Time is an oft-repeated motif in The Night Circus. Le cirque des reves is a nocturnal circus, which immediately informs the reader that their typical conception of time will be challenged. And indeed, it is: time is a flexible variable within both the story and its structure. The story itself is told out of order, beginning with “you” visiting the circus in the modern day before moving to the nineteenth century. Even the climax of the story is told out of order: Marco arrives in New York only to find the aftermath of a disaster, which the narrative must backtrack to reveal. The unreliability of time is mentioned often by Tsukiko, a former competitor herself, and by Celia’s father, who comments that he is able to remember her mother better even though Celia spent years with her. Isobel remarks upon the unreliability of time as she leaves Marco, telling him that they only met because her train was delayed—it was an accident, not fated. Herr Thiessen’s dreamlike clock also emphasizes the central role of time, and it is perhaps symbolic that the clockmaker dies: order falling victim to chaos. Even when time is linear in the story, it serves to highlight an oddity: for example, that the inhabitants of the circus do not age. Time is undermined once again at the close of the story by a sentence that harks back to the beginning, creating an ouroboros of a tale: “The circus arrives without warning.”
Color, and lack thereof, is a motif throughout the book. The use of color appears to delineate the circus from the outside world: the circus is famously bedecked in only black and white, while the outside world (Chandresh Lefevre’s house, for example) is decadent with color. Such a strict separation is not upheld, of course. With time, the interiors of the train in which the circus travels are revealed to be vibrant, their thirteenth anniversary party lush with color; for their part, visitors to the circus dress in black and white with a bit of red, an outfit that visually symbolizes both their kinship with the circus and their separation from it.
Another theme comes to light in the proxy battle between Hector Bowen and Alexander: order versus chaos. This contrast takes many forms, which is highlighted to the reader in their methods of instruction. Alexander, in his grey suits and cane, is meticulous; he directs Marco to learn from books, museums, theory. Celia’s father, in contrast, emphasizes practical learning. His methods are often cruel—slicing her fingers open and breaking her wrist to teach Celia how to heal herself, killing a bird to teach her that she can’t fix everything—but effective. Ultimately the two methods provide different results—physical manipulation versus illusion—but are still proven to be equal, at least in terms of results: neither Hector or Alexander can claim superiority. But while the effects of order and chaos appear to be similar, the aftereffects are anything but. While Alexander ends his story sipping wine and enjoying a story, Hector haunts the shadows, consigned to a half-life.