Harold Bloom calls it the best book of the entire last century. That’s a little singular for me, but this is the only book i’ve read twice and plan to read again. it’s completely consuming on every level: literary, cognitive, imaginary, spiritual, historical, philosophical, theoretical and practical. It’s got a great plot that reverberates all on it’s own, but you can’t help but hear the echoes of language (how crowley uses it, how it’s used in literature and through time), meaning (for those interested in pre-christian religion), history, structure. it’s impossible to describe because the book is a hall of mirrors, just like the fantastical house at the center of the story, and through the quantum notions of reality—all is paradox, all is little and big at once. the characters are archetypal, so some are a little stereotypical, but the notions and the fantasy are addicting. crowley’s imagery is overwhelming while the ideas are astonishing. i’m making it sound terrible because “little, big” is like a transcendent experience: it’s much more fun being in it than listening to someone describe it. I pray that no one makes it into a movie because it’s already playing in my life.