Our American Cousin -- My Thoughts

I may as well get this out of the way now: this article is about play that Abraham Lincoln was watching when he was shot. I don’t want to dwell on this part, because I would like to look at Tom Taylor’s Our American Cousin as a work of art rather than a historical footnote, but it needs to be addressed. If you’ve heard of this play, you know about the Lincoln connection. You might even know the exact word that John Wilkes Booth used to cue the gunshot. ("Sockdologizing," in the sentence: “Well, I guess I know enough to turn you inside out, old gal—you sockdologizing old man-trap.”)

I’m not a historian, so there will be no more about the Lincoln assassination from me. I'd rather write about Our American Cousin. Is there more to the last play that Lincoln saw than the fact that it was the last play that Lincoln saw?

As it turns out, yes.

The play’s author, Tom Taylor, had made a name for himself before entering American history books. Aside from working as a professor at Cambridge and an editor at Punch magazine, he also wrote (according to Wikipedia) about 100 plays. One of his best-known was The Ticket-of-Leave Man, one of the first plays to feature a detective, and the origin of the term “Hawkshaw” (a popular slang word for “detective” in the early 20th century). Our American Cousin was incredibly popular in its day, too, though more so with audiences than critics.

The play is a farce, and its plot as simple as the title suggests: an American visits his English cousins, and hilarity ensues. The American in question (Asa Trenchard) is prone to incomprehensible slang and inappropriate behaviour, but he has a good heart. He's a simple character, and the rest of the cast isn't much better: words like “shyster” or “idiot” are usually sufficient descriptions. The most three-dimensional is probably Abel Murcott, a legal clerk and struggling alcoholic, but even he ultimately falls flat because his struggles with the demon drink, though used for drama rather than comedy, are more discussed than depicted.

Interestingly, according to journalist/playwright Richard Byrne’s essay "Our American Cousin: A Sort of Defense," the play was originally written as a melodrama, and only later rewritten into a comedy by actress and pioneering female theatre manager Laura Keene. That doesn’t surprise me; many of the subplots involving serious issues like poverty or (as noted above) alcoholism. Unfortunately, those plotlines are all as under-developed as the cast, with a beginning and an end but little in the way of a middle, which makes me suspect that they were trimmed down to make more room for jokes. The comedic routines here don't always grow organically from the plot so much as ram themselves in wherever they can. The end result reminds me of a less skilful predecessor to the sort of comedies the Marx Brothers would later do so well: funny characters bumble around doing bits in the middle of a serious, but unremarkable, narrative. To judge Our American Cousin properly, you have to judge it the way you would judge a Marx Brothers movie: by asking if it's funny.

Unfortunately for us, Our American Cousin only really became popular because of Edward Askew Sothern’s legendary portrayal of the Dogberry-like Lord Dundreary, a man whose intellect could earn pity at the Drones Club, and probably the only character in the play worth discussing in detail. Dundreary was originally such a minor role that Sothern almost turned it down, but the character and actor ultimately managed to steal the show with his physical comedy and memorable malapropisms, such as "birds of a feather gather no moss." For a time, such sayings were known as Dundrearyisms. (Which means that Tom Taylor helped coin at least two short-lived words during the course of his career--three if you count “Dundrearies,” a style of long sideburns, separately.) Dundreary himself even starred in a handful of sequels, including a novel, Lord Dundreary and His Brother Sam, which seems to have been written anonymously but is available on Amazon and Google Books.

Whether the play itself, sans Sothern, is actually funny is, of course, a matter of personal taste (though, in my experience, most of the people who read it today say that it is not). There's a bit of physical comedy, but that does not work very well in a script. That leaves readers with the verbal comedy, which includes puns and other types of silly jokes, but nothing especially clever. Admittedly, I like this sort of simple, vaudeville-type humour, but I always feel that it relies on a good delivery.

This is an actor's play. The sort that calls for improvisation and uses the word “business” as a stage direction. The aforementioned "birds of a feather gather no moss" quote wasn’t even in the text that I read, though it was mentioned in the introduction to point out that many of the play’s beloved Dundrearyisms are missing. Sothern's performance was never recorded (audio recording was invented a few years before his death, and film many years after) so no one alive today will ever be able to experience him for themselves. The play is still occasionally performed today, and someday someone may well perform Dundreary well enough to return him to the spotlight. But it won't be Sothern. Everything that made Our American Cousin such a huge hit in the 1800s will stay in the 1800s.

