Praise for Jane Yolen
“The Hans Christian Andersen of America.”
—Newsweek
“The Aesop of the twentieth century.”
—The New York Times
“Jane Yolen is a gem in the diadem of science fiction and fantasy.”
—Analog
Praise for The Emerald Circus
“This excellent collection reimagines folktales, fairy tales, and sometimes historical people in new and surprising light. It is a brilliant example of short-form storytelling by one of the treasures of the science-fiction community.”
—Brandon Sanderson, author of Mistborn
“Jane Yolen facets her glittering stories with the craft of a master jeweller. Everything she writes, including The Emerald Circus, is original and timeless, deliciously creepy and disturbingly lovely.”
—Elizabeth Wein, author of Code Name Verity
“Jane Yolen’s The Emerald Circus is full of marvels. She turns toads into witches, Sir Lancelot into a 600-year-old monk, Dorothy into a tightrope walker, and Emily Dickinson into a spacefarer. From Snow Queen to spaceship, The Emerald Circus is a delight.”
—Patricia A. McKillip, author of The Riddle-Master of Hed
“In this masterful collection, Jane Yolen draws upon myth, fairy tales, history, poetry, and children’s classics from Alice to Oz to fashion new tales from the bones of the old. There is simply no better storyteller working in the fantasy field today. She’s a national treasure.”
—Terri Windling, author of The Wood Wife and The Essential Bordertown
“Jane Yolen is a consummate storyteller, weaving old and new threads to create tales rich in wisdom and depth. The Emerald Circus is an utter delight.”
—Juliet Marillier, award-winning author of the Sevenwaters series
“Talk about imaginary gardens with real toads in them! In this wide-ranging short story collection, Jane Yolen’s scholarship and creative genius combine to bestow upon the reader fantastic new intimacy with venerable tales and persons.”
—Nancy Springer, author of The White Hart and I Am Mordred
“What a joy it is to watch Jane Yolen burrow into the hearts of familiar stories and dwell in possibilities we’d never imagined. It’s all done with Yolen’s trademark wisdom, a healthy dollop of subversion, and a twinkle in the eye. A delight!”
—Susan Fletcher, author of Dragon's Milk and Shadow Spinner
“An impressive overview of the author’s breadth and career, this collection will appeal to the author’s existing devotees—or to anyone who has ever thought that ‘happily ever after’ left too many questions.”
—Kirkus
“Jane Yolen’s collection The Emerald Circus is pure delight for anyone who craves inspired retellings of classics from literature, or re-imaginings of the lives of real literary figures. 5/5 stars.””
—YA Books Central
Also by Jane Yolen
Novels
The Wizard of Washington Square (1969)
Hobo Toad and the Motorcycle Gang (1970)
The Bird of Time (1971)
The Magic Three of Solatia (1974)
The Transfigured Hart (1975)
The Mermaid’s Three Wisdoms (1978)
The Acorn Quest (1981)
Dragon’s Blood (1982)
Heart’s Blood (1984)
The Stone Silenus (1984)
Cards of Grief (1985)
A Sending of Dragons (1987)
The Devil’s Arithmetic (1988)
Sister Light, Sister Dark (1989)
White Jenna (1989)
The Dragon’s Boy (1990)
Wizard’s Hall (1991)
Briar Rose (1992)
Good Griselle (1994)
The Wild Hunt (1995)
The Sea Man (1997)
Here There Be Ghosts (1998)
The One-Armed Queen (1998)
The Wizard’s Map (1999)
The Pictish Child (1999)
Boots and the Seven Leaguers (2000)
The Bagpiper’s Ghost (2002)
Sword of the Rightful King (2003)
The Young Merlin Trilogy: Passager, Hobby, and Merlin (2004)
Pay the Piper: A Rock ’n’ Roll Fairy Tale (with Adam Stemple, 2005)
Troll Bridge: A Rock ’n’ Roll Fairy Tale (with Adam Stemple, 2006)
Dragon’s Heart (2009)
Except the Queen (with Midori Snyder, 2010)
Snow in Summer (2011)
Curse of the Thirteenth Fey (2012)
B. U. G. (Big Ugly Guy) (with Adam Stemple, 2013)
The Last Changeling (with Adam Stemple, 2014)
Centaur Rising (2014)
A Plague of Unicorns (2014)
Trash Mountain (2015)
The Seelie King’s War (with Adam Stemple, 2016)
Young Heroes series
Odysseus in the Serpent Maze (with Robert J. Harris, 2001)
Hippolyta and the Curse of the Amazon (with Robert J. Harris, 2002)
Atalanta and the Arcadian Beast (with Robert J. Harris, 2003)
Jason and the Gorgon’s Blood (with Robert J. Harris, 2004)
Collections
The Girl Who Cried Flowers and Other Tales (1974)
The Moon Ribbon (1976)
The Hundredth Dove and Other Tales (1977)
Dream Weaver (1979)
Neptune Rising: Songs and Tales of the Undersea People (1982)
Tales of Wonder (1983)
The Whitethorn Wood and Other Magicks (1984)
Dragonfield and Other Stories (1985)
Favorite Folktales of the World (1986)
Merlin’s Booke (1986)
