Chapter 4 Impossible Letters Grandpa Ephraim opened the drawer of his bedside table to reveal balls of crumpled paper. Micah uncrumpled them one by one until the bed was covered with letters, letters made up of impossible words. Lightbender , the letters said. Circus Mirandus , they said. And they said one more thing, one very crucial thing. You promised me a miracle . Micah knew about the promise the Lightbender had made to his grandfather. It came at the very end of the story, and it was one of Micah's favorite parts. But . . . it was only a story. His grandfather placed his hand on top of one of the crinkled sheets of paper. "It took me quite a few drafts to get it right." "I don't understand," said Micah. "Circus Mirandus isn't--" "Real?" Grandpa Ephraim said quietly. "But it is." A smile was tugging up every wrinkle of Grandpa Ephraim's face. It wasn't a teasing smile. Micah stared at all of the letters spread across the crocheted blanket. "If it's really true ..." Grandpa Ephraim laughed his blub glub laugh and beckoned with one arm. When Micah reached for him, he pulled him close in a weak hug and wheezed in his ear, "It's the truest thing ever. I'm so sorry I never told you." Micah hadn't realized there was a fist in his chest until his grandfather's words made it unclench. Grandpa Ephraim would never lie about something so important. And that meant . . . that meant magic was real. And, more importantly, a real magician had made a promise to his grandfather. Micah wouldn't have to be alone. The Lightbender could save Grandpa Ephraim. The world would go back to being the way it was supposed to be. Micah hugged his grandfather so tightly that his arms hurt. "Everything's going to be all right," he said. "It is." Grandpa Ephraim lay back on his pillows and nodded. "I think it might. I finished the final draft of the letter last night, and a messenger came for it." "What?" "It was the most astonishing thing. I wish you could have been here to see it. I had no idea how to get the letter to the circus, but the messenger flew in through the window a few hours after I had finished writing it." "Wait. Did you say flew?" Grandpa Ephraim's grin widened. "Yes. It does sound strange, doesn't it? Apparently the Lightbender uses a parrot for his mail. She said she preferred to take phone calls, actually, but I'm really not sure how that would work. I should have expected something fantastic." "Phone calls?" Micah rubbed at the back of his neck with one hand. "This . . . it's so . . . wow!" He looked around the bedroom and realized that everything had been transformed. This wasn't a room where Grandpa Ephraim had been sick; it was a room where he was going to get well again. Even the afternoon sunbeams that shone through the window seemed brighter. "And this mail parrot--she was going to give the Lightbender your message? She was going to tell him to come here?" "Yes," Grandpa Ephraim said. He bent over and coughed a couple of times. Micah started to pass him a tissue from the box on the bedside table, but he waved it away. "I hope," he said, "that he'll agree to help us." "He has to." If this was real--and it just had to be--then the Lightbender would help them. Micah didn't see how he could refuse. In Grandpa Ephraim's story he was a very powerful magician, a good magician, and he had promised. "I can't wait for you to meet him." Grandpa Ephraim coughed again. "The messenger said Circus Mirandus was in La Paz right now." "Where--" "It's in Bolivia. So I'm not sure how--" Blub glub . Micah handed him a tissue, and this time he coughed into it. "Do you think it will take long?" Micah asked. "For the Lightbender to fix you, I mean." Aunt Gertrudis would have to move out of the spare bedroom to make room for their guest, he decided. She would be glad to be going back to Arizona without Micah anyway. She'd been saying just the other day how difficult it would be to find room for him in her apartment. "What?" Grandpa Ephraim was coughing so hard that he barely got the word out. "Are you okay?" Blub glub . "I think I need . . ." Grandpa Ephraim's face was turning pale. His eyes were clenched shut. His mouth was opening and closing like a fish's, and all of his words had turned into nothing but blub glub, blub glub . Micah was on his feet in an instant. "Grandpa? What should I do?" That awful, dying-kettle sound was lasting for much too long. He was about to ask if he should fetch a cup of water, or the breathing machine that the doctor had given them, but hands were on his shoulders, jerking him away. Aunt Gertrudis's nostrils