I guess that I need to turn back around to my original question, which is where this play stands without Lincoln. Is it worth reading? Maybe--if you like cheesy humour, it provides a nice guilty pleasure. Or, if you’re interested in archaic popular culture, you’ll probably want to meet Lord Dundreary. But, on the whole, there’s little literary merit or serious entertainment value.

You can read Project Gutenberg's version of the play here. Or, if you'd rather hear actors read the lines, you can find lostplays.com's production here.

Osamu Tezuka's Buddha

If you are even a little bit interested in anime or manga, you've heard of Osamu Tezuka. Although the "godfather of manga" is best known for Astro Boy, Black Jack, Phoenix, and Kimba the White Lion, my first exposure came when I read Dororo some years back. A few weeks ago, I decided to treat myself to another Tezuka comic: his 8-volume epic, Buddha. I had high expectations, and such expectations are rarely met. This time, they were exceeded.

Buddha covers the life of Siddhārtha Gautama, from birth to death, as he matures from a small, sickly child, terrified of his own mortality, to the wise, superhumanly patient spiritual leader known worldwide as the Buddha. When Siddhārtha is a child, his spiritual journey is inspired less by a drive to change the world than a more selfish desire to escape his own inevitable death. He's wise and willing to work hard, but also noticeably more afraid of the physical ordeals that so many other ascetics practically flock to. He does grow wiser and stronger over time, and eventually develops the inner-courage to face death and torture without flinching, but there are still the occasional moments of humanity--a bit of grief, or a bout of self-doubt--that help keep him grounded in the land of humans.

Interestingly, although Buddha is the titular character, he isn't actually born until about halfway through the first volume, and regularly shifts into and out of the background from then on. A lot of time is spent on a changing cast of both historical and fictional characters, all of them well-developed. Sympathetic children, pushed too far, become absolute bastards with whiplash-inducing speed, while murderous tyrants become some of the Buddha's closest allies. I didn't realize just how vital the large cast was until, one day, I was discussing the book with with my dad, who had not read it but was curious.

"But the book is about the Buddha, and not Buddhism, right?" he said.

And then it hit me--Buddha is about Buddhism. This is not just a book about one man, or even one great man--it's a book about the world and the people and the lives that the great man has touched. This book is telling Buddha's story not just through his own life, but through his legacy.

And Tezuka's drawings, though simple and cartoony, are powerful. I'm not just talking about his backgrounds (which are beautiful) or his animals (which are so life-like you almost want to reach into the page and pet them) but his human characters. Anime and manga--and not all anime and manga, of course, but quite a lot of it--can't always be taken literally; how characters are drawn often reflects thoughts or emotions rather than physical realities. Characters' shapes can shift during moments of aggravation, heads growing with rage while the rest of their bodies shrink. Tezuka occasionally uses this "super-deformed" gag art-style as well--he may have invented it, for all I know--but he doesn't rely on it: his ability to convey emotions subtly and realistically is equally effective. If you ever read the book, look at the Buddha's face in volume eight, while he's worrying that all his work has been in vain. Not the background, but just Buddha's face. The genuine humanity feels like a punch to the throat.

And then there's the impressive variety of genres. Readers of Buddha can find almost everything, from action to romance to tragedy to political fiction to fable to parable to science fiction to fantasy and back again. I'm talking about a book that chronicles the life of one of the most important religious figures of the known world, and includes scatological humour and gags where characters smash through their own comic panels. Not just once, but repeatedly. One ascetic, whose entire philosophy revolves around doubt, confronts Osamu Tezuka himself to express skepticism of the entire manga, and suggest that Tezuka himself may, in fact, be a rotten pumpkin (something that Tezuka himself then confirms to be true).

This is like the Buddhist version of Life of Brian, and it never feels one bit blasphemous. Instead, Buddha's beliefs (focusing on the philosophical over the spiritual) are conveyed sincerely, through plot and through character as well as through speech. The most important to Buddha's own character arc is probably the one about not fearing the unchangeable, though the interconnectedness of all life, and the idea that all animals are just as important as humans, all come up repeatedly. The most memorable scene that conveys these ideas does not involve Buddha himself but (and the rest of this paragraph is kind of a spoiler, so beware) the child prophet, Asaji ("played" by Hosuke Sharaku from Tezuka's The Three-Eyed One, in the same way that Ralph the Wolf is "played" by Wile E. Coyote). This brave fellow allows himself to be torn to pieces by a family of wolves so that the cubs won't starve. (As a side note, I thought it was brilliant how Tezuka drew this incident. The image of the wolves actually mutilating Asaji are absolutely terrifying, but there's one panel right after, where the parents are feeding their pups, that looks disturbingly serene. It's as if, for one instant, Tezuka is showing things from the perspective of the wolves.) As a prophet, Asaji foresaw his death years before, but never showed fear, even in the hours leading up to it. Tezuka didn't invent this whole story himself--a previous carnation of the Buddha, named Prince Sattva, made a similar sacrifice for a tigress and her cubs--but it epitomizes many of the Buddhist concepts that this manga favours.

