Erin Morgenstern - The Night Circus

The woman beckons you over to the ticket booth. While you walk toward her, she sorts through piles of paper and tickets. There is a spray of silver-and-black feathers in her hair that flutters around her head as she moves. When she finds what she is seeking, she hands it to you, and you take the business card from her black-gloved hand. One side is black and the other is white.

Le Cirque des Rêves

is printed in shimmering silver letters on the black side. On the reverse, in black ink on white, it reads:

Mr. Bailey Alden Clarke, Proprietor

bailey@nightcircus.com

You turn it over in your hand, wondering what you might write to Mr. Clarke. Perhaps you will thank him for his very singular circus, and perhaps that will suffice.

You thank the woman for the card, and she only smiles in response.

You walk toward the gates, reading the card in your hand again. Before you pass through the gates to the field beyond, you turn back to the ticket booth, but it is empty, a black grate pulled down over it.

You tuck the card carefully in your pocket.

The step through the gates that takes you from painted ground to bare grass feels heavy.

You think, as you walk away from Le Cirque des Rêves and into the creeping dawn, that you felt more awake within the confines of the circus.

You are no longer quite certain which side of the fence is the dream.

There were a number of associates and conspirators behind this book, and I owe them a great deal of gratitude.

First and foremost, my agent, Richard Pine, who saw potential in something that was once truly a god-awful mess and believed in me every step of the way. He earned his red scarf a thousand times over.

My editor, Alison Callahan, is a dream come true, and everyone at Doubleday deserves more chocolate mice than I can possibly provide.

I am grateful to all who gave their time and insight to revision after revision, particularly Kaari Busick, Elizabeth M. Thurmond, Diana Fox, and Jennifer Weltz.

I raise a glass to the denizens of Purgatory. You are strange, wonderful, talented people, and I would not be here without you.

Kyle Cassidy unknowingly prompted me to buy the vintage fountain pen that was used to compose a significant portion of Part IV, so I said I would put him in the acknowledgments. He probably thought I was kidding.

The circus itself has many influences, but two that should have special recognition are the olfactory geniuses of Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab and the immersive experience of Punchdrunk, which I was lucky enough to fall into thanks to the American Repertory Theater of Cambridge, Massachusetts.

Finally, my eternal thanks to Peter and Clovia. This book simply would not exist without one, and it is better than I’d ever thought possible because of the other. I adore you both.