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Moonchild
Aleister Crowley, a prolific writer, wrote only a few novels in his lifetime. Moonchild is his most famous. First published in 1917, Moonchild appeals to the new generation of readers who recognize Crowley as one of the most unique thinkers of his era. The book deals with the endless battle between the Forces of Light and the Forces of Darkness. A young girl is drawn into a magickal war between two men and is forced to choose between them. As the story unfolds, the reader is taken through an incredible series of magickal intrigues involving a Black Lodge.
Writing from his own experiences, Crowley describes the methods and theories of magickal practices, managing to persuade us that magick is a scientific reality - and that it works. Crowley's own personality reveals itsef in the characters of the Good Magickal Masters.
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First published January 1, 1917
About the author
Aleister Crowley
941 books1,956 followersAleister Crowley was an English occultist, ceremonial magician, poet, novelist, mountaineer, and painter. He founded the religion of Thelema, proclaiming himself as the prophet destined to guide humanity into the Æon of Horus in the early 20th century. A prolific writer, Crowley published extensively throughout his life.
Born Edward Alexander Crowley in Royal Leamington Spa, Warwickshire, he was raised in a wealthy family adhering to the fundamentalist Christian Plymouth Brethren faith. Crowley rejected his religious upbringing, developing an interest in Western esotericism. He attended Trinity College, Cambridge, focusing on mountaineering and poetry, and published several works during this period. In 1898, he joined the Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn, receiving training in ceremonial magic from Samuel Liddell MacGregor Mathers and Allan Bennett. His travels took him to Mexico for mountaineering with Oscar Eckenstein and to India, where he studied Hindu and Buddhist practices.
In 1904, during a honeymoon in Cairo with his wife Rose Edith Kelly, Crowley claimed to have received "The Book of the Law" from a supernatural entity named Aiwass. This text became the foundation of Thelema, announcing the onset of the Æon of Horus and introducing the central tenet: "Do what thou wilt." Crowley emphasized that individuals should align with their True Will through ceremonial magic.
After an unsuccessful expedition to Kanchenjunga in 1905 and further travels in India and China, Crowley returned to Britain. There, he co-founded the esoteric order A∴A∴ with George Cecil Jones in 1907 to promote Thelema. In 1912, he joined the Ordo Templi Orientis (O.T.O.), eventually leading its British branch and reformulating it according to Thelemic principles. Crowley spent World War I in the United States, engaging in painting and writing pro-German propaganda, which biographers later suggested was a cover for British intelligence activities.
In 1920, Crowley established the Abbey of Thelema, a religious commune in Cefalù, Sicily. His libertine lifestyle attracted negative attention from the British press, leading to his expulsion by the Italian government in 1923. He spent subsequent years in France, Germany, and England, continuing to promote Thelema until his death in 1947.
Crowley's notoriety stemmed from his recreational drug use, bisexuality, and criticism of societal norms. Despite controversy, he significantly influenced Western esotericism and the 1960s counterculture, and remains a central figure in Thelema.
Born Edward Alexander Crowley in Royal Leamington Spa, Warwickshire, he was raised in a wealthy family adhering to the fundamentalist Christian Plymouth Brethren faith. Crowley rejected his religious upbringing, developing an interest in Western esotericism. He attended Trinity College, Cambridge, focusing on mountaineering and poetry, and published several works during this period. In 1898, he joined the Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn, receiving training in ceremonial magic from Samuel Liddell MacGregor Mathers and Allan Bennett. His travels took him to Mexico for mountaineering with Oscar Eckenstein and to India, where he studied Hindu and Buddhist practices.
In 1904, during a honeymoon in Cairo with his wife Rose Edith Kelly, Crowley claimed to have received "The Book of the Law" from a supernatural entity named Aiwass. This text became the foundation of Thelema, announcing the onset of the Æon of Horus and introducing the central tenet: "Do what thou wilt." Crowley emphasized that individuals should align with their True Will through ceremonial magic.
After an unsuccessful expedition to Kanchenjunga in 1905 and further travels in India and China, Crowley returned to Britain. There, he co-founded the esoteric order A∴A∴ with George Cecil Jones in 1907 to promote Thelema. In 1912, he joined the Ordo Templi Orientis (O.T.O.), eventually leading its British branch and reformulating it according to Thelemic principles. Crowley spent World War I in the United States, engaging in painting and writing pro-German propaganda, which biographers later suggested was a cover for British intelligence activities.
In 1920, Crowley established the Abbey of Thelema, a religious commune in Cefalù, Sicily. His libertine lifestyle attracted negative attention from the British press, leading to his expulsion by the Italian government in 1923. He spent subsequent years in France, Germany, and England, continuing to promote Thelema until his death in 1947.
Crowley's notoriety stemmed from his recreational drug use, bisexuality, and criticism of societal norms. Despite controversy, he significantly influenced Western esotericism and the 1960s counterculture, and remains a central figure in Thelema.