I consider Buddha one of the greatest comic books, and possibly one of the greatest books, period, that I have ever read. Not just because of the power, the scope, the beauty, the entertainment, the characterization, or the philosophy, but because of all of them, and more. Despite all of the seemingly contradictory things this book tries to do, it succeeds. The Buddha was one of the most important men who ever lived, and making any work of art that lives up to his legacy would be a daunting task even for the best. Fortunately, that's just what Tezuka was--whatever your personal opinion on manga or even on comic books, there is no denying that Tezuka was a master of his craft.

Home Alone Pentalogy

Home Alone is the first film I ever saw in theatres. This is probably why I’ve always thought of it as a nostalgia movie, if not the nostalgia movie. Admittedly, it’s no masterpiece. If I saw Home Alone for the first time in my twenties or thirties, I probably wouldn't remember it so well. But I didn’t see it for the first time in my twenties or thirties, I saw it at five, and saw the sequel two or three years after (an eternity for a preteen), so both movies have imprinted themselves into my consciousness, the good leaving a firmer impression than the bad. When I got the whole box set for Christmas last year, I re-watched the first two with my family and I enjoyed the hell out of them. I laughed a lot harder at the Angels With Even Filthier Souls scene in Home Alone 2 than I had laughed for a long time. Then, with the back half of the series already in my possession, I eventually decided, what the heck, I'd watch them too, just to see if they were as bad as I had feared.

Home Alone

The first entry, and the most iconic, is also arguably the best. I remember that there was a pretty big backlash against Macaulay Culkin at the time (as there is against any child actor), but I honestly think that he does a good job at hitting that right mix of fear and courage.

And John Hughes (best known for his teen movies, but equally adept with children and grown-ups) does an excellent job at writing the tension between Kevin and his family. Yes, Kevin is a brat. But then so are all the other kids in the family--not to mention Uncle Frank--they're just better at hiding it. Hughes could have sided entirely with or wholly against Kevin, but instead he wrote him as a decent kid who needs to grow, and the adult McCallisters, loving though they are, as ignorant of their son's lot. 

Incidentally, although Hughes was already a successful director at the time, he didn't direct this movie; that honour goes to Christopher Columbus, who had previously written--but not directed--such classics as Gremlins and The Goonies, and would later go on to direct--but not write--the first two Harry Potter movies.

Of course, Joe Pesci and Daniel Stern are irreplaceable as the burglars and, eventually, would-be murderers, Harry and Marv. Re-watching the movie as an adult, I still think that their physical comedy is hilarious, but they can be horrifying when they need to. (Turns out that seeing an eight-year-old being threatened by two adults is more frightening when you are an adult yourself!)

These men are geniuses.

I was also pleasantly surprised to remember how deep Harry and Marv's characterization actually is. At first, they're surprisingly realistic burglars, more selfish than outright malicious. When they almost run over Kevin, they’re visibly shaken at the thought that they almost killed someone. But their hardships in the McCallister house break them, and before long they're talking about torturing and disfiguring an eight-year-old. We aren't going to get that much character development from many of the villains in the other Home Alone movies.

There's also the subplot of Old Man Marley, Kevin's creepy neighbour (played by Roberts Blossom) who reaches out to and befriends Kevin, and who in turn Kevin later inspires to reunite with his own estranged son. I've read online in a few places that this character was Columbus' idea, because he wanted to add more heart to the story. Whether this was necessary is a matter of opinion--I thought that Mrs. McCallister added enough pathos--but his story does fit very nicely into the larger narrative about family, and the scene at the end, when he saves Kevin from the Wet Bandits, helps emphasize that the movie's theme (the importance of friends and family) and Kevin's personal growth (which sees him becoming less reliant on others) are not mutually exclusive.

