There Is A World Inside the World

So way back when I wrote a post or two about the type of fantasy that might appeal to non-fantasy fans. The type of novel that is not about swords and knights and magicians and orcs but is rooted in literature as much or more than in Tolkien (not that there's anything wrong with that). Whatever I said before, ignore it. This is that book.

John Crowley's Little, Big (Originally and alternately titled the more telling Fairies Parliament) follows, in non-chronological order, four generations of the Bramble-Drinkwater family. They all live (with a few exceptions) in a house in upstate New York with that was designed to be many houses in one. They are related to all of their neighbors, whose surnames are (telling) things like Flood, Juniper, Mouse, Cloud, etc. They have a set of special tarot cards that has been passed down from generation to generation, that tells of their role in the "Tale" (always capitalized), a story that is both their story and the entire worlds. And they may or may not have access to the world of the fairies, a world inside of our own (making it smaller) that is also infinitely larger than our own (and may or may not exist). Meanwhile, they are architects and teachers and farmers and drug addicts and soap opera writers. They fall in love and have children and are turned into trout. And they are unknowing frontline participants in the brewing war between Faery and Human. I think.

The magic is present throughout the novel but is an undercurrent, an afterthought, the kind of magic more often found in Rushdie or Marquez novels than in Rowling or Jordan. This book, actually, may best embody the actual definition of Magical Realism, in that it is excellent examples of both. Crowley's style is highly literary, with roots in classics and poetry (every chapter is starts with an epigram, often from Shakespeare or Ovid or Aristotle, and is told in many short, named sections). The magic of reading this book unfolds slowly over time, and it has little hidden treasures (like tracking which words are always capitalized, no matter their use, words like Somewhere and Tale and There) and trying to keep track of the sprawling family (a task that recalls both great fantasy epics and Marquez's 100 Years of Solitude). The book bears a jacket quote from Harold Bloom, but is shelved with other speculative fiction (presumably. I actually couldn't find it at Barnes and Nobel, and I first heard about it via a believer interview with Crowley, which dealt largely with publishers inability or ineptitude at classifying and marketing his books). The point is I recommend it very highly for magic lovers, romantics, and all high level readers in general. Don't let the fantasy part fool you. Please.