Title: The Night Circus
Author: Erin Morgenstern
Read it if: You’re ready to become irrevocably attached to a fantasy world
“You may tell a tale that takes up residence in someone’s soul, becomes their blood and self and purpose. That tale will move them and drive them and who knows that they might do because of it, because of your words. That is your role, your gift.”
In December 2012 snow billowed from the sky in fat flakes, blanketing the streets in a thick layer of white. I had a week off from work and nothing to do, so I took myself down to the thrift store to distract myself. That’s where I found The Night Circus, lying on a low shelf with a thin layer of dust covering it.
I took it home, cracked it open next to the fire with a mug of apple cider next to me. I read. And I read. And I read. And then, late in the night, I finished it. I read it in one sitting, oblivious to the wind howling outside, because the world Morgenstern paints, the people and the circus and even the food are so inexplicably real that you hear the sounds of children laughing, smell the caramel wafting to you on the cold night air.
I don’t know what endeared me to this book; the evocative characters, the palpable sights of the circus, Celia and Marco’s love for one another that endures decades of a game neither of them understand. Regardless, I’ve read it every year since. When the leaves have turned and fall from the trees, I take The Night Circus from my shelf and let myself be drawn into the circus once more.