The movie's biggest problems are probably that it isn't realistic, and the protagonist isn't all that moral. Much has been said on how lethal most of Kevin's traps would actually be, and legion have argued that the amount of pain Kevin puts the Wet Bandits through would be a better fit for a horror movie. But then every work of art and entertainment has both its good points and its bad points, and every audience member is going to have their own taste insofar as which aspects of a movie to ignore and which ones to embrace. I like the comedy, and I don't mind the breaks from reality, so I like the movie. Nostalgia? Maybe. So what?

Home Alone 2: Lost in New York

Home Alone 2 (in relation to the first movie) reminds me of Twilight Princess (in relation to Ocarina of Time); both are improvements, but ride so blatantly on their parent's coattails that it’s hard to care. The call-backs are so numerous that I can't tell if they're homages or just symptoms of creative constipation.

There are many things to like here. All of New York is a more interesting setting than a single house, and some of the scenes at the Plaza Hotel are, in my opinion, the funniest in the series.

Kevin McCalister, home alone in a well-staffed hotel.

On the other hand, this movie hits mostly the same beats as the first: Kevin fights with his parents, gets separated, and later reunites with his mom. There's also another subplot about the kid befriending a frightening outcast, giving them sage life advice, and then being saved by them from the crooks. All of the movies have some variant on this plot point, though most of the sequels mix it up a bit more than this one does. The Pigeon Lady (unnamed; played by Brenda Fricker) is by far the most direct knockoff of the first movie's Old Man Marley--the only notable twist being that, this time around, Kevin makes the effort to start a conversation with her, instead of her initiating the conversation with Kevin. It's nice to see how much Kevin has grown since the first movie, and The Pigeon Lady is, in terms of both writing and acting, probably the best variant on this archetype. But there's no arguing the lack of originality.

There are a few other issues which, like those of the first movie, are fairly glaring, but don't bother me all that much: some of the coincidences (most notably Kevin winding up in New York at the same time as Harry and Marv) are ridiculous, Harry and Marv have degenerated into cartoon villains, and Kevin has somehow aged two years in only 365 days. But these things only really hurt the second in relation to the first; if this were a standalone picture, I think it would be as good as the original, if not better.

Home Alone 3

If 2 is more of the same, but better, then 3 is a watered-down version. The first two movies are about more than just the slapstick break-in at then end; they're about a young, somewhat bratty child, who fights with his family, then must fend without them. The second movie didn't live up to the name, but at least matched the spirit. The third movie does not--Alex Pruitt is home and alone, thanks to a case of the chickenpox, but only the latter while his parents are at work. (In fact, from here on out, the parents will leave their kids alone for only briefer periods of time and across much smaller geographic distances.) Alex doesn't get along with his siblings, but is much closer with his parents, so on the whole there is less internal conflict. The only real hostilities occurs when Alex is wrongfully accused of making false calls to the police, and even that doesn't add that much to the drama--it's mostly just there to explain why he doesn't phone the cops for the climax.

None of which would be a problem, if the older story was replaced by a more (or equally) interesting one. But it wasn't; instead, Home Alone 3 focuses all its energy on a story about a group of spies searching for a valuable chip hidden inside Alex's toy car. The bad guys have doubled in number and presumably grown in training and skill, though this does little to aid them in their fight against a child. And, considering one of these spies is actually dumb enough to try walking down a set of stairs, with a pair of toy trucks glued to his feet, I'd have to say that even Marv would have the advantage against them in a contest of the brains.

Now with computer chips.

As an interesting side-note, this movie starts the trend of giving each criminal group a female member. To the franchise`s credit, these ladies are always just as dumb as their male counterparts, and always carry their weight in the slapstick department, so they never feel tacked-on.

On the whole, the spies are not as memorable as Pesci or Stern, but the slapstick is of comparable quality, and the traps are as clever and as brutal as ever. One bad guy gets a running lawn mower dropped on his face and escapes with but a few scratches--a perfect example of what this series is all about.

Okay, I’ll admit that I enjoyed the third movie more than I was expecting, but nowhere near as much as the first two. Alex isn’t as interesting a character as Kevin, the quartet of spies lack Harry and Marv’s Wile E. Coyote-esque charm, and the emotional centre was replaced by a silly and unthrilling spy story.

