BOOK REVIEW: CLIVE BARKER'S "THE THIEF OF ALWAYS"

What did it matter, anyway, he thought, whether this was a real place or a dream? It felt real, and that was all that mattered.

Cliver Barker is one of the most underrated of all modern novelists. Viewed initially as a putative successor to Stephen King back in the 80s when he first burst on the scene, he is in fact a writer of unlimited imagination and surprising daring, simply ignoring genre labels and letting his pen flow freely in any direction he chooses. If more of his works were on the screen (which is the main reason King is as famous as he is), and if not for the freak illness which has perhaps permanently sidelined his writing career, he might be as celebrated as King, albeit for somewhat different reasons.

Although one could argue it is unnecessary to include any biographical information in a book review, since all authors reveal themselves to some extent or other through their writing whether they intend to or not, in Barker's case, his approach is so unique that I feel it incumbent upon me to say that his original works -- THE BOOKS OF BLOOD, DAMNATION GAME, and THE HELLBOUND HEART -- were all flat-out horror stories. And what horror stories they were. Even when operating within the broad but hard-shouldered confines of genre expectations, however, Barker's personal backstory -- he's gay, English, and started his career in the theater, writing numerous plays and even starting his own theater troupe -- colored much of his work. His work was highly intellectual yet pulsed with sexuality, he seemed not so much to destroy taboos as act as if they did not exist (without ever coming off as a mere provocateur), and his imagination seemed almost too big for his actual writing talent, as considerable as it was. Anyone who read the amazing six-volume BOOKS OF BLOOD knew within a few pages that this was not someone who would, or possibly even could, restrict himself to a single category of storytelling.

THE THIEF OF ALWAYS is Barker's demonstration that as well as displaying a frighteningly vast imaginative capacity, he understands the basics of storytelling. A children's/YA novel illustrated with his own art -- I forgot to mention he is a passionate and prolific artist -- it is the story of Harvey Swick, a smart but disgruntled kid bored senseless by a bleak winter. Indeed, the story opens with one of the more memorable passages I've read in years:

"The great gray beast February had eaten Harvey Swick alive. Here he was, buried in the belly of that smothering month, wondering if he would ever find his way out through the cold coils that lay between here and Easter."

Is there anyone raised in a climate that includes winter that cannot relate to this? I myself can do so on two levels: the level of childhood and young adulthood, where for me, winter -- minus the snow -- was simply a dull, cold, dispiriting bore in which seemingly huge stretches of time passed between school holidays; and the level of adulthood, where winter often loses even its periodic Wonderland charms and serves simply as a reminder of mortality.

So Swick is bored, but needless to say, his boredom will not last. One night he is invited by a mysterious stranger to spend some time at Holiday House, an isolated and equally mysterious home on the far edge of town where each day contains all four seasons, and every wish Harvey has immediately comes true. This is obviously preferable to the great gray beast February, with its crap weather and tedious homework assignments; nevertheless Harvey has to think it over before he decides to embark on his visit. Our protagonist is not a fool: he only crosses the threshold after extracting a promise that he can leave whenever he wishes. He soon discovers the description of the place is accurate: it's a kid's paradise, in which the course of a single day contains not only all the sweets and toys he could ever desire, but every holiday, including the natural kid's favorites -- Halloween and Christmas.

Naturally, there is a price to pay, and naturally Harvey doesn't figure this out until he's been partially compromised by the unseen "Mr. Hood," who operates Holiday House, and whose one rule is not to ask too many questions. Harvey, tempted by unending irresponsibility and gluttony, must make a choice between unquestioning acceptance of this largesse and his own growing sense of suspicion and unease. Why are there so many heaps of children's clothes in Holiday House, some of them very old, but so few children? What is in the sinister lake on the fringes of the grounds, where nobody wants to go? Why won't Mr. Hood show his face? What will happen if Harvey tries to leave? Harvey's struggles with whether to accept the paradise he has found at the expense of his instincts, or begun tugging on the threads of inconsistency he has discovered in his wanderings, are handled more deftly than you might imagine for a YA novel:

"However this miraculous place worked, it seemed real enough. The sun was hot, the soda was cold, the sky was blue, the grass was green. What more did he need to know?”

And indeed, Harvey goes a fair distance down the path of temptation, including being tempted by such things as power and revenge, before his instincts prevail and he begins to wonder if Holiday House isn't as much of a prison as the great gray beast February, i.e. real life. After that, his thoughts shift to escape, and following escape, to undoing the consequences of his time at Holiday House, which has a very peculiar effect on all of its residents....

In writing THE THIEF OF ALWAYS, Barker poses a question which has always been with mankind at one point or another in his development, but has gained new currency in the post-MATRIX era, where the nature of reality itself is coming into actual rather than merely philosophical question. Put simply, Barker is asking exactly what the meaning of life is for human beings: is it in the fulfillment of physical desires and impulses, or does it lay in less tangible territory, say, within the human heart itself, as a philosophy, an ability to appreciate, an understanding that winter pays for spring and unending pleasure is perhaps as dull a prison as "the great gray beast February?" This is the question he poses to Swick and the reader, and while it's a YA novel and therefore the question is going to get a definite answer, it's the right answer and it doesn't come easily or without risk, or cost. Like Neo, who is asked by Morpheus to choose between the blue and the red pill, Harvey must decide.

When I said Barker understands the fundamentals of tale-telling, I wasn't kidding. The surface of this story is rich, but beyond the fundamental question posed above, the underlying messages and morals are just as simple and strong and timeless. This brief novel -- or is it a novella? -- is in some ways a horror story, of course, pitched toward young adults so as not to be too unsettingly, but it bears a similarity to Harry Potter, Star Wars, Lord of the Rings, the Arthurian legends, and any other coming-of-age tale in which the refusal, or acceptance, of adult responsibility by the young hero are the hinge of the story. It also has some very definite things to say about appreciating what you have and the dangers of immersing yourself in fantasy to escape reality; and finally about the nature of evil, embodied by Mr. Hood and his minions, and where embracing such evil inevitably leads.

THE THIEF OF ALWAYS was a fast, enjoyable and vivid read from a writer who will probably not get his full due until Hollywood finally starts to mine his imagination more fully and audiences pick up his novels as a consequence of seeing his ideas on screen. Until then, however, Barker is probably doomed to be remembered by the big public only as the guy behind the HELLRAISER franchise. But damn, he's got a lot to say and damn, does he (usually) say it well.