The Faery Flag (1989)
Storyteller (1992)
Here There Be Dragons (1993)
Here There Be Unicorns (1994)
Here There Be Witches (1995)
Among Angels (with Nancy Willard, 1995)
Here There Be Angels (1996)
Here There Be Ghosts (1998)
Twelve Impossible Things Before Breakfast (1997)
Sister Emily’s Lightship and Other Stories (2000)
Not One Damsel in Distress (2000)
Mightier Than the Sword (2003)
Once Upon A Time (She Said) (2005)
The Last Selchie Child (2012)
Grumbles from the Forest: Fairy-Tales Voices with a Twist (with Rebecca Kai Dotlich, 2013)
Graphic Novels
Foiled (2010)
The Last Dragon (2011)
Curses Foiled Again (2013)
Stone Man Mysteries: Stone Cold (with Adam Stemple, 2016)
Sanctuary (2017)
The Emerald Circus
Jane Yolen
tachyon | san francisco
The Emerald Circus
Copyright © 2017 by Jane Yolen
This is a collected work of fiction. All events portrayed in this book are fictitious and any resemblance to real people or events is purely coincidental. All rights reserved including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form without the express permission of the author and the publisher.
Introduction © 2017 by Holly Black
Story notes © 2017 by Jane Yolen
Last pages constitute an extension of this copyright page
Cover and interior design by Elizabeth Story
Author photo © 2015 by Jason Stemple
Tachyon Publications LLC
1459 18th Street #139
San Francisco, CA 94107
415.285.5615
www.tachyonpublications.com
[email protected] Series Editor: Jacob Weisman
Project Editor: James DeMaiolo
First edition Print ISBN: 978-1-61696-273-9<
br />
First edition Digital ISBN: 978-1-61696-275-3
CONTENTS
Introduction
Andersen’s Witch
Lost Girls
Tough Alice
Blown Away
A Knot of Toads
The Quiet Monk
The Bird
Belle Bloody Merciless Dame
The Jewel in the Toad Queen’s Crown
The Gift of the Magicians, with Apologies to You Know Who
Rabbit Hole
Our Lady of the Greenwood
The Confession of Brother Blaise
Wonder Land
Evian Steel
Sister Emily’s Lightship
Story Notes and Poems
Andersen’s Witch/“Note on a Dried Cod”
Lost Girls/“From: Five Meditations On Us”
Tough Alice/“Managing Your Flamingo”
Blown Away/“Dorothy Before Oz”
A Knot of Toads/“I Am the Apple”
The Quiet Monk/“Oak Casket”
The Bird/“Donna Plays Fiddle at Her Mother’s Wake”
Belle Bloody Merciless Dame/“Maiden v. Unicorn”
The Jewel in the Toad Queen’s Crown/“Mission”
The Gift of the Magicians/“Beauty and the Beast: An Anniversary”
Rabbit Hole/“Dorothy and Alice Take Tea”
Our Lady of the Greenwood/“Green Man”
The Confession of Brother Blaise/“Merlin: A Haiku”
Wonder Land/“Compère Le Loup”
Evian Steel/“A Different Kind of Bone: A Compressed Sonnet”
Sister Emily’s Lightship/“Emily D and Bird Play St. Pete’s”
For Adam and Betsy
—their kind of stories,
with love
Introduction
Holly Black
I first heard Jane speak at World Fantasy in Minneapolis. My debut novel was about to come out, and I was in awe of this new world where writers I admired sat together on panels, casually spouting wisdom. I listened raptly and said absolutely nothing.
Of course, I had met her many years before, in the pages of her books. I’d started with Sister Light, Sister Dark, pressed into my hand by a friend who said it was her favorite book. From there, I found my way to her brutal and beautiful fairy tale retelling, Briar Rose, and then on to the Young Merlin books, Wizard’s Hall and Devil’s Arithmetic.
It was only a few years after World Fantasy that somehow we were introduced and she was urging me to buy a house in western Massachusetts.
“You’ll be house-poor for a while,” she told me, unfailingly generous and practical at the same time, like a character from one of her stories. “But you won’t starve. We’ll bring you soup if it comes to that.”
I did buy that house, and since then, she and her huge, hilarious, creative family have come over every New Year’s Eve, in costumes to fit the theme of the party. This past year, for Fairy Tale New Year’s, they came as redcaps and menaced all the other guests.
Jane is a unique figure. She’s been called the Hans Christian Andersen of children’s literature, but her contributions to adult fiction are equally notable. She’s won Nebulas and a World Fantasy Award as well as a Rhysling. She’s been a past president of the Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers of America, the second woman to attain the position. For me, personally, as a writer of fantasy with a body of work published for kids and teens, she’s a model for how to navigate the complexities of belonging to two different communities simultaneously. Would that I could do it with the grace and surety she brings to everything she does.