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May 15, 2025This is a bad book on so many levels.
It's a technically bad book: the plot is stupid and not even carried through; the villains are pathetically ineffective; the characterisation takes inconsistency to new heights; worst, about a third of it is incredibly tiresome and frequently irrelevant conversations between characters who only exist so the author can ramble on about shit. Much of it is spectacularly boring. There are poems stretching over several pages: fuck off with that.
It's a morally bad book. The antagonists are mostly caricatures of people Crowley didn't like, but this goes well beyond spite. He depicts Yeats as a shambling villain, slags off his poetry, throws him from a high tower, and then desecrates his corpse, and Yeats gets off easy compared to Samuel Mathers. It's probably the most misogynist piece of work I've ever read, and I've read some shit: the hatred of women drips off the page. Crowley hates that women have thoughts, have independence, have sexual desires of their own, have children. Not just the villain but the hero deliberately and viciously punish women for the offence of loving them, because Love is the Law but men lay down the law. And the revelation of the 'real plan' is breathtaking in a bad way. Again, this is the heroes' plan.
And it's a bad book because it could have been better. The author can write when he can be bothered, has a moral sense he rarely troubles to use, has excellent insights but prefers lazy tripe. The way he threw away everything of value about himself is a fucking offence.
I did not embark on an Aleister Crowley novel expecting it to meet my 21st century feminist sensibilities (so if you're readying yourself to type that comment, please feel free to find something more interesting to do somewhere else), but I do actually now understand why people called him evil. Because this is bad to the bone. Yick.
It's a technically bad book: the plot is stupid and not even carried through; the villains are pathetically ineffective; the characterisation takes inconsistency to new heights; worst, about a third of it is incredibly tiresome and frequently irrelevant conversations between characters who only exist so the author can ramble on about shit. Much of it is spectacularly boring. There are poems stretching over several pages: fuck off with that.
It's a morally bad book. The antagonists are mostly caricatures of people Crowley didn't like, but this goes well beyond spite. He depicts Yeats as a shambling villain, slags off his poetry, throws him from a high tower, and then desecrates his corpse, and Yeats gets off easy compared to Samuel Mathers. It's probably the most misogynist piece of work I've ever read, and I've read some shit: the hatred of women drips off the page. Crowley hates that women have thoughts, have independence, have sexual desires of their own, have children. Not just the villain but the hero deliberately and viciously punish women for the offence of loving them, because Love is the Law but men lay down the law. And the revelation of the 'real plan' is breathtaking in a bad way. Again, this is the heroes' plan.
And it's a bad book because it could have been better. The author can write when he can be bothered, has a moral sense he rarely troubles to use, has excellent insights but prefers lazy tripe. The way he threw away everything of value about himself is a fucking offence.
I did not embark on an Aleister Crowley novel expecting it to meet my 21st century feminist sensibilities (so if you're readying yourself to type that comment, please feel free to find something more interesting to do somewhere else), but I do actually now understand why people called him evil. Because this is bad to the bone. Yick.
February 13, 2010
This book makes two things clear: one, that Crowley was an intensely brilliant man, a genius in fact; and two, that ordinary intellectual pursuits such as mathematics, literature, or science were not enough to satisfy him, and therefore he created fantastic justifications for the existence of supernatural phenomena.
This novel is a living-out of his desire to have accomplished magical feats, with Cyril taking the role of himself. It jumps back and forth, probably in equal amounts, between the "story" and practically bitter sermons concerning magick, psychology, science, etc. It's no wonder that people find it difficult to read. It is halfway between near-unfathomable wisdom and eruditic ejaculation, by turns ridiculous and deeply thought-provoking.
This book is very flawed, but it's also very unique, and, for me, illuminates the concept that we know absolutely nothing and that there are entire worlds and ways of being beyond our ken. I think reading this sort of thing is a good idea...shake up what you think you know, and strengthen your defenses against very eloquent bullshit.
This novel is a living-out of his desire to have accomplished magical feats, with Cyril taking the role of himself. It jumps back and forth, probably in equal amounts, between the "story" and practically bitter sermons concerning magick, psychology, science, etc. It's no wonder that people find it difficult to read. It is halfway between near-unfathomable wisdom and eruditic ejaculation, by turns ridiculous and deeply thought-provoking.
This book is very flawed, but it's also very unique, and, for me, illuminates the concept that we know absolutely nothing and that there are entire worlds and ways of being beyond our ken. I think reading this sort of thing is a good idea...shake up what you think you know, and strengthen your defenses against very eloquent bullshit.