Home Alone 4

The fourth entry is probably the worst in the series. Alex is gone, replaced by someone named Kevin McCallister (played by Mike Weinberg). Although this Kevin is now nine, has only two siblings, and is far less of a brat, he does have a couple of similarities to the original Kevin, including a history of being left alone to fend off burglars named Harry and Marv. But the call-backs and the inconsistencies seem to be playing tug-of-war, trying to force this movie into the realm of a sequel or a reboot without really letting it rest comfortably in either. Frankly, this movie probably would have made more sense as a direct sequel to Home Alone 3--the kid's personality, home life, and age would make more sense if this were Alex rather than Kevin. It even reuses the "parents don't believe the kid about the burglars so he had better find some heavy stuff to drop on people" plot point, in what I like to think of as a call-back the the second movie's shameless recycling of its predecessor.

Selfies, circa 2002.

Fortunately, this movie does add a touch of family drama: Kevin's parents are now separated, and his dad is once again engaged. This is mostly an excuse for Kevin to stay with his dad (played by Jason Beghe) and his new girlfriend (Natalie, played by Joanna Going) in their hi-tech mansion, but the movie does at least try to get whatever emotion it can out of this scenario. Of course, after portraying Natalie as a kind and charitable woman throughout most of its story, the movie has her turn into a wicked stepmom near the end, just so that we don't feel so bad when Kevin's dad inevitably dumps her and goes back to his first wife. (Though to be fair to Natalie, her allegedly bitchy attitude towards Kevin is actually kind of justified when you try to see things from her perspective. Granted, Kevin isn't really responsible for what happens, but she had every reason to assume he was engaged in the sort of behaviour that usually lands kids in military school, or at least on a trashy talk-show.)

Interestingly, only one of the two burglars reappears, albeit now played by French Stewart. He’s called Marv, but dresses like Harry and acts like a mixture between the two. (My headcanon is that Marv killed Harry for leadership of the gang, and is now trying to become Harry in penance.)

The other crook, BTW, is Marv's wife, Vera, played by Missi Pyle. In my opinion, she makes a better criminal (or at least a better Home Alone criminal) than Stewart does. Both portray their characters as dumb, but Vera comes across as crazy-dumb. I couldn't picture this version of Marv doing anything to Kevin, but Vera seems just drugged-out enough to actually bite off a nine-year-old`s fingers if given the chance.

Marv and Vera's plan is not to burglarize the house this time. The previous crooks wanted to steal a computer chip; these ones want to kidnap a young prince whose family will be staying with Natalie. Interestingly, although the prince doesn't appear until the end of the movie, Kevin is never mistaken for him, even though that would be the most obvious (and thus the worst) choice. (And, yes, I know that it would make no sense if Marv, who knows Kevin, had mistaken him for the prince. Trust me, if they had done that, it would not be the worst mistake in this movie.)

I don't want to give away too much of the "Old Man Marley" character in this instalment, except to say that the life-changing advice comes across as far too rushed, preachy, and tacked-on. The first two movies gave us touching, beautiful scenes to lead up to and justify such a pep-talk; this one is just kinda there because Home Alone.

As noted, the “trap” segment--the bread and butter of any Home Alone movie--is complete crap this time around. Since this film is set in a “smart house” (a gimmick used to better effect in the Home Alone video game on the Genesis, I might add) Kevin relies on manipulating the built-in gadgets and miscellaneous toys more than any actual traps. The end results, though still painful, lack the invention and imagination of the predecessors. (A kid flying a toy airplane into a dude`s crotch is okay for America`s Funniest Home Videos, but not Home Alone.)

Unsurprisingly, this is the first Home Alone movie that was not written by John Hughes, and the first made for the direct-to-video market.

Home Alone: The Holiday Heist

After 4, things could only go uphill. The Holiday Heist is still not on the same level as the Columbus/Hughes/Culkin entries, but, in some ways, I thought it was an improvement over the third and fourth ones. For one thing, the Kevin figure this time around, Finn Baxter (played by Christian Martyn) is actually a flawed character. Instead of the misunderstood nice kid from three and four, he’s portrayed as a video game-addicted loner who, throughout the movie, learns to leave his shell, make friends, and grow as a person. So, although he doesn't feel like a complete knockoff of Kevin, he does still come across as a decent kid who needs to grow.

This movie was able to attract some top-name actors. Malcolm McDowell plays the leader of the criminals. His obnoxious but charmingly British portrayal may actually equal Stern's manchild and Pesci’s hothead. He also has a more sympathetic motivation than any of the other criminals--there's a famous painting of his grandmother (supposedly painted by artist Edvard Munch, whose painting The Scream inspired the original movie's most iconic scene) that he wants to steal. But since he doesn't try asking for or buying the damn thing first--theft being the first and best choice for his sort--he doesn't come across as so sympathetic that you want him to win (unless you're the sort of person who always roots for the villains).

