Nights at the Circus
In her dressing room at the Alhambra on the last night of 1899, the aerialiste Fevvers — six feet two, cockney, hatched from an egg by her own account — gives an all-night interview to an American reporter who has come to expose her, while the clock outside keeps striking midnight. Walser signs on as a clown to stay with the story, and Colonel Kearney's circus carries them by rail through Petersburg into Siberia, gathering an academy of chimpanzees, a strongman, a murderous tiger tamer and, in the end, a wreck. It took the James Tait Black Memorial Prize and is the fullest statement of the carnivalesque Angela Carter had been working toward since the fairground chapters of her early novels.
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