August 7, 2026
This is an extremely silly book which you don't need to read. It opens with perhaps the most unprepossessing first line I've encountered in twentieth-century fiction:
Brilliant. But even before that Crowley manages to annoy, by the breezy self-aggrandisement of an Author's Note appended to the front. It begins:
In fact, Crowley spent the war working for a pro-German magazine in the US – though it may be true that he was doing so as a kind of double-agent. Biographers think he could have been tapped by the British secret service; he sailed to America on the Lusitania, and the theory is that he may have played a part in later convincing the Kaiser to sink it.
In any case, it's a ludicrous way to talk about yourself, but that's just the start. The novel itself contains a striking self-insert in the shape of the dashing Cyril Grey – a brilliant, sexually magnetic magician who shuns society's conventions and with whom the heroine falls madly in love. Moonchild often feels like a roman à clef, with the villains, especially, representing caricatures of Crowley's enemies in real life: Edwin Arthwait, the pompous, bumbling black magician, is clearly a portrait of Arthur Edward Waite, the tarot expert and Crowley's occult rival; and then the Irish poet Gates, who meets a sticky end here, must be a version of Yeats, with whom Crowley clashed in the Order of the Hermetic Dawn. Perhaps Crowley wanted some revenge after being caricatured so rudely himself in Somerset Maugham's The Magician.
The plot is fairly nonsensical, whisking us from London to Paris to Naples, where a mystical ceremony is designed in order for the heroine to become pregnant with Cyril Grey's magical baby. Along the way, Crowley reels off a lot of his occult theories about how magic – sorry, magick – is simply a science like any other, and there are many unlearned digressions on the supposed contingency of physics and chemistry to this effect.
Occasionally, the war intrudes in ways that clash extraordinarily with the fantastic plot. Discussing the desirability for magical ceremonies of a location where many people have died, he adds: ‘There should be some very desirable spots in the vicinity of Verdun for black magicians who happen to flourish after the vulgar year of 1917.’ In what bad taste must this have seemed when the book first came out in the 1920s!?
What he's going for is a kind of cynical black humour; and actually I'd be lying if I said his tone and wit didn't often win me over. Much of this book is told with the verve of a good after-dinner story, he has a neat line in running sarcasm, and, to my surprise, once we accept that he's the hero here, he doesn't actually take himself too seriously. Although I find Crowley ridiculous, I would have loved to have him as a dinner companion. I bet he was great company. You get the impression of a clever man who simply needs more space than the factual world allows in which to play.
This book, however, does not make the case for him as a novelist, despite the occasional nice flourish:
Good line. But probably not something you want to be reminding people of in a book like this.
London, in England, the capital city of the British Empire, is situated upon the banks of the Thames.
Brilliant. But even before that Crowley manages to annoy, by the breezy self-aggrandisement of an Author's Note appended to the front. It begins:
This book was written in 1917, during such leisure as my efforts to bring America into the War on our side allowed me.
In fact, Crowley spent the war working for a pro-German magazine in the US – though it may be true that he was doing so as a kind of double-agent. Biographers think he could have been tapped by the British secret service; he sailed to America on the Lusitania, and the theory is that he may have played a part in later convincing the Kaiser to sink it.
In any case, it's a ludicrous way to talk about yourself, but that's just the start. The novel itself contains a striking self-insert in the shape of the dashing Cyril Grey – a brilliant, sexually magnetic magician who shuns society's conventions and with whom the heroine falls madly in love. Moonchild often feels like a roman à clef, with the villains, especially, representing caricatures of Crowley's enemies in real life: Edwin Arthwait, the pompous, bumbling black magician, is clearly a portrait of Arthur Edward Waite, the tarot expert and Crowley's occult rival; and then the Irish poet Gates, who meets a sticky end here, must be a version of Yeats, with whom Crowley clashed in the Order of the Hermetic Dawn. Perhaps Crowley wanted some revenge after being caricatured so rudely himself in Somerset Maugham's The Magician.
The plot is fairly nonsensical, whisking us from London to Paris to Naples, where a mystical ceremony is designed in order for the heroine to become pregnant with Cyril Grey's magical baby. Along the way, Crowley reels off a lot of his occult theories about how magic – sorry, magick – is simply a science like any other, and there are many unlearned digressions on the supposed contingency of physics and chemistry to this effect.
Occasionally, the war intrudes in ways that clash extraordinarily with the fantastic plot. Discussing the desirability for magical ceremonies of a location where many people have died, he adds: ‘There should be some very desirable spots in the vicinity of Verdun for black magicians who happen to flourish after the vulgar year of 1917.’ In what bad taste must this have seemed when the book first came out in the 1920s!?
What he's going for is a kind of cynical black humour; and actually I'd be lying if I said his tone and wit didn't often win me over. Much of this book is told with the verve of a good after-dinner story, he has a neat line in running sarcasm, and, to my surprise, once we accept that he's the hero here, he doesn't actually take himself too seriously. Although I find Crowley ridiculous, I would have loved to have him as a dinner companion. I bet he was great company. You get the impression of a clever man who simply needs more space than the factual world allows in which to play.
