If Little, Big is supposed to be his absolute masterpiece then I'm really looking forward to reading it (it's next on my list) because this book was one of the most lyrical and poignant books I've ever read. Crowley is one of the most poetic writers to grace the SF/fantasy genres, the only comparsions that come even close are Tim Powers, Michael Moorcock and Samuel R Delany and even then they're nothing like Crowley. This book here is his major contribution to the SF canon, but because of its out of print status (my edition was printed in the early eighties, how long ago did it go out? and why?) it's mostly stayed relegated to cult novel catagories, leaving people like me and others to sing its praises and get his name out there. But about the book. A riff on the theme of post-war America, this is completely unlike any of the books I've ever read on the topic. It's not surprising plot wise (in fact the plot is rather straightforward, progressing from point A to point B quite easily) and the idea of people growing up in the shadow of the end of the war, it having happened so long ago that nobody can even remember the old days, surrounded by pieces of machinery created by the old civilization (the angels) and just basically living. But I don't know, because of the way he writes, the entire novel is given this pastoral feel, like it takes place in an endless summer, I can vividly picture Rush That Speaks and his people frolicking in the lost land not even knowing what it all used to be. It gives it this dreamlike quality and sometimes the action borders on the surreal, but it's always gentle and lyrical. Simply put this is one of those books that has to be read, and slowly, to let the images develop in your head and lounge around there for a bit. And the ending is one of the best and most satisfying that I've seen in a long time and a little sad at the same time. Enough with the plaudits, this is one of the most distinctive SF books ever written and more than deserves everyone's attention.