On the downside, it’s hard not to feel like this is a shell of what Home Alone once was. Not only is Finn much older than Kevin or Alex (Martyn was about 12 during filming), but he’s not even alone-- his teenage sister, Alexis (played by then 17-year-old Jodelle Ferland) is there too, albeit trapped in the basement. Once again, the parents didn’t accidentally leave the kids alone while making a trip out of the city--they just got snowed in at a Christmas party. And, though I might just be biased on this last point, I kinda think that a shy kid who plays too many video games--although a serious enough problem when it escalates to Finn's level--is far less interesting than a kid who is constantly fighting with everyone in his family, then gets left alone at home or in New York.

You have no idea how much the Wet Bandits envy this guy right now.

The traps here are not as simple as those in 4, but they're less excruciating than ever. When you see a Home Alone movie using a dumbbell, you expect it to fall on someone--not roll into their shins and trip them. Yes, Harry and Marv tripped, and a lot. But their slapstick mixed very painful gags with sorta painful ones; here, the cap is much lower, and merely uncomfortable inconveniences on the "covered in yucky stuff" variety much more common. I guess that a lot of people thought the other four movies made the violence more brutal than funny, but I really do think that downgrading the slapstick from The Three Stooges to something more closely resembling Family Matters hurt the movie's overall appeal. I know that sounds sadistic, but I like the early instalments' brutality partly because it is so over-the-top that it never feels real, and a series of minor inconveniences just doesn't feel like a satisfying line of defence. Holiday Heist is like watching a slasher movie about a guy that sneaks into people's houses at night, wakes them from their slumber with a cry of "boo!" then flees. I'm sure it would be very scary in real-life, but that's not what I came for.

I will not delude myself into thinking that Home Alone is a perfect movie. And, although I have a soft spot for the second, I won’t pretend that it was a masterpiece, either. But there are a few things about the first two films that stand out. The conflict between the smart-mouthed Kevin and his slightly insensitive family is one and, yes, the cruelty of the traps is another. But, above all else, there’s the sense that Kevin is truly alone. These aren’t movies about a kid being alone with burglars prowling through the bushes for twenty minutes, they’re movies about a kid being alone for days at a time, about the family's fear for his safety, and about how each react to the nightmare. It's an inherently terrifying and heartrending story, and the first two movies never skimmed over that. Harry and Marv are a nice bit of slapstick for the climax, but worked best as the dessert at the end of a complete meal. The later movies focus so much on the cake that they under-cook the chicken, and the end result is not as filling.

Le Cirque des Rêves

Erin Morgenstern's 2011 fantasy novel The Night Circus is one of those books that sat on my shelf for years before it made its way to the top of my reading pile. I had heard a lot about the book: comparisons to Harry Potter and Twilight were common, though I think that Night Circus stands in different crowds. Honestly, I'm not even sure if I'd consider it a YA novel (Morgenstern doesn't) even if it sort of feels like one at times. But there is one thing it has in common with Harry Potter: both books benefit from a memorable setting.

Le Cirque des Rêves ("The Circus of Dreams") only opens at night, it only allows its tents and performers to use the colours black and white, and it moves from city to city without announcement or warning. Some of these things may not make sense from a business standpoint, but they're odd enough to make the circus interesting without tripping into "wacky" territory. Yet it's Morgenstern's descriptions of the circus that make it almost tangible. Some prose just feels like it's a handful of iambs away from bursting into poetry, and The Night Circus is filled with exactly that sort of descriptive power.

A big part of Le Cirque des Rêves charm (both in- and out-of universe) is that it uses real magic disguised as fake magic. The plot (because plots are always fashionable in a novel, however excellent the setting and prose) revolves around a contest between two magicians, Celia and Marco, who keep adding tents and attractions to the circus, partially to outdo their rival but mostly to impress/seduce them. Although both are capable of impossible Potter-type spells, stuff involving illusions and telekinesis, they keep their circus attractions at a level that seems possible to the Muggles. Highlights include: a bonfire that changes colour as more flames are added to it, a garden made of ice that never melts, and mirrors whose reflections can add things that are not there or remove things that are. People turning into cats or travelling through time are obviously pure fantasy, but this stuff is just subtle enough to seem possible. I consider this approach the fantasy equivalent of hard science fiction. I don't know if I'd say it's better than more outright magical fantasy, but I certainly think it has its charm, because the awe isn't as diluted by skepticism.