate delights to dazzle the paying public. But when the devoted rivals become star-crossed lovers, the resulting chain of events endangers patron and performer alike. Now Celia and Marco must find a way to end the increasingly deadly contest without destroying not only each other, but the innocent souls for whom the circus provides far more than mere entertainment.
“Fairytale for adults” is often the go-to description for darker, more mature works of fantasy. The Night Circus is no exception, but due to the constant evolution of fairytales, the term nowadays can mean quite literally anything. And yet, that very idea lays at the heart of this story; more specifically, the nature of dreams. I believe Morgenstern makes this very clear even through her narrative structure. The book is nonlinear and entirely in present tense, symbolizing a dream’s immediacy and freedom from the constraints of time. Chapters are written in 3rd person limited with brief 2nd person segments in between. Besides allowing readers to witness the circus through the myriad characters’ own eyes and experience it as patrons themselves, these choices in POV emulate a dream’s limitless potential as well as its lack of concrete form and definition.
The fairy tales of old weren’t known for being very complicated. Much of this book is the same way. It’s never explained how or why the main characters are capable of what is essentially sorcery, conjuring attractions like the Ice Garden and the Cloud Maze, which are just as literal as they are stunning. Many aspects like these are described in a way that expects the reader to accept them at face value—not unlike how we accept even the strangest dreams when we sleep. But Morgenstern maintains authentic complexity and intrigue with the tried-and-true approach of leaving certain things to the imagination and focusing instead on the reactions of those on the outside. These rêveurs (dreamers), as they call themselves, dress in black and white to blend in with the monochrome illusions, but with a dash of red as a symbol of their real human hearts. This is an attractive image that not only fits the Victorian setting, but distinguishes these patrons as individuals seeking camaraderie and purpose through the experiencing and sharing of dreams, as opposed to just obsessed fans. A prime example is Bailey Clarke, a lonely farm boy torn between personal happiness and familial loyalty. At the circus, he meets twin performers, Poppet and her brother Widget. Despite their uncanny precognitive abilities—or perhaps because of them—the empathetic and easygoing siblings (the lovely Poppet in particular) not only become the best friends Bailey’s ever had, but give him the courage and wisdom to forge his own future. (By the way: Bailey? Barnum and Bailey? Coincidence?):
‘‘‘So you see everything before it happens?’ Bailey asks. He is not sure Poppet’s answer is entirely what he expected, if he expected anything at all.
Poppet shakes her head.
‘No, not everything. Sometimes just bits of things like words and pictures in a book, but the book has lots of pages missing and it’s been dropped in a pond and some parts are blurry but other parts aren’t. Does that make sense?’ she asks.
‘Not really,’ Bailey answers.
Poppet laughs. ‘I know it’s strange,’ she says.
‘No, it’s not,’ Bailey says. Poppet turns to look at him, the skepticism at the statement evident on her face. ‘Well, yes, it is kind of strange. But just odd strange, not bad strange.’
‘Thank you, Bailey,’ Poppet says.
[. . .]
It seems a lifetime ago that he walked to the circus, though it was only a few hours. And more than that, it feels as though the Bailey who entered the circus was an entirely different person than the one leaving it now, with a silver ticket in his pocket. He wonders which is the real Bailey, for certainly the Bailey who spent hours in trees alone is not the Bailey who is granted special admission to a spectacular circus, who makes friends with such interesting people without even trying.
By the time he reaches the farm, he is sure that the Bailey he is now is closer to the Bailey he is supposed to be than the Bailey he had been the day before. He may not be certain what any of it means, but for now he does not think that it much matters.
In his dreams, he is a knight on horseback, carrying a silver sword, and it does not really seem that strange after all.” (Pg. 268-269)
And yet this endeavor is anything but a fairy tale to our main protagonists, whose upbringings, though literally enchanted, more resemble, respectively, those of Cinderella at the mercy of her Evil Stepmother and Rapunzel isolated in her tower. Prospero’s cruel training—which includes physically abusing Celia so she can practice healing her wounds with magic—strengthens her will as well as her power, but also leaves her heartbroken and bitter. Marco is given almost no guidance or context in his lessons by his less detestable but more detached master—being expected to learn for himself when outside but otherwise left home to study on his own—resulting in a cold and empty existence. This makes their private meetings as adults all the more satisfying, because of the subtle defiance they show via the attractions they create as the most romantic gifts with the very same powers they are supposed to be using against each other:
“The striped canvas sides of the tent stiffen, the soft surface hardening as the fabric changes to paper. Words appear over the walls, typeset letters overlapping handwritten text. Celia can make out snatches of Shakespearean sonnets and fragments of hymns to Greek goddesses as the poetry fills the tent. It covers the walls and the ceiling and spreads out over the floor.