This book, however, does not make the case for him as a novelist, despite the occasional nice flourish:
To be asked to keep the attention unceasingly on things of not the slightest intrinsic interest or importance is absolutely maddening for anyone above the mental level of a limpet.
Good line. But probably not something you want to be reminding people of in a book like this.
December 18, 2012
Well. Its a whole lot of Crowley. Crowley the showman, crowley the charmer and.. of course, Crowley the narcissist. Its charming, old-fashioned, florid, descriptive prose, the kind they don't do anymore. He gets away with long, meandering, philosophical digressions that you just can't get away with in the terse, efficient world of the 21st Century. Of course, he also spends a fair bit of time telling us, more than showing, although he also does a fair bit of that as well, how his own personal 'Marty Stu' Cyril Gray is just sooooo much better than everyone. He even has his other stand-in, Simon Iff, his detective character, fawn over Cyril/Aleister a bit. Also, talking up his Thelema. His contempt for women as actual people is pretty close to the surface as well, but I don't know if I man of the teens/twenties can actually be blamed for that. That was how society saw them as well.
Judged as a standard novel, its a bit poor, the prose is good but the plotting is thin to inconsistent and the characters are broadly-drawn cartoons. His strong points are the sweeping, lush descriptions of things and the believers' care with which he really gives his magickal rituals and encounters, which really do give the impression of the dream-like and otherworldly.
Judged as a standard novel, its a bit poor, the prose is good but the plotting is thin to inconsistent and the characters are broadly-drawn cartoons. His strong points are the sweeping, lush descriptions of things and the believers' care with which he really gives his magickal rituals and encounters, which really do give the impression of the dream-like and otherworldly.
June 26, 2017
I do not know a man more in love with himself than Aleister Crowley. Putting a self insert into a book is egotistic enough, but Crowley felt he needed two. One of them is an idealised Mary Sue, strong, charming, intelligent, ten steps ahead of his opponents. The other one is even better. And not even tangentially related to the plot. Oh yes, there's a plot in this book, about a gang of magicians trying to give birth to a Moonchild, except at the end they're not, but the book is not really about that. It's about how Crowley trumps his enemies, surpasses all opposition, and single handedly wins WW1. In between this we are treated to dialogues about spiritual and social philosophy that will draw a "whoah" from a 15 year old pothead and no one else.
As far as redeeming features ago, Crowley writes with humour which, while mostly overdone, is occasionally spot on.
As far as redeeming features ago, Crowley writes with humour which, while mostly overdone, is occasionally spot on.
April 2, 2008
A novel by the Great Beast himself, the “wickedest man in the world”. I’m told it helps a great deal if you have some familiarity with Crowley’s magical system (about which I confess I know very little), but Moonchild is still surprisingly entertaining. It tells the story of a magical operation to secure the influence of the moon on the birth of a child who is to become a great redeemer and spiritual being. The white magicians trying to bring this about find themselves in conflict with black magicians. Crowley’s prose is witty and wickedly satirical. Most of the characters are portraits (and generally very unflattering ones) of prominent people involved in the occult in the early part of the 20th century, including the poet W. B. Yeats. The novel was in fact written as an attempt by Crowley to disseminate his magical theories to a wider audience. It was written in 1917 but not published until 1929. For those who are interested in Crowley (who was certainly an extraordinary character), or the history of magic in modern times, it’s essential reading.
January 4, 2010
This guy is such an asshole. It's an interesting novel, but I want to strangle the author.
November 18, 2010
I read this book many, many years ago and thought it was a fair book back then. But upon rereading it recently I have found that there is just so much more to the book than my first reading. Of course I have had over the last couple decades been able to read much more about Crowley and his exploits and the Golden Dawn and its people who were in it and I would highly recommend reading a great deal more about all of these folks before reading Moonchild. Having done that the book definitely becomes more enlightening and explains Crowley's attitude to its members which are played out in this book. I mean this book had me in falling out of the chair when he started in on Arthwaite because I could readily agree with him in his thoughts after reading Arthur Waite's books. And his depiction of Mathers is just as funny. A good read, just do the prep and you will enjoy it more.
May 4, 2012
The book is well-written and engaging. I learned a lot in this book and the premise is very interesting. I think writing a novel to preach and teach some very good concepts and beliefs is a good way to let people know. This book reminds me of Sophie's World.
August 27, 2022
Абсолютна дурня. Здається, ніколи ще не було так шкода часу, витраченого на книгу.
January 4, 2008
i think i liked this book a lot though i was in a different head and heart space then so can't retrospectively give an accurate review.
the time of life was very spiritual and occultly and synchronistic.
this book reminds me of 2 things:
1. brea gable - my good friend in college my first year. she was an exchange student from new mexico. she was an angel and into crowley.
