In this exhilaratingly original novel, a fantastical theatre and its troupe perform a young girl's dreams, until nightmares take over. Will one devoted stagehand be able to bring joy back into the spotlight? Have you ever awakened from a dream and thought, what was THAT?! A platypus waddling through my school while singing the word farfanoogle ? Well, that dream was performed by a dream theatre, and this is the story of one such place: The Lunarian Grand. The Lunarian is a magical theatre with a mind of its own, often redecorating on a whim or making it snow from the rafters. The theatre's troupe call themselves the Dreamatics, and together they grow sets from seeds, sew costumes that can change an actor's shape, and each night when a girl named Luna goes to sleep, they produce her spectacular dreams: dreams of memories, family, and her beloved dog, Murph. But when something devastating happens in Luna's waking life, the theatre falls under new management in the form of the Bad Dreams. Now it's up to a loyal stagehand named Dormir and the Dreamatics to put things right and restore balance in their world and in Luna's. Go behind the scenes of your dreams in this enchanting novel full of cozy magic, humor, and wonder. ★ "This witty, magical, and touching tale will inspire giggles of delight, appreciation of the inner workings of a theater troupe, and wonder at the behind-the-scenes process of dream-making. At its core, this is a story of dedication, loyalty, love, and friendship that takes readers on a roller coaster of emotions and leaves them feeling warm and fuzzy . . . A dreamy, imaginative, and vibrant story full of heart and wordplay." — Kirkus , starred review ★ “Irresistibly rendered worldbuilding and delightfully limned, seldom-described characters buoy serious interrogations on trauma, its effects on mental health, and the process of healing. By utilizing lush yet conversational prose, Cuevas addresses each difficult topic and lesson with sincerity and care, allowing ample space for introspective rumination alongside joy-filled antics.” — Publishers Weekly , starred review ★ “The sensational story is endlessly inventive and incredibly compassionate, and the exquisite descriptions make ephemeral emotions and experiences feel tangible. Every chapter brings a new delightful discovery, and whimsy, puns, trauma, and loss live comfortably side by side within the pages. Tough topics are tackled with gentleness and humor, and readers will be loathe to leave the cozy confines of the otherworldly theater. A dream to read, in every sense." — Booklist Online , starred review Michelle Cuevas graduated from Williams College and holds a master of fine arts in creative writing from the University of Virginia. She is an author of children’s novels and picture books, including The Care and Feeding of a Pet Black Hole, Confessions of an Imaginary Friend, and The Uncorker of Ocean Bottles. She lives in western Massachusetts with her husband and their two Bernese Mountain Dogs. Her hobbies include travel, watercolor painting, and drawing. Prologue Onstage, a dream is unfolding. The theatre’s lighting department has outdone itself—somehow managing to perfectly re-create the amber glow of a late-afternoon sun, right down to the dappled and dancing light through the leaves. The set builders have grown giant sunflowers that tower on the stage, and the actors have transformed themselves into dragon-sized bumblebees, emerging from the flowers with their fuzzy bodies covered in golden pollen. Even the air in the theatre feels crisp and edged with the smell of apples. A great wind starts blowing, and yellow leaves begin swirling around the stage, some blowing out into the theatre and over the velvet-covered seats. The leaves change to snow, and the stage is transformed—now a lone lantern glows through the fluffy flakes, the ground sparkles like a million tiny moons, and the air smells of nutmeg, gingerbread, and a hint of pine. This is the magic of the theatre; the way the creaking floorboards seem to speak in their own language; the way every prop, light, and velvet seat seem to know the audience by name; the way a stage can also be bumblebees and lanterns, cinnamon, and snow. This is where dreams are written , says the creaking floor. This is where dreams are born, built, brought to life , say the blinking lights. This . . . is the Lunarian Grand. But then, the sweet smells begin to sour, and the big, beautiful flakes of snow begin to whip in the wind, turning to hail, then lashing sleet. The theatre goes cold—colder than cold—causing icicles to form below the box seats and balcony. Crunch. Crunch. Crunch. Something is stalking through the snow. Something is crushing fallen branches. Something is howling with a crylike screeching tires. The footsteps come closer and closer, carrying something wrong, something bad, something that smells of fear and darkness and something