John Crowley writes with the elegance and complexity of Dostoevsky or Dickens, the whimsy and imagineering of Tolkien, but neither the dry, stiffness of the former or the sometimes overwrought stickiness of the other. I finished the whirlwind of an ending a few hours ago. I gave it the good old "college try" and, some two months later, am exhausted, but replete. My dear mother happened randomly upon an omnibus copy of Crowley's at her workplace and decided to give it to me, entirely unaware that I was even interested in him. (I've been interested in John Crowley for a few months after hearing a glowing recommendation on this very sub for his 2017 novel, Ka: Dar Oakley in the Ruin of Ymr. Most of all, it is the story of Smoky Barnable. It is a story about a family saga, a story about the architecture of country houses, a story about fairies and magic and resurrected emperors - but at its heart it is a story about a house, Edgewood, and the family that lives there. It is perhaps best described as “contemporary magical realism", but seems to defy all expectations of the genre with which we are familiar.
Little, Big is a fantasy novel by John Crowley published in 1981.
“In winter,” Grandfather Trout said, “summer is a myth. " Love is a myth,” Grandfather Trout said.
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