2. moonchild was the name of the childlike empress in the neverending story, which i never realized till i read this book.
3. ... not telling, but moon child hit me hard.
4. iris deanda - i love you still. since i know how to find you i declare:: let's find brea. BREA GABLE where oh where can you be???/
another book i'd like to read again.... someday
the time of life was very spiritual and occultly and synchronistic.
this book reminds me of 2 things:
1. brea gable - my good friend in college my first year. she was an exchange student from new mexico. she was an angel and into crowley.
2. moonchild was the name of the childlike empress in the neverending story, which i never realized till i read this book.
3. ... not telling, but moon child hit me hard.
4. iris deanda - i love you still. since i know how to find you i declare:: let's find brea. BREA GABLE where oh where can you be???/
another book i'd like to read again.... someday
October 8, 2023
An interesting look into the mind of Crowley. A strange story that ebbs and flows and seems untethered as it floats into the clouds. Interesting thoughts and theories are woven throughout the narrative but the main story of the book seems all for naught.
I felt like I went on a reading journery where I experienced missing time, floating through reality and transitioning into liminal spaces, and that overall none of it really mattered. I don't know how to explain this book, it was weird and out there.
I felt like I went on a reading journery where I experienced missing time, floating through reality and transitioning into liminal spaces, and that overall none of it really mattered. I don't know how to explain this book, it was weird and out there.
November 21, 2023
Кроулі як Арестович!
April 17, 2014
The misogyny was too great, I abandoned it, very unusual for me.
September 20, 2022
I would have three starred this if it didn’t put me in strange and horrible moods every time I put it down
November 7, 2012
This is self-indulgent nonsense. But it is Crowley, so I am being redundant, there. In the characters of Cyril Grey and Simon Iff, Crowley has pulled off the feat of writing a self-insert fanfic in which there are not one, but two self-insert characters. Which character is Crowley more in love with, the hot-blooded badass, or the introspective, wise old guru? The cringiest bits are when the two Crowley-types are sitting around singing the praises of one another. It's a literary autoerotic orgy of one.
It's not like putting multiple versions of yourself in a work is necessarily bad. Oscar Wilde used the technique to great effect in Picture of Dorian Grey, in the form of Basil, Dorian, and Lord Henry. But each of those three characters were FLAWED, whereas the two Crowleys in Moonchild are both made entirely of awesome, with the younger one's only flaw his youth. Just laughable. But so rarely funny.
I am giving it a second star because of some well-polished turns of phrase. "But Paris was no longer the Paris of her dreams, the Paris of idleness and luxury, where good Americans go when they die..."
But man, the ending... It was 20,000 Leagues-bad! I don't know if this is a spoiler or not, but people who haven't read the book need to know that the ending is nihilistic, pointless, manipulative, and silly. The plot is abandoned almost completely. Like, the way Monty Python and the Holy Grail abandoned its plot. But once again, not nearly as funny. I won't tell you what happens in the last 2 chapters, except to say that while it TECHNICALLY wraps up the storyline, anyone who has come to care AT ALL about the main character will be disappointed and annoyed. And what's the point of a novel that punishes you for caring about the main character? (As annoying and one-dimensionally as she was written, maybe we weren't supposed to... Maybe that was the long con.)
I am a lifelong fan of Alan Moore, and so, I have given Crowley a chance, but I'm done.
It's not like putting multiple versions of yourself in a work is necessarily bad. Oscar Wilde used the technique to great effect in Picture of Dorian Grey, in the form of Basil, Dorian, and Lord Henry. But each of those three characters were FLAWED, whereas the two Crowleys in Moonchild are both made entirely of awesome, with the younger one's only flaw his youth. Just laughable. But so rarely funny.
I am giving it a second star because of some well-polished turns of phrase. "But Paris was no longer the Paris of her dreams, the Paris of idleness and luxury, where good Americans go when they die..."
But man, the ending... It was 20,000 Leagues-bad! I don't know if this is a spoiler or not, but people who haven't read the book need to know that the ending is nihilistic, pointless, manipulative, and silly. The plot is abandoned almost completely. Like, the way Monty Python and the Holy Grail abandoned its plot. But once again, not nearly as funny. I won't tell you what happens in the last 2 chapters, except to say that while it TECHNICALLY wraps up the storyline, anyone who has come to care AT ALL about the main character will be disappointed and annoyed. And what's the point of a novel that punishes you for caring about the main character? (As annoying and one-dimensionally as she was written, maybe we weren't supposed to... Maybe that was the long con.)
I am a lifelong fan of Alan Moore, and so, I have given Crowley a chance, but I'm done.
August 21, 2016
Sharp, witty and satirical take on the world of feuding magicians in the age of the Golden Dawn, as thinly-disguised versions of Crowley's friends and foes battle it out at the start of the 20th century. Bonus star for his cynical, perceptive wit, and another for the completely unexpected direction taken by the plot.
