Becoming a fan of John Crowley very quickly after reading The Deep has led me to pursue the rest of his major works, and with Little, Big and Beasts also under my belt, Engine Summer is now my fourth. While I still clearly think that Little, Big is Crowley’s masterpiece, and I’m inclined to prefer the strangeness of The Deep, Engine Summer might be his most lyrical and dreamlike work I’ve read thus far, which aren’t words I’d usually associate with something at least vaguely belonging to the Post-Apocalyptic genre.

Engine Summer is hard to condense— it’s post-apocalypse in the sense that it takes place in the remains of Earth’s (possibly) distant future, but what the cause of this is, is never certain. The major difference between this and other Post-Apoc works however is that it doesn’t seek to answer the question of “where we went wrong”, feeling neither shame nor nostalgia of our past. Pockets of communities pop up in the remains, each with their own specialities, eccentricities and cultures, but with the very subtle influence of humanity’s long-gone techno-driven societies— almost like a longstanding game of “telephone” where the future simply cannot comprehend its own history. Even the title is a play on words, obfuscating the term “Indian Summer”.

As with Crowley’s other works, it’s beautifully written, perhaps his most poetic, serene, idyllic… but there’s a lack of momentum and of typical plot conventions that might deter readers from getting too far into it, as it’s certainly allusive and almost aimless, borderline experimental. However, there’s plenty of moments that are incredibly and boldly creative and the characters, despite their removal from modern understandability, are relatable and genuine— a testament to Crowley’s skill as a writer.

Kind of cliché thing to say, but there’s nothing quite like this book and it being cemented as a cult classic is very understandable.