And then the tent begins to open, the paper folding and tearing. The black stripes stretch out into empty space as their white counterparts brighten, reaching upward and breaking apart into branches.
‘Do you like it?’ Marco asks, once the movement settles and they stand within a darkened forest of softly glowing, poem-covered trees.
Celia can only nod.
He reluctantly releases her, following as she walks through the trees, reading bits of verse on branches and trunks.
‘How do you come up with such images?’ she asks, placing her hand over the layered paper bark of one of the trees. It is warm and solid beneath her fingers, illuminated from within like a lantern.
‘I see things in my mind,’ Marco says. ‘In my dreams. I imagine what you might like.’
‘I don’t think you’re meant to be imagining how to please your opponent,’ Celia says.
‘I have never fully grasped the rules of the game, so I am following my instincts instead,’ Marco says.
[. . .]
He turns to the crimson tree and it glows brighter, the red of embers shifting to the bright warmth of fire.
The surrounding trees follow suit.
As the light from the trees increases, it becomes so bright that Celia closes her eyes.
The ground beneath her feet shifts, suddenly unsteady, but Marco puts a hand on her waist to keep her upright.
When she opens her eyes, they are standing on the quarterdeck of a ship in the middle of the ocean.
Only the ship is made of books, its sails thousands of overlapping pages, and the sea it floats upon is dark black ink. Tiny lights hang across the sky, like tightly packed stars bright as sun.
‘I thought something vast would be nice after all the talk of confined spaces,’ Marco says.
Celia walks to the edge of the deck, running her hands along the spines of the books that form the rail. A soft breeze plays with her hair, bringing with it the mingling scent of dusty tomes and damp, rich ink.
Marco comes and stands next to her as she looks at the midnight sea that stretches out into a clear horizon with no land in sight.” (Pg. 343-348)
Part of what makes Celia and Marco’s relationship so tragic is the fact that they are inextricably bound by magic to compete whether they want to or not, and in that way, must remain together without ever truly being able to be together. Nor are they the only ones paying the price. They’ve developed a bond with the professionals without whom the circus would never have become the success it is, a strong affection that the unfeeling Prospero and man in the grey suit neither understand nor care about. The knowledge that they all have essentially been toying with the lives of them and other outsiders blissfully unaware of the circus’ origin and true agenda weighs heavily on the couple’s consciences. It is their human love and desire to use their powers to end such cruelty without ending the innocent joy of the circus itself that lends them a true godlike quality:
“THEY WALK THROUGH the moonlit ballroom, their steps echoing together.
‘How is Chandresh?’ Celia asks, attempting to find a subject to fill the silence, anything to distract herself from her still-shaking hands, and remembering the fallen glass at dinner.
‘He wavers,’ Marco says with a sigh. ‘Ever since the circus opened, he has been increasingly unfocused. I . . . I do what I can to keep him steady, though I fear it has an adverse effect on his memory. I had not intended to, but after what happened with the late Miss Burgess I thought it the wisest course of action.’
‘She was in the peculiar position of being involved in all this but not within the circus itself,’ Celia says. ‘I am sure it is not the easiest perspective to manage. At least you can observe Chandresh.’
‘Indeed,’ Marco says. ‘I do wish there was a way to protect those outside the circus the way the bonfire protects those within it.’
‘The bonfire?’ Celia asks.
‘It serves several purposes. Primarily, it is my connection to the circus, but it also functions as a safeguard of a sort. I neglected the fact that it does not cover those outside the fence.’
‘I neglected even considering safeguards,’ Celia says. ‘I do not think I understood at first how many other people would become involved in our challenge.’ She stops walking, standing in the middle of the ballroom.
Marco stops as well but says nothing, waiting for her to speak.
‘It was not your fault,’ she says quietly. ‘What happened to Tara. The circumstances may have played out the same way regardless of anything you or I did. You cannot take away anyone’s own free will, that was one of my very first lessons.’
Marco nods, and then he takes a step closer to her. He reaches out to take her hand, slowly brushing his fingers against hers.
The feeling is as strong as it had been when he touched her before, but something is different. The air changes, but the chandeliers hanging above them remain steady and still.
‘What are you doing?’ she asks.
‘You mentioned something about energy,’ Marco says. ‘I’m focusing yours with mine, so you won’t break the chandeliers.’