flared. "Out!" she said. "Get out. Getting him excited for no good reason." Her eyes landed on the letters spread out on the bed. They narrowed into slits. "This again," she hissed. "I should have known." Micah didn't know what possessed him in that moment, but it was something with a lot of bravery and almost no good sense. Instead of leaving, he ducked around his aunt and made a wild grab for the letters. He managed to snag one of them before Aunt Gertrudis caught him by the back of his T-shirt. "I said out !" she shouted. "Go to your room!" She snatched at the letter in his hand as she shoved him toward the door. Micah's fist was closed too tightly around the paper, though. It ripped, and he stumbled out into the hall, nearly colliding with the wall. The door slammed behind him, and the lock clicked. "Grandpa Ephraim!" he yelled. "Are you all right? Aunt Gertrudis? Please let me in!" Nobody answered. Micah slid down the wall and sat, staring at the door, wishing that it would burst into a thousand splinters. The silence from the other side seemed to last forever before he heard the breathing machine turn on. The grinding sound of it made him feel like he might never be able to move from that spot again. The half of the letter that he had managed to rescue from Grandpa Ephraim's room trembled in his hands. Micah pressed the creases out as best he could, running his fingers across the words over and over again until the paper began to feel soft. You have to get up , he told himself. He had to be ready to meet the Lightbender when he came. He had to make sure that Grandpa Ephraim got his miracle before it was too late. Chapter 5 The Messenger The messenger's name was Chintzy, and she returned to Circus Mirandus just before the sun set on a dreary afternoon. She ignored the excited oohs and aahs of the children who spotted her as she zipped toward the black-and-gold tent she called home. "All this rain!" she squawked once she was safely atop her perch. "I don't know why the Head allows it. Gray, cold, wet . Ruins the mood of the place." She ruffled her damp red feathers and glared with one beady yellow eye at the Man Who Bends Light, who was fiddling with an ornate silver coffee service beside her perch. He looked as he had for centuries. His sandy hair was a tangled nest, and his beaten, brown leather coat swept the ground. His nose was strong--almost, Chintzy had been known to admit from time to time, like a proper beak. "The meadow around the circus needs rain as much as any other living thing," he said. "You're just in a snit because you wasted your day on a fool's errand. Not every twitch of your tail is a magical event. I told you I wasn't expecting any messages." Chintzy snatched a lemon cookie off the coffee tray with one clawed foot. "Shows what you know," she muttered around a beakful of crumbs. "I told you," he said again, then paused. "Wait. There was a message?" She shook her tail feathers at him. "You won't be insulting my tail twitches anymore, will you?" she said smugly. "I wouldn't have gone if there wasn't a message. Flying all that way. My poor wings!" The tray rattled as he plunked the creamer onto it. "Who could possibly . . .?" He looked sharply at her. "It wasn't Victoria. Was it?" Chintzy honk-snorted at him. It was her favorite rude sound. "Of course not! After all these years? Not that I would deliver a message for her anyway. Not after what she did." "I suppose that is for the best. Who sent the message?" "You suppose right. Can you imagine what the Head would say?" "The message, Chintzy," he reminded her. "I almost perished of fatigue, you know." She drooped on her perch in an attempt to look terribly forlorn and dramatic. "You could have lost me." He rolled his eyes. "I am rarely so lucky." Chintzy shrieked. "Do not swear at me. I know for a fact that Porter opened a Door for you last night. It's not as though you had to flap all the way there." She turned her back on him. "Ingrate." He sighed. "I know. I am sorry, Chintzy. I do appreciate your hard work. Would you please give me the message?" "Well, if you're going to beg . . ." She spun around and puffed out her scarlet chest. "I'm a professional, you know. The letter disintegrated in this rain you insist upon defending, but I memorized it for safekeeping." "Very impressive." "I am," she agreed. "The message is from a child who saw your show." Then she paused and tilted her head. "Well, no, that's not exactly right. He's not a child anymore. He grew up." The Man Who Bends Light furrowed his brow. "It's from an adult?" "He almost shocked the