Whatever you might think about Crowley, who was clearly a master manipulator of the media, he wears his heart on this sleeve and he can clearly write far better than you might expect. Essential reading for anyone interested in the milieu.
Whatever you might think about Crowley, who was clearly a master manipulator of the media, he wears his heart on this sleeve and he can clearly write far better than you might expect. Essential reading for anyone interested in the milieu.
November 15, 2011
If it has one star I liked it a lot
If it has two stars I liked it a lot and would recommend it
If it has three stars I really really liked it a lot
If it has four stars I insist you read it
If it has five stars it was life changing
If it has two stars I liked it a lot and would recommend it
If it has three stars I really really liked it a lot
If it has four stars I insist you read it
If it has five stars it was life changing
May 23, 2016
The whole reason I read this book is because the word "moonchild" literally popped into my head the other day and I wondered if it could be the title of a book. And turns out it is! What's weirder, this is the type of stuff I really enjoy but have a hard time to find! I love the cover, too, by the way. What an amazing cover.
When I first started reading it and saw the first chapter is called "A Chinese God" I thought, this is not what I was expecting at all. And I continued questioning this all the way to one-third of the book. The beginning was pretty corny (so was the language, actually, but it got good) and the plot was pretty trite at first. But I'm glad that I kept reading. By 40% of the book it's exactly what I expected. But it's weird to me how the author started talking about WWI mumbo jumbo by the end of it, maybe he wants to surprise us and add another layer to the story to enrich it, but it doesn't work if you ask me. The book is better off without the politics bullshit.
Now, I have enjoyed this book, and what I love the most about it is the prose. Thoughtful prose is hard to come by when it comes to modern authors, and I have to applaud for the effort. It is clear that Crowley likes big concepts and sophistication, two things not only unique to some authors but also to almost all occultists, as I later found out. This is definitely the most cultish book I have ever read, and it's written by someone who founded a religion! But "Do what thou wilt shall be the whole of the Law"- isn't that Satanism?
Anyways, I'm rambling. This is a really good book minus the chaotic ending, and I'm thinking it can probably benefit from the absence of some other things as well. But this would mean shaking the foundation of the book, and the author's religion. What I find these cults have in common, right, is that they are trying very hard to be cosmic. That explains a lot of things: why they are always trying to involve everything- the crazy symbolisms, the numerous references to mythological creatures, culture appropriation, and worst of all- science, I mean, astrophysics, chemistry, maths, all of it! Mr. Crowley tried so hard to show that he's a learned man and the philosophy of his religion affect man and god and the past and the future, but shit's bound to backfire when you don't know what you are saying.
The author spent a great deal talking about the dimensions but he couldn't go beyond the fourth. And he claimed the fourth dimension is the soul. I mean, he was pretty serious and trying to explain it in a matter-of-fact, scientific way and the book is full of him injecting spirituality into everywhere it doesn't belong. Like every cult ever.
Then there was something like this:
"Let me ask you, in the first place, what is the most serious thing in the world."
"Religion."
"Exactly. Now, what is religion? The consummation of the soul by itself in divine ecstasy. What is life but love, and what is love but laughter?"
This non sequitur logic is exemplary!
Then he went on saying that "electrons are quite as elusive as ghosts". I mean, I get that electrons must be pretty rad 100 years ago and it's pretty rad to use it in your book explaining your high concept, but this goes to show that you should really have a good understanding of the material.
So these are the things that bothered me and I feel justified to give it a 4. But I'm almost cherrypicking here. You can't take cults too seriously. This is still a good book.
When I first started reading it and saw the first chapter is called "A Chinese God" I thought, this is not what I was expecting at all. And I continued questioning this all the way to one-third of the book. The beginning was pretty corny (so was the language, actually, but it got good) and the plot was pretty trite at first. But I'm glad that I kept reading. By 40% of the book it's exactly what I expected. But it's weird to me how the author started talking about WWI mumbo jumbo by the end of it, maybe he wants to surprise us and add another layer to the story to enrich it, but it doesn't work if you ask me. The book is better off without the politics bullshit.
Now, I have enjoyed this book, and what I love the most about it is the prose. Thoughtful prose is hard to come by when it comes to modern authors, and I have to applaud for the effort. It is clear that Crowley likes big concepts and sophistication, two things not only unique to some authors but also to almost all occultists, as I later found out. This is definitely the most cultish book I have ever read, and it's written by someone who founded a religion! But "Do what thou wilt shall be the whole of the Law"- isn't that Satanism?
