While I appreciate a good epic as much as the next movie nerd, I’ve always sort of felt like there are few good reasons for a director to take more than 120 minutes to tell a story. I’m thinking here of people like Judd Apatow (whom I love) and Michael Bay (whom I don’t). As much as I like Funny People, 146 minutes is about 30 too many, and anyone who has the patience for a 150-minute Transformers movie has a greater tolerance for watching cars fall from the sky than I do. Ditto Peter Jackson’s three Hobbit movies, which are entertaining enough but seem to exist for little reason other than finding new and inventive ways to feature CGI orc slaughter. It’s okay in moderation, but nine hours’ worth?Of course there are exceptions. For my tastes, three hours of Quentin Tarantino is rarely enough, and a sun-blasted epic like Sergio Leone’s Once Upon a Time in the West earns every second of its 165-minute running time. I also admit to a soft spot for admittedly self-indulgent monsters like Paul Thomas Anderson’s Magnolia and There Will Be Blood. Sure, they could be trimmed, but when what we’re seeing is so good, who’s complaining? The point is: If you can’t tell your story in two hours, you’d better have a damn good reason for taking up more of my time.The same holds true for novels. Give me 400 pages or less, and I’m yours for the duration, usually without question. The higher above 400 you go, the more pushback you’re going to get. 600 or more pages and it needs to be a cracking good story that moves, or it better be something that justifies the length, something that needs to be woven in an epic tapestry. I usually don’t mind an 800-page Stephen King novel because I know the kind of momentum he gathers – it’s going to be a quick read regardless of length. And it’s folly to think a novel as rich as David Mitchell’s Cloud Atlas can be told in anything less than 500 pages. Both authors earn the length through style and content. And that’s really the key with both movies and books: I’m giving you my time, so earn it.Therein lies the problem with Clive Barker’s 800-page Coldheart Canyon, a book seemingly tailor-made for the expression spinning its wheels. It’s intermittently fascinating, but it’s also tedious, long-winded, and masturbatory, with lengthy sequences that could be excised without losing much of anything other than bulk.And that really pains me.When I name the authors who were influential to my development as a reader (and writer), I immediately name the usual suspects: King, Kurt Vonnegut, Harlan Ellison, Ray Bradbury. But Clive Barker would absolutely be a little further down the list. His short story cycle The Books of Blood was hugely important to me in high school. Its graphic depiction of violence and frank handling of sexuality was new to me, and the way Barker suffused each of the stories – even the most sensational ones – with a sense of creeping dread haunted my waking and sleeping moments alike. And I don’t remember many of the details of his lengthy novels Imajica, Weaveworld, and The Great and Secret Show, but I devoured them whole, regardless of length. The latter book made an especially big impression, so much so that I remember reading it aloud to my college girlfriend, savoring again the chance to immerse myself in its story and characters.But I knew Coldheart Canyon was going to be trouble from the get-go. It begins with a lengthy prologue where Zeffer, an actress’ assistant, buys a tiled room from an alcoholic Romanian priest in the 1920s. The room is important, the tiles are important, the actress is important, the assistant is important, and, yes, foreshadowing – but the execution is soporific. It’s a meandering start that features none of the atmosphere I always appreciated in Barker’s work, and the effect I think he’s after with this section – to set the stage for the gruesome details to come – is dulled because the sequence itself doesn’t really work. It’s hard to build tension with fifty pages of tedium.Fast-forward seventyish years, and we’re introduced to Todd Pickett, an actor of the pretty but vacuous variety; an empty head who’s nonetheless on top of the world thanks to starring in a series of popular action movies where things blow up real good. He’s at the point in his career where his looks are starting to fade, his career is starting to falter, and insecurity is setting in. At this especially susceptible point, Todd is told by his manager and a Hollywood producer that he could benefit from a little plastic surgery. This procedure goes horribly wrong, and he’s ferreted away to heal in a dilapidated mansion in a hidden canyon in the Hollywood Hills.In this house in the titular canyon, Todd meets the actress from the 1920s prologue who has miraculously