eggs out of me," Chintzy admitted. "It's that serious. You're going to be in such trouble with the Head, and . . . well, I guess I'll let you hear it." She cleared her throat to acknowledge the formality of the situation, and then she recited Ephraim's letter. After she finished, the tent was silent for a long time. The Man Who Bends Light stood as still as a petrified stump. As the minutes dragged by, the quiet started to itch. Chintzy plucked a couple of particularly beautiful chest feathers before she even realized how nervous she was. She cleared her throat again. "He shortened your name, such as it is. Lightbender . Clever. Much more modern." When he didn't respond, she bobbed her head and added, "He called me ma'am , too. You should take notes." "As if your ego needed stroking." He folded his legs and sank onto a tasseled floor cushion. "Ephraim Tuttle," he murmured. "That is something I didn't expect." "Who is he? Looked about as special as a goose on a pond, if you ask me. Not the sort we usually deal with." The Man Who Bends Light looked thoughtful. "He is a child who was called to Circus Mirandus. Or he was. And he was special, compared to most." He stared down at his long fingers, and a smile crept across his lips. "He showed me a magic trick." "A real one?" "Quite." He glanced at her. "Do you know what Ephraim wants for his miracle?" "I'm not sure. He wants to talk to you. Maybe . . ." Chintzy refused to look at him. "What is it?" "He's very old," she said. "And he's dying, I think." The Man Who Bends Light flinched. "Dying? What if he wants something impossible?" "Well, that's a problem for you, isn't it?" Chintzy turned her head around to preen a few feathers that had been mussed by the rain. "I didn't even know the children could save their miracles. Never heard of that before." "Nobody before Ephraim ever asked to. I didn't expect him to wait so long. I had almost forgotten." He was pacing now, back and forth in front of Chintzy's perch. "I'll have to speak to Mr. Head." "He'll feed you to one of his creatures," she predicted. "Nevertheless." He strode toward the curtain that served as a door. "Go back to Ephraim. Find out exactly what he needs. I must be prepared." "What do you mean 'go back'? I just got home!" "Back," he said. "Talk to Porter about a Door." Chintzy fluffed herself to threatening proportions. "I'm not your carrier pigeon." "Go." The word echoed between them. Chintzy hated it when he used that voice, that deep tone with his magic bleeding through at the edges. She ground her beak. "Fine!" she squawked. "I don't know how you got into this mess anyway. Thought you didn't offer miracles." "I did once," he said softly. The lamps in the tent seemed to dim for a moment. "Before." Excerpted from Circus Mirandus by Cassie Beasley All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.
New York Times Review
| Children witness fantastical events at a theme park and a mysterious carnival in two middle-grade novels. CIRCUS MIRANDUS By Cassie Beasley Illustrated by Diana Sudyka 292 pp. Dial. $17.99. (Middle grade; ages 8 to 12) RETURN TO AUGIE HOBBLE Written and illustrated by Lane Smith 283 pp. Roaring Brook Press. $16.99. (Middle grade; ages 8 to 12) SO ALL THE world's a stage, and we are merely players hoofing upon it? I bet Shakespeare picked up that nugget at Stratford-upon-Avon Middle School. Middle school ushers in the Narcissistic Age, a mannerist phase that comes between the magic years of learning to read and the disheartening Enlightenment that occurs between early high school and, say, midlife crisis. An Enlightenment that has to take in the reality of death. In different ways, and with equally surprising success, two new novels for middle-grade readers raise the curtain on such mysteries. Mind, the curtain is not just a reviewer's figure of speech - what is a figure of speech but a small theatrical event, anyway? In both novels, the spectacle of live performance sets up considerations of mortality. Cassie Beasley's smoky "Circus Mirandus," a beguiling first novel, begins when Ephraim Tuttle, near his deathbed, writes to a circus artist called the Lightbender, hoping to call in a favor promised some decades earlier. The Circus Mirandus is - well, what is it? A carnival of the child's mind? An apparition slipped sideways out of one of P. L. Travers's stories of Mary Poppins? It's more than a symbol, but I doubt it files tax returns. The Circus is an ineffable arena of magic that appears on the sidelines of children's lives, in the selvage plots that surround all towns. It seems a kind