‘If I broke anything, I could probably fix it,’ Celia says, but she does not let go.
Without the concern for the effect she might be having on the surroundings, she is able to relax into the sensation instead of resisting it. It is exquisite. It is the way she has felt in so many of his tents, the thrill of being surrounded by something wondrous and fantastical, only magnified and focused directly on her. The feel of his skin against hers reverberates across her entire body, though his fingers remain entwined in hers. She looks up at him, caught in the haunting greenish-grey of his eyes again, and she does not turn away.
They stand gazing at each other in silence for moments that seem to stretch for hours.” (Pg. 291-293)
The fact that I will never have the time or patience to write under the rules of NaNoWriMo solidifies my respect for those who not only try it, but succeed in it, especially when it results in a book of this caliber. The Night Circus takes full advantage of mankind’s fascination with the nocturnal to weave a dazzling magical romance that doubles as a captivating character study of humanity through dreams and provides an escape which adult readers from all walks of life can run away and join any evening of the week.
CREDITS:
All images, audio, and links belong to their respective owners; no copyright infringement is intended.
All book excerpts are from The Night Circus by Erin Morgenstern (First Anchor Books paperback edition, July 2012; published by Anchor Books, a division of Random House, Inc., New York, and in Canada by Random House of Canada Limited, Toronto).
MAIN THEME:
“The Call” – Briand Morrison and Roxann Berglund
To the untrained eye, Le Cirque des Rêves—the Circus of Dreams—may be the most unusual circus ever to come to town. It has no schedule; is only open from sunset to sunrise; and, rather than the traditional kaleidoscope of color in one large tent, offers many small tents of black, white, and all non-colors in between. What few realize, however, is how magical it truly is. The circus, in reality, is the setting for a fantastic duel between two powerful prodigies: Celia Bowen, daughter of the arrogant stage magician Prospero the Enchanter, and Marco Alastair, the orphaned ward of the enigmatic man in the grey suit. Trained since childhood in the vastly different ways of their volatile masters, Celia and Marco pit their magical skills against one another under the guise of creating ever more elaborate delights to dazzle the paying public. But when the devoted rivals become star-crossed lovers, the resulting chain of events endangers patron and performer alike. Now Celia and Marco must find a way to end the increasingly deadly contest without destroying not only each other, but the innocent souls for whom the circus provides far more than mere entertainment.
“Fairytale for adults” is often the go-to description for darker, more mature works of fantasy. The Night Circus is no exception, but due to the constant evolution of fairytales, the term nowadays can mean quite literally anything. And yet, that very idea lays at the heart of this story; more specifically, the nature of dreams. I believe Morgenstern makes this very clear even through her narrative structure. The book is nonlinear and entirely in present tense, symbolizing a dream’s immediacy and freedom from the constraints of time. Chapters are written in 3rd person limited with brief 2nd person segments in between. Besides allowing readers to witness the circus through the myriad characters’ own eyes and experience it as patrons themselves, these choices in POV emulate a dream’s limitless potential as well as its lack of concrete form and definition.
The fairy tales of old weren’t known for being very complicated. Much of this book is the same way. It’s never explained how or why the main characters are capable of what is essentially sorcery, conjuring attractions like the Ice Garden and the Cloud Maze, which are just as literal as they are stunning. Many aspects like these are described in a way that expects the reader to accept them at face value—not unlike how we accept even the strangest dreams when we sleep. But Morgenstern maintains authentic complexity and intrigue with the tried-and-true approach of leaving certain things to the imagination and focusing instead on the reactions of those on the outside. These rêveurs (dreamers), as they call themselves, dress in black and white to blend in with the monochrome illusions, but with a dash of red as a symbol of their real human hearts. This is an attractive image that not only fits the Victorian setting, but distinguishes these patrons as individuals seeking camaraderie and purpose through the experiencing and sharing of dreams, as opposed to just obsessed fans. A prime example is Bailey Clarke, a lonely farm boy torn between personal happiness and familial loyalty. At the circus, he meets twin performers, Poppet and her brother Widget. Despite their uncanny precognitive abilities—or perhaps because of them—the empathetic and easygoing siblings (the lovely Poppet in particular) not only become the best friends Bailey’s ever had, but give him the courage and wisdom to forge his own future. (By the way: Bailey? Barnum and Bailey? Coincidence?):
‘‘‘So you see everything before it happens?’ Bailey asks. He is not sure Poppet’s answer is entirely what he expected, if he expected anything at all.
Poppet shakes her head.