Anyways, I'm rambling. This is a really good book minus the chaotic ending, and I'm thinking it can probably benefit from the absence of some other things as well. But this would mean shaking the foundation of the book, and the author's religion. What I find these cults have in common, right, is that they are trying very hard to be cosmic. That explains a lot of things: why they are always trying to involve everything- the crazy symbolisms, the numerous references to mythological creatures, culture appropriation, and worst of all- science, I mean, astrophysics, chemistry, maths, all of it! Mr. Crowley tried so hard to show that he's a learned man and the philosophy of his religion affect man and god and the past and the future, but shit's bound to backfire when you don't know what you are saying.
The author spent a great deal talking about the dimensions but he couldn't go beyond the fourth. And he claimed the fourth dimension is the soul. I mean, he was pretty serious and trying to explain it in a matter-of-fact, scientific way and the book is full of him injecting spirituality into everywhere it doesn't belong. Like every cult ever.
Then there was something like this:
"Let me ask you, in the first place, what is the most serious thing in the world."
"Religion."
"Exactly. Now, what is religion? The consummation of the soul by itself in divine ecstasy. What is life but love, and what is love but laughter?"
This non sequitur logic is exemplary!
Then he went on saying that "electrons are quite as elusive as ghosts". I mean, I get that electrons must be pretty rad 100 years ago and it's pretty rad to use it in your book explaining your high concept, but this goes to show that you should really have a good understanding of the material.
So these are the things that bothered me and I feel justified to give it a 4. But I'm almost cherrypicking here. You can't take cults too seriously. This is still a good book.
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May 17, 2024Я намагалась. Бачать боги, я намагалась.
Спочатку я намагалась читати.
Потім я намагалась хоч гортати.
Сьогодні я здалась, бо я заїбалась страждати об цю книгу.
Це просто гімн...не сексизму навіть. Для сексистів цього століття жінка - людина другого сорту. Для кроулі жінка навіть не людина. Можливо інколи вона - мистецтво. Можливо, інструмент для бунту. Частіше - це така спеціальна викрутка, яка підкручує чоловіче его.
Мені було гидко.
Гидкіше мені було від того, з яким пафосом і напищеним лінгвістичним фльором це все написане.
Я не посилила.
Ця книга може бути скільки завгодно разів в значним доробком темної прози, філософської викладки і майстерності слова, але для мене навіть переклад Ліра не зміг її врятувати.
Я не знаю, чим вона закінчилась. Я не можу і не хочу знати.
При цьому я знаю, що для деяких читачів книга відкрила глибинні сакральні сенси, таїнства спіритичних практик та закуточки філософії, і ті читачі насолодились. І це є нормально.
Але це не моя книга точно ніяк і ніде.
Спочатку я намагалась читати.
Потім я намагалась хоч гортати.
Сьогодні я здалась, бо я заїбалась страждати об цю книгу.
Це просто гімн...не сексизму навіть. Для сексистів цього століття жінка - людина другого сорту. Для кроулі жінка навіть не людина. Можливо інколи вона - мистецтво. Можливо, інструмент для бунту. Частіше - це така спеціальна викрутка, яка підкручує чоловіче его.
Мені було гидко.
Гидкіше мені було від того, з яким пафосом і напищеним лінгвістичним фльором це все написане.
Я не посилила.
Ця книга може бути скільки завгодно разів в значним доробком темної прози, філософської викладки і майстерності слова, але для мене навіть переклад Ліра не зміг її врятувати.
Я не знаю, чим вона закінчилась. Я не можу і не хочу знати.
При цьому я знаю, що для деяких читачів книга відкрила глибинні сакральні сенси, таїнства спіритичних практик та закуточки філософії, і ті читачі насолодились. І це є нормально.
Але це не моя книга точно ніяк і ніде.
July 12, 2022
It’s a very strange book. Most of it describes some fun facts about English occult society and magic wars at the beginning of 20th century. But then, in a blink of an eye at the very end it shots a short story about how magicians affected WWI. The main plot about Moonchild is finished anticlimacticly. Feels like Crowley got bored writing it (just like me reading it, I was struggling to finally finish it). Well, the book is flawed but some moments might be enjoyable. Also it’s ok if you are into Crowley or magic.
November 30, 2021
"Magic" is nothing more than the force field of Crowley's narcissism.
October 29, 2025
Добре вплетені в сюжет роздуми про світогляд автора. Але його погляди на людину як носія Волі, явно не поширюються самим автором на жінок
January 6, 2026
Tries extremely hard to be overly esoteric, and succeeds. Only read this to knock off my Iron Maiden song- inspired books. Their banger is better. Mr. Crowley certainly touched and influenced some lives, from Ozzy, the Beatles and the Stones, that US political dynasty the Bush family (with salacious rumours), and Leila Waddell to name but droplets in the cauldron. I don’t think this reading experience improved my life any.
