And Go Like This collects nine works of Crowley’s shorter fiction that were originally published between 2002 and 2018, plus the final story “Anosognosia” — when a person cannot recognize that they have a disability because of an underlying condition — which was published for the first time in this volume. They range in length from one page (“In the Tom Mix Museum”) to about 60 (“The Girlhood of Shakespeare’s Heroines” and the three parts of “Mount Auburn Street”). They range in genre from fantasy tinged by myth and history (“Flint and Mirror”) to science fiction (“And Go Like This,” “Spring Break” and “Conversation Hearts”) to ostensibly mundane (“Mount Auburn Street” again) to stories that, looking back, I have a hard time fitting into a category (“The Girlhood of Shakespeare’s Heroines” and “This Is Our Town”).
Crowley’s writing is never less than congenial, and he conjures scenes with apparent ease, whether they are the mid-century America of “Mount Auburn Street” or the allegorical aliens of “Conversation Hearts” or the nearish future dystopia of “Spring Break.” Some of the stories, like the title tale, have twist endings; others have more ambiguous stoppings, trailing off almost mid-incident and letting readers decide what happens next. If there’s a common aspect, it’s a slight stand-offisheness, an authorial distance from the events of the stories. Some writers are direct and visceral; Crowley is not one of them, at least not here.
I find that he’s difficult for me to write about because on the one hand there’s so much to say, and on the other his diffidence is slightly contagious: here is the work, take it or leave it. I’ve been reading Crowley for more than 40 years, but always steadily, never at a fever pitch. He’s best known for his fourth novel, Little, Big, and it’s a vast and engrossing work, a multi-generational saga that consorts with the ineffable and also has me quite believing that some of the characters can converse with a trout. I’m re-reading it now, slowly, with the turn of the seasons as my measure of time, and I cannot say how many times I have read it since I first picked up the Bantam edition from 1983. Then I went back and read his first three — The Deep, Beasts, and Engine Summer — and liked them all, especially for their very different atmospheres. I also thought that I could feel in those three how he was writing Little, Big all along.