been kept young by the tiled room shipped back from Romania and installed in the mansion. As it turns out, though (because this is a Clive Barker book), the actress and the tiled room and the mansion all harbor a secret that proves to be disastrous to Todd (hint: it rhymes with “Rates of Bell”).There’s a good novel in here, but Barker buries it in byzantine digressions: passages on Todd’s career and the destructive nature of Hollywood; a long section on the death of his dog; the introduction to the president of Todd’s fan club (who comes to play a major role in the story); some late-book chapters focusing on an ex-cop writing a book; and more gratuitous sex scenes between the dead and the living than you can shake a tumescent stick at. I experienced a moment of pure despondence at the point when the book seemed to be at a climax yet still had 200 pages to go. This isn’t something I’m accustomed to feeling with Barker’s work, which I always recalled as being streamlined and relentless. Coldheart Canyon, by contrast, seemed like a flabby houseguest who overstayed his welcome by a week and a half.It’s not a total loss. The central conceit – basically a tiled mosaic that comes to life to possess and obsess the living – is certainly cool (especially once Barker reveals the mosaic’s specific history), and there are haunting passages galore, especially the sections that focus on the half-animal/half-human creatures that dwell in the mansion’s overgrown garden. But man: Coldheart Canyon is unnecessarily long and unpleasantly loquacious. After twenty years of not reading Barker, this was an unfortunate way to get reacquainted.Read all my reviews at goldstarforrobotboy.net
tUgh. I’ve been sat here for a good 10 minutes now, staring at a seemingly ever-blankening screen because I simply don’t know where to start. This book has left my mind in a state of turmoil, thoughts and ideas tripping over themselves to get to the forefront of my brain. I want to say how much I hated the book but I can’t, because I didn’t hate it. But that said, I didn’t like it either. Or, more truthfully, I hated it and liked it all at the same time. tTo strip it back to its bare bones, the basic story and idea is good. I enjoyed it. The idea that there is this room that is the Devil’s Country, that keeps you forever young…all that was interesting and the basic structure of the story – man discovers room, likes it then realises it’s bad and then realises it needs to be destroyed – that was almost gripping. I had a few major issues with this book though, that really, seriously put a dampener on my enjoyment. tFirstly, the story didn’t properly begin until a good 200 pages into the book (putting aside the prologue) and it ended a good 200 pages before the end of the book! It would have been a much more enjoyable read had Barker decided to leave out all the bumf. Ok, maybe I could be persuaded to accept all the rubbish about Pickett’s flailing career, maybe (even though all the Hollywood crap reminded me way too much of Jackie Collins’ type novels, something that I doubt Barker was going for). But, take for example the long winded description of the death of Pickett’s dog. Why was it there? It bore absolutely no relation to the story and, as far as I could see, what entirely unnecessary. In fact, it was positively boring. Again, at the end of the novel – all that nonsense about are they/aren’t they lesbians?! What the hell was that all about? I doubt anyone would have assumed they were (they went through a lot together and Tammy was staying in Maxine’s house for a while – hardly grounds to start gossip) but even if they had, who cares if they were lesbians in the end? Again, it has absolutely nothing to do with the story! Maybe it was the only thing Barker had left out and had to find some way of fitting it in…tSecondly, the sex. And not just sex either. A lot of perverse sex - group sex (more and more the norm now-a-days) and whipping and bondage (mildly shocking) and then onto bestiality - and the production of human/animal offspring (more shocking but clearly put in for that purpose) and then paedophilia (wholly unnecessary). In one scene, Katya actually pleasures herself with a snail - REALLY?? That’s not even realistic! I am more than sure that Barker included most of this because of some overwhelming desire to shock. Through most of the sex scenes, the book was screaming look at me, I know about these dirty things, aren’t I big and clever? Well, no actually. I’m not a prude by any length and have in the past, read erotic literature. Had this been categorised as such, I wouldn’t have minded so much but it was far from categorised as such. It’s meant to be horror. Well, I’m sure most would agree that paedophilia and scat-play