‘No, not everything. Sometimes just bits of things like words and pictures in a book, but the book has lots of pages missing and it’s been dropped in a pond and some parts are blurry but other parts aren’t. Does that make sense?’ she asks.
‘Not really,’ Bailey answers.
Poppet laughs. ‘I know it’s strange,’ she says.
‘No, it’s not,’ Bailey says. Poppet turns to look at him, the skepticism at the statement evident on her face. ‘Well, yes, it is kind of strange. But just odd strange, not bad strange.’
‘Thank you, Bailey,’ Poppet says.
[. . .]
It seems a lifetime ago that he walked to the circus, though it was only a few hours. And more than that, it feels as though the Bailey who entered the circus was an entirely different person than the one leaving it now, with a silver ticket in his pocket. He wonders which is the real Bailey, for certainly the Bailey who spent hours in trees alone is not the Bailey who is granted special admission to a spectacular circus, who makes friends with such interesting people without even trying.
By the time he reaches the farm, he is sure that the Bailey he is now is closer to the Bailey he is supposed to be than the Bailey he had been the day before. He may not be certain what any of it means, but for now he does not think that it much matters.
In his dreams, he is a knight on horseback, carrying a silver sword, and it does not really seem that strange after all.” (Pg. 268-269)
And yet this endeavor is anything but a fairy tale to our main protagonists, whose upbringings, though literally enchanted, more resemble, respectively, those of Cinderella at the mercy of her Evil Stepmother and Rapunzel isolated in her tower. Prospero’s cruel training—which includes physically abusing Celia so she can practice healing her wounds with magic—strengthens her will as well as her power, but also leaves her heartbroken and bitter. Marco is given almost no guidance or context in his lessons by his less detestable but more detached master—being expected to learn for himself when outside but otherwise left home to study on his own—resulting in a cold and empty existence. This makes their private meetings as adults all the more satisfying, because of the subtle defiance they show via the attractions they create as the most romantic gifts with the very same powers they are supposed to be using against each other:
“The striped canvas sides of the tent stiffen, the soft surface hardening as the fabric changes to paper. Words appear over the walls, typeset letters overlapping handwritten text. Celia can make out snatches of Shakespearean sonnets and fragments of hymns to Greek goddesses as the poetry fills the tent. It covers the walls and the ceiling and spreads out over the floor.
And then the tent begins to open, the paper folding and tearing. The black stripes stretch out into empty space as their white counterparts brighten, reaching upward and breaking apart into branches.
‘Do you like it?’ Marco asks, once the movement settles and they stand within a darkened forest of softly glowing, poem-covered trees.
Celia can only nod.
He reluctantly releases her, following as she walks through the trees, reading bits of verse on branches and trunks.
‘How do you come up with such images?’ she asks, placing her hand over the layered paper bark of one of the trees. It is warm and solid beneath her fingers, illuminated from within like a lantern.
‘I see things in my mind,’ Marco says. ‘In my dreams. I imagine what you might like.’
‘I don’t think you’re meant to be imagining how to please your opponent,’ Celia says.
‘I have never fully grasped the rules of the game, so I am following my instincts instead,’ Marco says.
[. . .]
He turns to the crimson tree and it glows brighter, the red of embers shifting to the bright warmth of fire.
The surrounding trees follow suit.
As the light from the trees increases, it becomes so bright that Celia closes her eyes.
The ground beneath her feet shifts, suddenly unsteady, but Marco puts a hand on her waist to keep her upright.
When she opens her eyes, they are standing on the quarterdeck of a ship in the middle of the ocean.
Only the ship is made of books, its sails thousands of overlapping pages, and the sea it floats upon is dark black ink. Tiny lights hang across the sky, like tightly packed stars bright as sun.
‘I thought something vast would be nice after all the talk of confined spaces,’ Marco says.
Celia walks to the edge of the deck, running her hands along the spines of the books that form the rail. A soft breeze plays with her hair, bringing with it the mingling scent of dusty tomes and damp, rich ink.
Marco comes and stands next to her as she looks at the midnight sea that stretches out into a clear horizon with no land in sight.” (Pg. 343-348)
Part of what makes Celia and Marco’s relationship so tragic is the fact that they are inextricably bound by magic to compete whether they want to or not, and in that way, must remain together without ever truly being able to be together. Nor are they the only ones paying the price. They’ve developed a bond with the professionals without whom the circus would never have become the success it is, a strong affection that the unfeeling Prospero and man in the grey suit neither understand nor care about. The knowledge that they all have essentially been toying with the lives of them and other outsiders blissfully unaware of the circus’ origin and true agenda weighs heavily on the couple’s consciences. It is their human love and desire to use their powers to end such cruelty without ending the innocent joy of the circus itself that lends them a true godlike quality:
“THEY WALK THROUGH the moonlit ballroom, their steps echoing together.
