(no subject)

[proximoception]

I feel like talking about Endless Things but there's no one to do it with, downside of jumping the gun. I want to at least say it was no disappointment, in terms of awesomeness or in terms of how you'd have broadly expected it to go--though it's surprises all through, inspired ones, especially toward the end. My fears about the novel's having maybe broken from its own origins sometime in Love and Sleep are half-assuaged: some things are reconciled with Solitudes, but mostly he completes and strengthens his Daemonomania vision to the point where you're about ready to accept it as the logical place for that earlier one to have gone, whether it knew where it was headed or not. I regret not having time or patience to reread the other volumes first, though few books have burnt themselves into my memory so completely. This last one has some pointed comments about the whole, and Little, Big as well--which it also reclaims some of the voice and manner of, more and more as it goes, and for which Aegypt has felt to me, increasingly since late-L&S, like a "Making Of" volume as much as it's anything else--: Crowley does not feel very well understood. And I see his point, not even Clute and Hand and his other friends seem to quite get him most of the time, much less the leading magazines and papers. He usually doesn't directly explain here either, but he nudges.

(Reminds me of David Lynch's list of clues for Mulholland Drive, which are actually quite good except I think one of them--can't remember if it was the ashtray?--which I'm clueless about; you want to lead people through mysteries, not into them.)

I'll have to reread Little, Big soon. I can now concede that it is slightly more wonderful. Well, probably.