of curing ground where certain children can tune to a sense of numinousness in their own lives. But beyond this I cannot say. The Circus Mirandus is a mystery locus, and much is both unexplained and cunningly undescribed. Make what you will - I think that's the point - of the circus, and of your own life. Ephraim's grandson, Micah Tuttle, is a fifth grader struggling with a school project while a disagreeable great-aunt comes to help out. Micah makes common cause with his partner, Jenny Mendoza, who cannot believe in the magic of the circus but gamely listens to Micah's protestations of faith about it. The novel alternates the story of Ephraim's childhood experience of the Circus Mirandus with Micah's attempts to cash in the wish that his grandfather has deferred claiming. What strikes me as notable is the confidence in tone. Beasley relies on reticence in describing magic; the whole book has the quality of an extended dream, a David Lynch episode as seen through a happier camera. But reality vests in Beasley's exquisite writing about tiny, observed moments. "As the minutes dragged by, the quiet started to itch." "Micah felt like a kite with a cut string." "'Now,' murmured Grandpa Ephraim. 'Let's be here together for as long as we have.... Then, when the time comes, we'll all let go.'" The incomparable Lane Smith, the author and illustrator of "Grandpa Green" and the illustrator of "The Stinky Cheese Man and Other Fairly Stupid Tales," stomps triumphantly into the middleschool playground with his first novel, "Return to Augie Hobble." The nonchalant first-person narrative drives along with short sentences, short paragraphs, silliness both of language and situation - and Smith's antic, anarchic illustrations. Hugely normal and appealing Augie Hobble (like Micah, also late on a school project) lives on the periphery of his father's rundown amusement park, Fairy Tale Place, where employees are kitted out in character. But something supernatural is hinted at in the jokes: "Everyone knows the urban legend of Walt Disney being frozen, so if you give a show a title like 'Disney on Ice' you're just asking for it." I won't spoil the plot - it's too good - but I'll say that intimations of werewolf possession are all the more arresting when told in tones of schoolboy snark. (Who can blame Augie? He attends Gerald R. Ford Middle School.) "Last scene of all,/That ends this strange eventful history,/Is second childishness and mere oblivion." So, in "As You Like It," Shakespeare concludes Jaques's speech about the many parts a human may play in one life. Yet oblivion has not been the fate of his poetry. Middle schoolers have much to learn about the benefit of words of blessing from those who have died. These two books magically light the way from stage to stage. GREGORY MAGUIRE is the author of "Egg & Spoon" and a forthcoming novel for adults, "After Alice." |
Publishers Weekly Review
| Fifth grader Micah Tuttle has grown up on his grandfather's stories of the magical Circus Mirandus, but when Grandpa Ephraim gets sick, the parentless Micah and his friend Jenny try to find the circus, learning just how much power there can be in illusion. Beasley fills her middle-grade novel with over-the-top characters-elderly folk, young kids, magical circus performers, haughty and evil villainesses, talking circus animals-and reader Pinchot sinks his teeth into them all. The wicked aunt is creaky and growly. The loving grandfather is warm and twinkling. The children are enthusiastic and hopeful. Pinchot does a terrific impersonation of a talking parrot. The stakes are high, the action is wild, the resolution satisfying; Pinchon embodies the whimsy of the text, yet he also takes it seriously. He narrates with a sense of wonder in his voice that makes the magic of the book come alive. Ages 9-12. A Dial hardcover. (June) © Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved. |
School Library Journal Review
