Thursday, December 29, 2011

The Night Circus


I don’t even know how to begin to describe my experience in reading The Night Circus, because that’s what it was, an experience. The book had been in the periphery of my life since before publication, I’d heard several of my book industry colleagues discuss it. I filed those conversations away.

When it came time to leave for Taos for my Christmas holiday, I knew I needed a book to take along. Circumstances dictated I was unable to get the book before I left town, what a fortuitous turn of events. I procured my copy at Moby Dickens the day I arrived. Moby Dickens is a very special shop in the middle of Old Taos. Much to my delight, it was brimming over with customers. (Who says Independent Bookstores are passe?)

As soon as I got back to the hotel I opened up the book, and fell right in to the story. I don’t want to give too much away, because I want everyone to experience the book on their own, without the lens of my perspective.

This was the first book I had read since leaving my post as a bookstore manager for the field of librarian that made me regret my decision, even for a moment. I wanted to have read an Advanced Reader’s Copy so I could have planned a huge release party in my store. I wanted to walk up to every single customer, regardless of what they were buying and tell them about Night Circus. I wanted to wear black and white everyday, with a different red accent, just to see who would notice. I could have sold the crap out of that book, and I knew whoever it was who was in my old post now would not have given the book a second thought. I felt bad for all my old customers, and hoped that the book would find itself into their life another way.

I know some people will read this book on an e-reader, but this magical book demands to be read on paper. The dust jacket, the interior art, the striped inlay, heck, even the font are all part of the enchantment of the story. An e-reader would just lessen the experience. There are literary elements to the story that conjure up musty old libraries and bookshops.

I have been a voracious reader and bibliophile for such a long time, that my imagination runs rampant with the details of a story. When I read, I see everything: faces, furniture, places, objects. I can construct the entire story in my mind, using only the author’s words, and my imagination. With The Night Circus, t didn’t work that way. I could see the general outline of things, get an impression, but the details were always hazy. I have an idea of what Celia Bowen looks like, but I could never attempt to describe her to anyone. I can just feel how she looks. The same goes for the Circus itself, it is more of a general feeling and atmosphere than it is a description. The other funny thing about that was that as soon as I left a character or a place, I would totally forget how they looked. I would have to reconstruct the circus in my mind every time I went back there. It was as if I was viewing everything through a mist or haze.

That is why it is so hard to write about this book. I can only tell you how I felt while reading it. As I was reading it, I felt magical, and I was so happy to be away from home, it helped me feel transported. The other thing that I abandoned in the reading was my discipline. I usually force myself to read slowly, so that I can savor each chapter, and live with each character for a long time. I like to walk around, thinking about what would happen next, and what the characters might be thinking. I wanted to do that with The Night Circus too, but each time I put the book down, an incredible melancholy crept over me. I felt listless and alone. I had to get back to the circus. I did most of the reading at night (happy coincidence, or fate?) in the old library of the hotel.

Too soon (actually, on time, the night before we left) I finished the book. I was beyond sad. I was not ready for the story to end. I was not ready to leave the circus. I wanted to email Bailey and tell him how marvelous his circus was. I didn’t want to let go, it hurt too much. I was sad that I would bot be selling the book. I was sad that I had no one to talk to about the book. I was sad because I knew there should be no sequels or other journeys with the circus. It was the perfect story and did not need an adaptation for the screen. It does not need a sequel. It just needs to exist and find it’s way into the hands of other readers.

I started looking on the web and found the author’s website, facebook page, and pages for the book itself. There is a community out there, reveurs, like in the book itself. That both comforted me and irritated me. On one hand, having a community to discuss the book with would be lovely. On the other hand, I still feel like this is MY book, and I wanted to keep it that way for a little while longer. I wasn’t ready to share this experience. I knew I would be writing a review of this book, how could I not? But even that frightened me. What if, in the process or writing it, I deconstructed it to the point it was no longer magical? Unlike Celia in her quest to control the circus, I did not wan to know how Marco’s magic worked. It was better left a mystery.

That night, I dreamt of trains, passenger trains, everything was in shades of grey, save for a pair of bright red boots worn by a woman whose face I could not see. When I woke, I realized that, although I was done with the book for now, the book was not done with me.

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