Ok, some Crowley I love and some Crowley...not so much. Unfortunately this one, the book that most consider his masterpiece, falls into the latter category for me. As always Crowley's mastery of prose is readily apparent, but you know what? This is a pretty dull book. Granted the kind of long, ambling family history that Crowley is writing here is rarely full of slap-bang action, but the pace here is often glacial and while there are, as always, sparkling moments studded throughout the book I just kept waiting for _something to happen_! I plan to re-read this, hopefully sometime soon, to see if time has changed my opinion of _Little, Big_ since it's been quite a few years since I read it, but I have to admit that given the size of the tome, and the number of other books on my to-read list, I sometimes cringe at the thought.