The Emerald Circus is full of all the things I like best about her writing.
From a feminist retelling of Peter Pan in “Lost Girls”; to the surreal, poignant “Blown Away,” which recasts Dorothy from The Wonderful Wizard of Oz as a circus performer; to the short, raw “Belle Bloody Merciless Dame,” in which an encounter with an elf goes far too well; to an imagining of Emily Dickinson seeing the stars in “Sister Emily’s Lightship”—Jane gets all the details right. The depth and breadth of her knowledge shine. But more than that, she writes about people generously, gifting her characters with small moments that carry great weight.
This wondrous and wonderful collection will stay with you long after the last page is turned.
—Holly Black, bestselling author of the Modern Faerie Tale series and the Spiderwick Chronicles (with Tony DiTerlizzi)
Andersen’s Witch
The boy lay in his too-small settle bed, his feet dangling over the end. Papa had promised and promised a new bed for months now. “Because of your stork legs,” as Papa called them. But the green wood brought out of the forest by Grandfather still lay outside the front door, curing on the ground.
“Rotting, you mean,” Mama said. She talked like that when she’d had a lot of schnapps, but once she’d been kind and loving. The boy wanted to remember her that way, but she made it very hard to do.
In his long-enough bed, Papa coughed all day and night, his shoemaker’s lasts gathering dust and cobwebs on the other side of the one-room house. For weeks he’d been too ill to fix the boy’s bed, or work on shoes, or do much of anything at all.
Luckily for the family, Mama had managed to take in more washing this month. Odense, Denmark’s second largest city, was growing rapidly, nearly five thousand people at the last census.
“If I could do all their laundry, we would be wealthy,” Mama said. “And then we could have an elegant house, in a fashionable street. Not this pig hole.” Then she added, “And perhaps get invited to the prince’s castle dinner.”
Papa had roused between coughs. “Get your head out of the clouds, woman. It gives the boy ideas above his station. Don’t count chickens before they hatch.” He took a breath. “You live in fairy tales. We have to live in the real world.”
She turned away from the onslaught of his words, but Papa was not deterred. “Woman, we will live and die on Munkemolle Street. I am, by the devil’s wish, a craftsman, though I wanted to be a teacher. And you are a washerwoman, which is all you are capable of doing. And all the laundry in the world will not buy us an elegant house. If you had such a house, someone else would do the laundry and then how would we eat?” But the speech had exhausted him and he fell back against the pillow.
The boy thought this made a certain amount of sense. But perhaps his stepsister, Karen Marie, could just get more money from her gentlemen friends, enough to keep the family for a while. Of course, he knew better than to say this out loud. Karen Marie was not well thought of by Papa or Grandmother. Or even Mama.
“At least for now I can still put food on the table,” grumbled Mama, sitting at that very table, another glass of schnapps in front of her. “You lie abed with nothing more than a winter catarrh, while the leather waits in the corner over there, and no shoes are resoled. Men—you are all such babies. If you don’t get up soon, husband, I shall be forced to call the Greyfriars to come and take you into the hospital. At least it will be one less mouth to feed.”
Papa’s lips thinned, and he gave his wife a look that should have frozen her to the spot. But Mama looked away.
When he got no response from her, Papa threw the covers back and sat up—still coughing—his nightshirt well above his bony knees. “At least help me to the pot.”
“Help yourself, old man.” Though she was years older than her husband, the words stung.
The boy turned his face to the wall, understanding that any old affection between them had soured with the hardships of life on Munkemolle Street, the way children too often chastened out of love turn stubborn. He felt a sudden restlessness in his soul. But he did not weep. It was too cold in the little one-room house for weeping.
And what about my bed? he whined, but only to himself. They all hated it when he whined, or complained aloud about his stomach cramps or about the constant bullying at school. It was bad enough that Mama and Papa seemed to hate each other. The boy knew he could not bear
it if they hated him as well. No, it was best to simply fade away while they argued. Closing his eyes, he practiced fading, just like a swamp plant, which is what he sometimes called himself. Feet in the water, the same color as his surroundings. You cannot see me. I am not here.
Before he knew it, he’d managed to fade so completely that his parents’ argument became a mere mumble that couldn’t be heard above the wuthering winter wind or the waves constantly warring against the shore. In fact, he faded himself right into sleep and didn’t hear when they went to bed still arguing, that argument ending, as always, in frantic, deep kisses.
Later, with everyone safely snoring, the boy sat up, then stood on the settle so he could stare out of the little window above it. The sky was without stars, for a low cloud cover, like a well-made bed, kept everything neat and tidy. There were few lights in the town except far, far away at Prince Christian Frederick’s castle. It was lit up till it sparkled as if the stone walls themselves had been carved out of ice.