April 23, 2020
I’ll be honest: this is one of those books which I can’t help but enjoy despite its many (many…) obvious flaws: the characters are flat and one-dimensional (especially the main protagonist Lisa), the plot is surprisingly thin for a story about a war between two rivalling schools of occultist magicians which , and Crowley’s writing style is frivolous and bombastic, almost to the point of self-parody, and contains numerous out-dated historical references and allusions which I assume must have made sense at the time, but which are largely lost on a modern audience. Furthermore, as if all of that wasn’t enough, Crowley apparently felt the need to include not just one, but two blatant self-insert characters (namely Cyril Grey and Simon Iff, both fairly obvious examples of a so-called “Mary Sue”) who are prone to just randomly go off on a monologue about some obscure aspect of occultism or “Magick”. I could go on (I haven’t even brought up the various instances of Crowley’s casual misogyny and chauvinism, for instance), but I think I’ve made my point. And yet, having read this book, I can’t help but reach one major conclusion: that Crowley had an incredible talent for language. Like I said: his writing style is almost laughably ornate, and I think even at the time of the novel’s writing it must have felt more than a little archaic. However, it's also witty, Romantic (with a capital "R"), and if, like me, you’re somewhat of an afficionado of flowery Victorian English, it has a certain beauty to it: there are several passages in the book which, in my opinion at least, rank among the most eloquently written paragraphs of the period. I'm not entirely certain "Victorian" is the best way to describe Crowley's style though, given the fact that he was writing more than a decade after the "official" end of the Victorian era, but his writing definitely has a very "faux-Victorian" feel to it: it's as though he has taken all of the frivolities and extravagances of Victorian English, and turned them up to eleven. Moreover, I’m not sure if Crowley intended for Moonchild to be received as a work of comedy, but I do get the sense he wasn’t taking himself too seriously while writing his novel: there were multiple instances when, during reading, I laughed out loud; not just chuckles, mind you: actual bursts of laughter. Only a very select number of books have ever been able to accomplish such a feat, and as a rule, I tend to give those books perfect (or near-perfect) scores.
Would I recommend this book? Not unless you’re an absolute weirdo with a love for (pseudo-)Victorian English and a morbid fascination for occultist nut jobs like Crowley. But if, like me, you belong to that very specific fanbase, then this is absolutely a book you should check out!
Would I recommend this book? Not unless you’re an absolute weirdo with a love for (pseudo-)Victorian English and a morbid fascination for occultist nut jobs like Crowley. But if, like me, you belong to that very specific fanbase, then this is absolutely a book you should check out!
May 19, 2010
An interesting interweaving of novel and magical philosophy. It tells the story of a woman drawing into the life via a love affair with a magician. From there she is initiated into an organization and is embroiled in a feud between Black and White Lodges, while she specifically is involved in a great work to give birth to a spiritual being embodying the moon.
Chapters tend to go back and forth between story and long exposition of theory, which can be hard to get through if they don't particularly grab you.
Probably the greatest problem is the plot derailing in the last 50 pages where it becomes not really about the characters anymore, but mostly British tut-tutting about World War I. Important characters and plot threads are suddenly unimportant, and the new plot threads are not anything most readers will care about. It's a 4 star book until then, after that it's 3 stars. Particularly if you are someone who needs an ending to match the book, treat it as a 3 star book.
Chapters tend to go back and forth between story and long exposition of theory, which can be hard to get through if they don't particularly grab you.
Probably the greatest problem is the plot derailing in the last 50 pages where it becomes not really about the characters anymore, but mostly British tut-tutting about World War I. Important characters and plot threads are suddenly unimportant, and the new plot threads are not anything most readers will care about. It's a 4 star book until then, after that it's 3 stars. Particularly if you are someone who needs an ending to match the book, treat it as a 3 star book.
March 31, 2019
It must take guts to do an expose on magic cults like this one, even if it's in the form of a novel.
To me it was Crowley's crowning achievement because none of his other books presents the futility of magic in the face of what he calls the Tao - which is life force - that will do as it pleases and that is above manipulation.
I reckon that this book conveys a wisdom that is reached after a person gets really in their doing the most horrific insane inhuman things trying to achieve something, only to find out that simple nature is already and always one up.
To me it was Crowley's crowning achievement because none of his other books presents the futility of magic in the face of what he calls the Tao - which is life force - that will do as it pleases and that is above manipulation.
I reckon that this book conveys a wisdom that is reached after a person gets really in their doing the most horrific insane inhuman things trying to achieve something, only to find out that simple nature is already and always one up.
November 23, 2021
In terms of style and use of language it deserves five stars. However, in terms on plot it deserves quite less. The plot actually felt too cumbersome in relation to the rest, the sort of occult knowledge that Crowley was trying to teach the reader. Moreover, the ending felt incredibly stiff, clichéd and too romantic, but also without much romance anyway. The plot really is the downside of this book.
March 8, 2009
very difficult to follow sometimes because of crowley's intense magic theories, but rewarding for the glimpses of deeper meaning that pop up occasionally.
January 27, 2017
Not much of a novel, but intriguing nonetheless.
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