“Astrid,” Cuthbert gasped, raising his hand up toward this stranger, this kind soul who had come to love him, for no apparent reason, at the end of his life. The cat, Muezza, sat on the bed, paws in front, looking puzzled and detached.
“Yow, love,” said Cuthbert. “Yow. My answer to gagoga maga medu. My answer is. ”
But he was gone.
“Gagoga maga medu,” she said. “I hear you.”
It was the life-phrase, the blessing, the secret otterspaeke of visions. It came from the same eternal underwater world of the forest, where Drystan and his gran and his lost grandfather’s body lived, where the Wonderments lived, and where Cuthbert could now return.
It said, take this dream, take this prayer of otterspaeke, take this phrase of a new tongue and new tales, and beneath the many-colored bows in the clouds of the whole world, let not the voices perish.
acknowledgments
WRITTEN ACROSS FOURTEEN YEARS, THIS NOVEL left a deep elephant trail of indebtedness to many people around the world. I suspect that some of those who helped me may have, understandably, long forgotten this project — but I haven’t them, I hope.
I wish especially to acknowledge Sheikh Ahmed; Rachael Ashton of Chester Zoo (UK); my brother Patrick Bracken; the late American art historian Bruce Chambers; Hans Coster; James Gardner; Professor Andrew Goldstone of Rutgers University; zoo planner and consultant David Hancocks; my H.P.; linguist and folklorist Alf Jenkins; Mike Jordan of Chester Zoo; Traugott Lawler, professor emeritus of English at Yale University; Dr. Edward Lundeen; Dr. Bryan Serkin; the Royal Parks; founder of the London Emergency Services Liaison Panel, Anthony Speed, CBE; Catherine Slater; and the participants of the VillaTalk.com online forum, who offered generous insights into West Midlands speech and usage.
I thank Brad and Lynn Thompson of Galveston, Texas, for providing a place to write for two summers; and Robert “T” Farris Thompson of Yale University, who adopted me as a resident fellow at Timothy Dwight College, allowing me time and lodging to write.
In Britain, special thanks to Alan Hollinghurst, my thesis committee director and a great general encourager. Certain editors in London offered me interesting and flexible employment while I lived in Finsbury Park, wrote, and hung around the zoo: Paul Finch, of the Architects’ Journal; Tim Lusher, of the Guardian newspaper; and Lindsay Duguid, formerly of the TLS.
Three of my colleagues at East Stroudsburg University — Peter Hawkes, Nancy Van Arsdale, and Andi McClanahan — gave the drafting of this novel a legitimate place in my work-life.
I shall remain forever appreciative to my dear friend Marian Thurm, who so reassuringly read early drafts of the novel.
In England, my cousin Kimberly Shaw gave me critical insights into Midlands history, culture, and language. Her father and my friend, Richard T. Elsmore, helped me understand the depth of my own connections to an England of long ago and of tomorrow. My cousin Mary Finnegan assisted unforgettably in helping me travel to London.
The many stories of my father, William A. Broun, mostly set in the Worcestershire and Birmingham of the last century, form the basis of some of this novel’s inner mythology.
Lavish credit, served on the best china, must be given to my longtime friend Pamela Diamond for daring me to take on such a vast story and for reading early drafts.
At Ecco, I am deeply thankful (and such phrasing sounds far too trifling) to Megan Lynch, whose ingenious editing and unswerving encouragement have answered many a prayer; to her talented, diligent assistant editor, Eleanor Kriseman; and to the rest of the editorial and art teams.
Almost inestimable gratitude is owed to my mentor, Mary Gaitskill, who has remained an indefatigable friend, and who read and critiqued several drafts of this novel.
Mary also introduced me to my brilliant and life-changing agent, Jin Auh, of the Wylie Agency. I also thank Jin’s wonderful assistant, Jessica Friedman, and indeed all the Wylie staff.
I thank my sweet son, Tobias, who taught me much about the two boys at the center of this story, and who put up with a distracted dad far too often. (And I assure you, Toby, that the promised novel about English setters who battle in intergalactic space is coming — someday.)
Above all, I thank my wife, the poet and translator Annmarie Drury. She lifted me up from despair again and again, gave up so much, and inspired me to follow these animals and ghosts out from their cages and into the starry night.
about the author
BILL BROUN was born in Los Angeles to an English father and an American mother. He was educated at University College London and Miami University (Ohio). He also holds an MFA in creative writing from the University of Houston. He is associate professor of English at East Stroudsburg University.
While writing fiction in his spare time, Broun spent many years as a news reporter, music journalist, and news editor, including long stints as editor in chief at several weekly newspapers in Texas. In London, he was employed as a copyeditor at a host of British newspapers and magazines, with staff positions at the Guardian and Architects’ Journal. His own writing has appeared in the Washington Post, the New York Times, the Times (London), the Times Literary Supplement, and more, as well as specialty publications such as the Architects’ Journal and Publishers Weekly. He was appointed a resident fellow at Yale University in 2002, where he lectured in fiction writing, advanced composition, and journalism for four years. His short fiction, which often explores the lives of the urban underclass and “working poor,” has appeared in journals such as the Indiana Review, the Kenyon Review, and Open City.
Broun lives in Hellertown, Pennsylvania, and Night of the Animals is his first novel.
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credits
Cover design by Allison Saltzman
Cover art: “Reading Night Comes to the Cumberlands on the Back of the Bear,” 2015 © Sarah McRae Morton
notes
*Welfare benefit
*A buttered bread roll stuffed with French fried potatoes, i.e., chips, often served with brown sauce or ketchup
*To obtain for free, often by trickery
*A form of public mass transport with bosonic particle-based engines
*Canals
*Missing or dead
*Using or being intoxicated by Flōt
*Can’t
*. you’re onto something
*Any way
*I didn’t
*Peculiar