are rather horrific but again, they didn’t entirely fit with the story of this room that created ever-lasting youth and how addicting it became. Was it perhaps a simple demonstration of how perverse and evil Katya is? Maybe…except it seemed that most, if not all, the characters in the book partook in some such behaviour. Is it what the canyon does to you? Maybe…except some who hadn’t been at the canyon or in the room partook in such behaviour. Was its purpose to make the reader uncomfortable and squirmish, maybe…but it didn’t work. tI’ve since discovered that it had been made into a film. Oh dear. I have a very clear picture of this in my head. It reads and I imagine it would watch as a cheap, poorly made b-movie that you watch on the off chance that you’ll enjoy it (some are good, after all) but that turns out to be a nasty way of getting pornography into mainstream film. Many, I’m sure, will tell me that I have missed the point; that it’s meant to be satire. Well it’s not very good if that is the case. It takes itself too seriously to be decent satire. tWhen all is said and done, the main feeling I get when I think about this book is disappointment and something that can only be described as ‘ugh’. The basic story had so much potential and did, in fact, keep me wanting to read more and Barker himself is a decent enough writer; but it was poorly executed and included way too much that it didn’t need to include. This leaves me with a massive dilemma as to how to score it. 3 seems too high and 2 seems too low. I just don’t know…
Do You like book Coldheart Canyon (2002)?
I like Clive Barker or I wouldn't have read this, but I'm far from just trusting him blindly. He is either fantastic or awful with nary a warning in between. Truth be told although I gobbled this greedily I couldn't help but form an opinion of meh, it was a boring story prettied up with kink. The villainess seemed nasty until it was revealed she was just a bully who had been given a fragment of power that she didn't understand, and that she just squanders.The monsters were barely there and not particularly frightening, neither were the ghosts. There is a point very early on where it looks like a horror about plastic surgery which would have been fantastic, a sort of modern day version of the Tortured Souls Novella which was interesting.The thing was I found I didn't care about the main characters, the only part I liked was the bit with the dog.The thing is this book is beautifully written, it's just not a very good story. The villain is a schoolyard bully, given a truly fantastic power, the Devil's Country is an amazing idea, but really she lets the book down.
—Tessa
I have read nearly the entire collection of Clive Barker novels in existence.While I enjoyed them, each for their unique plots and tantilizing hints at sexual prowess, this book is my all time favorite.The canyon is a mystery that anyone would want to explore.It is a place where you have to ask yourself, if you could, would you? And if you saw it on an active night, could you look away, or would you be enticed to peep on.While the protagonist, Todd is trying out sort out his Past and Present place in fame's spotlight~he also has to face his inner demons in the house in the canyon.The woman he meets is unlike anyone he's ever known, and her pull at his soul is a strong one.I think reading this book, slowly at first, is the best advice I can give.Then, go back and re-read it, just to be sure that it all sunk in.Mr. Barker is a master weaver of sensual delights and situational scenarios that captivate our most basis human instincts.It's one hell of a ride, and worth an E-ticket.
—Sherri Dub
This book is absolutely wretched and I'm totally embarrassed that I read an almost 700 page book that is just plain bad. The book is billed as a 'Hollywood Ghost Story' and I was excited about its promise. It did not live up to its promise in any way. I have never read Clive Barker so I have no idea if this is typical for him or not - regardless, I can't imagine ever putting more time into reading him again. The book is disjointed and rambling - several times I thought it was finally ending but instead it would go off into some new, and barely related direction. The writing style seemed to change with every new story line, characters were brought together for manufactured reasons and changed allegiance on a whim. There are completely unnecessary graphic descriptions of sex - over and over again, and made all the more despicable because Barker repeatedly populates his pornographic orgies with real actors from the 20s & 30s - apparently that's what makes it a 'Hollywood Ghost Story'. This is not a ghost story - it is barely a story at all. Just bad - don't waste your time.
—Janet