| Gr 4-6-Fifth-grader Micah Tuttle has been living with his Grandpa Ephraim since his parents died when he was very young. The two are close; Grandpa Ephraim teaches Micah how to tie complicated knots and tells him fanciful tales about the magical Circus Mirandus and its many performers, including a powerful illusionist called the Lightbender. When Grandpa Ephraim becomes gravely ill, his sister, the strict and dour Aunt Gertrudis, comes to take care of the household. She severely limits Micah's time with his sick grandfather, and the boy is distraught at the idea of losing the only important person in his life. In a stolen moment, Grandpa Ephraim surprises Micah by revealing that the Circus Mirandus is real, and that the Lightbender promised him a miracle when he was a child. The protagonist begins to hope that his grandfather will get well. The Circus Mirandus arrives in town on the wind, and Micah, with the help of his classmate Jenny Mendoza, seeks out the Lightbender and tries to retrieve the miracle that Grandpa Ephraim has requested. During a whirlwind adventure in the Circus, Micah learns about his family and discovers that the miracle that Grandpa Ephraim asked for might not be the one that Micah had in mind. Circus Mirandus is not a simple story, but readers will be rewarded for delving into its intricacies. VERDICT This gripping fantasy tale will have readers hooked from the opening scene to the breathtaking-and unexpected-conclusion.-Sarah Reid, Broome County Public Library, Binghamton, NY © Copyright 2014. Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted. |
Booklist Review
| Micah's parents died when he was just a toddler, and now he happily lives with Grandpa Ephraim, who tells him fantastic stories, the best of which are about Circus Mirandus, a circus kids can only attend if they believe in magic. When Ephraim was a boy, he came upon the magical circus and met the Man Who Bends Light, who was so impressed by Ephraim's knot-tying skills that he promised him a miracle. Now, many years later, Ephraim is dying, and Micah is determined to make sure he gets his miracle. Joined by his skeptical, brilliant friend Jenny, Micah seeks out Circus Mirandus to see its wonders for himself and to confront the Lightbender, though in the process, he learns more about himself than he ever expected. Debut author Beasley has built an imaginative world in evocative, painterly prose, particularly the circus, and she's filled it with compellingly multifaceted characters. Some elements don't quite knit together, but with a sequel in the works, don't be surprised if those loose ends tie up nicely.--Hunter, Sarah Copyright 2010 Booklist |
Horn Book Review
| Micah lives with his grandpa Ephraim, who regales him with stories of the amazing Circus Mirandus and its magical leader, the Lightbender. But now that Ephraim is dying and unimaginative Aunt Gertrudis is taking over Micahs care, it seems that the Circus might actually be real. Beasleys first novel succeeds in tone, suspense, and inventiveness of the magical setting, but her invented world feels more convincing than her real one, and the highly allegorical character and narrative arcs never get far beyond obvious hints and platitudes: Do you realize that magic as we know it is fading? Do you realize that [we] are fighting to keep enchantment alive in the world? You say the children arent special, but they are. They are the key to everything. The reader may not be sure why this matters, but may believe it does, and a promised sequel might hold the answers. Beasley has talent in crafting energy on the page but has not yet succeeded in telling a fully realized story. nina lindsay (c) Copyright 2015. The Horn Book, Inc., a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted. |
Kirkus Review
| One strange afternoon, 10-year-old Micah Tuttle finds out that magic is real. Micah always thought Grandpa Ephraim's wild stories of the centuries-old Circus Mirandus were spun solely for his amusement. But when his dying grandfather writes a letter to the "Lightbender," hoping to call in the miracle the magician had promised him as a boy, Micah learns the stories were true, and the appearance of Ms. Chintzy, the circus' cantankerous parrot messenger, clinches the deal. Happily, Micah finds a loyal if somewhat challenging friend to help him track down the elusive light-bending magician: the magic-leery, science-minded Jenny Mendoza. Their budding rapport is nuanced and complex, a refreshing illustration of how absolute like-mindedness is not a prerequisite for friendship. On one level, the book is a fantastical circus romp, with fortunetelling vultures and "a wallaby that could burp the Greek alphabet." On another, it's both serious and thick with longing: Micah's ache for the companionship of his once-vital guardian-grandfather; Grandpa Ephraim's boyhood yearning for his absent father, as fleshed out in flashbacks; the circus founders' desire to keep enchantment alive in a world where "faith is such a fragile thing." A delicious confection and much more: it shows that the human heart is delicate, that it matters, and that it must be handled with care. (Fiction. 9-12) Copyright Kirkus Reviews, used with permission. |