‘How is Chandresh?’ Celia asks, attempting to find a subject to fill the silence, anything to distract herself from her still-shaking hands, and remembering the fallen glass at dinner.
‘He wavers,’ Marco says with a sigh. ‘Ever since the circus opened, he has been increasingly unfocused. I . . . I do what I can to keep him steady, though I fear it has an adverse effect on his memory. I had not intended to, but after what happened with the late Miss Burgess I thought it the wisest course of action.’
‘She was in the peculiar position of being involved in all this but not within the circus itself,’ Celia says. ‘I am sure it is not the easiest perspective to manage. At least you can observe Chandresh.’
‘Indeed,’ Marco says. ‘I do wish there was a way to protect those outside the circus the way the bonfire protects those within it.’
‘The bonfire?’ Celia asks.
‘It serves several purposes. Primarily, it is my connection to the circus, but it also functions as a safeguard of a sort. I neglected the fact that it does not cover those outside the fence.’
‘I neglected even considering safeguards,’ Celia says. ‘I do not think I understood at first how many other people would become involved in our challenge.’ She stops walking, standing in the middle of the ballroom.
Marco stops as well but says nothing, waiting for her to speak.
‘It was not your fault,’ she says quietly. ‘What happened to Tara. The circumstances may have played out the same way regardless of anything you or I did. You cannot take away anyone’s own free will, that was one of my very first lessons.’
Marco nods, and then he takes a step closer to her. He reaches out to take her hand, slowly brushing his fingers against hers.
The feeling is as strong as it had been when he touched her before, but something is different. The air changes, but the chandeliers hanging above them remain steady and still.
‘What are you doing?’ she asks.
‘You mentioned something about energy,’ Marco says. ‘I’m focusing yours with mine, so you won’t break the chandeliers.’
‘If I broke anything, I could probably fix it,’ Celia says, but she does not let go.
Without the concern for the effect she might be having on the surroundings, she is able to relax into the sensation instead of resisting it. It is exquisite. It is the way she has felt in so many of his tents, the thrill of being surrounded by something wondrous and fantastical, only magnified and focused directly on her. The feel of his skin against hers reverberates across her entire body, though his fingers remain entwined in hers. She looks up at him, caught in the haunting greenish-grey of his eyes again, and she does not turn away.
They stand gazing at each other in silence for moments that seem to stretch for hours.” (Pg. 291-293)
The fact that I will never have the time or patience to write under the rules of NaNoWriMo solidifies my respect for those who not only try it, but succeed in it, especially when it results in a book of this caliber. The Night Circus takes full advantage of mankind’s fascination with the nocturnal to weave a dazzling magical romance that doubles as a captivating character study of humanity through dreams and provides an escape which adult readers from all walks of life can run away and join any evening of the week.
CREDITS:
All images, audio, and links belong to their respective owners; no copyright infringement is intended.
All book excerpts are from The Night Circus by Erin Morgenstern (First Anchor Books paperback edition, July 2012; published by Anchor Books, a division of Random House, Inc., New York, and in Canada by Random House of Canada Limited, Toronto).
MAIN THEME:
“The Call” – Briand Morrison and Roxann Berglund
EPISODE SONGS:
“Tents At Midnight” - George Ellsworth
“Tents At Midnight” - George Ellsworth
“Dreams Are Real” - George Ellsworth
Download the full 15-minute episode here!
Erin Morgenstern on Wikipedia
The Night Circus on Wikipedia
The Night Circus on Erin Morgenstern's Official Website
The Night Circus on Goodreads
The Night Circus on Common Sense Media
The Night Circus on Tvtropes
Buy The Night Circus on Amazon
Buy The Night Circus at Barnes & Noble
Buy The Night Circus on Ebay
^^ Back to Books, Graphic Novels, and Other Works of Literature
Erin Morgenstern on Wikipedia
The Night Circus on Wikipedia
The Night Circus on Erin Morgenstern's Official Website
The Night Circus on Goodreads
The Night Circus on Common Sense Media
The Night Circus on Tvtropes
Buy The Night Circus on Amazon
Buy The Night Circus at Barnes & Noble
Buy The Night Circus on Ebay
^^ Back to Books, Graphic Novels, and Other Works of Literature