I think the best way I can describe my feelings while reading COLDHEART CANYON is to use some of Clive Barker's own words from the book (out of context, of course):
"Not once did she look away, though every second that it continued she told herself she should do so, because this was just a common atrocity now. It was nothing to look at, and nothing to be proud of looking at."
COLDHEART CANYON marks the first (and, I pray, last) pratfall in Barker's otherwise highly commendable writing career.
I'm sad to say it, but the entire story, from start to finish, is the type of pedestrian writing I've always held up as an example of what I never wanted my own writing to become. It's rife with two-dimensional characterizations, inane dialogue, glaring grammatical errors on nearly every page and an abundance of amateurish splatter theatrics. All in all, Coldheart Canyon shows the failure of an otherwise gifted storyteller (and a litany of editors) to do the job we pay them to do.
I'm simultaneously angry and sad that Barker put out a book of such embarrassingly poor quality. It appears to me that he has reached the point in his fame where the notion of being a star and a media mogul have overshadowed his original desire to write great stories. His time and attention is obviously spread way too thin these days and now those of us who are mature, discriminating readers and fans of his work are paying the price for the past two books he's churned out. They've been either half-baked (as with GALILEE) or still frozen at the back of the freezer, as is the case with this mess.
The author and the editor are equally responsible for a poorly edited manuscript.  Barker admits that no fewer than four people (including himself) were supposed to have fine-tuned this offering.  Well, they're either lazy or suddenly they've all become functionally illiterate.
My advice to you is to cancel any plans you might have made to visit COLDHEART CANYON.  It looks a lot better in the brochure.
I think the best way I can describe my feelings while reading COLDHEART CANYON is to use some of Clive Barker's own words from the book (out of context, of course):
"Not once did she look away, though every second that it continued she told herself she should do so, because this was just a common atrocity now. It was nothing to look at, and nothing to be proud of looking at. "
COLDHEART CANYON marks the first (and, I pray, last) pratfall in Barker's otherwise highly commendable writing career. I'm sad to say it, but the entire story, from start to finish, is the type of pedestrian writing I've always held up as an example of what I never wanted my own writing to become. It's rife with two-dimensional characterizations, inane dialogue, glaring grammatical errors on nearly every page and an abundance of amateurish splatter theatrics. All in all, Coldheart Canyon shows the failure of an otherwise gifted storyteller (and a litany of editors) to do the job we pay them to do. I'm simultaneously angry and sad that Barker put out a book of such embarrassingly poor quality. It appears to me that he has reached the point in his fame where the notion of being a star and a media mogul have overshadowed his original desire to write great stories. His time and attention is obviously spread way too thin these days and now those of us who are mature, discriminating readers and fans of his work are paying the price for the past two books he's churned out. They've been either half-baked (as with GALILEE) or still frozen at the back of the freezer, as is the case with this mess. The author and the editor are equally responsible for a poorly edited manuscript. Barker admits that no fewer than four people (including himself) were supposed to have fine-tuned this offering. Well, they're either lazy or suddenly they've all become functionally illiterate. My advice to you is to cancel any plans you might have made to visit COLDHEART CANYON. It looks a lot better in the brochure.