I'm doing a bit more fiction reading of late; trying to get back into the mood and mindset of that form after the many months of non-fiction and essays and articles and reviews and all that came with finishing my degree and comes with blogging, reading about news and politics, building computer game websites, etc. I know I can do fiction and non-fiction at the same time, I've done so many times in the past, but I've been away from fiction and creative writing for a while, and I need to kick start my muse a bit to get into that sort of thought process.
Writing where you can (and must) make stuff up, where your aim may not be clear and cogent prose, where you may want to be artistic, by license or not -- that's a shooting a different potted black kettle of another colored fish. Metaphorically speaking.
In addition to being out or practice at fiction, I've gone years without reading or thinking much about horror, and since I find a level of visceral frisson and intensity in that genre that's seldom found in mainstream fiction, or even in most fantasy, I'm going to get back into it by reading some classics in the genre. I'll probably review them as I go, since writing helps me think about an analyze the work, but not to the point that I'll lose the creative inspiration I'm reading it to acquire. Also, my reviews section is sadly lacking in coverage of the books and authors that have most influenced and pleased me. I've reviewed tons of crap I've read or watched over the past few years, but have never, or seldom, looped back to discourse on some of the more seminal works I consumed again and again during my formative years.
This first one isn't quite a classic, but it's a book I read several times during the late 80s and early 90s when I was a committed horror fiction fan, and today it's an interesting book to analyze in terms of what came before it, and what it led to. The author is Clive Barker, and the book is his first novel,
The Damnation Game. I've mentioned Barker a few times previously, but never in much detail. I'll get to more of
my thoughts on his work in this review and others to come, but first, the scores:
The Damnation Game, by Clive Barker, 1985.
Plot: 6
Concept: 8
Writing Quality/Flow: 9/7
Characters: 9
Horror: 8
Humor: NA
Fun Factor: 3
Page Turner: 5
Re-readability: 6
Overall: 7
These scores are my current opinion, with the full benefit of hindsight and deliberation. My overall score is in terms of the whole horror genre; not in terms of Clive Barker's novels, or else it would be more like a 4. I don't know what I would have given it in 1986 when I first read it, but it certainly would have been less than a 7. Back then, I found the plot slow and not very exciting, the characters interesting but not very involving, and the whole story far less visceral and exciting than the better stories from the Books of Blood. This novel also pales in comparison to the next half dozen novels Barker wrote, two of which are nearly direct descendants of this novel. I'll discuss those books, and how this book led to them, in a bit. But first...
I hesitate to even mention the plot, since it's not what concerns me about this book, nor where the lasting value lies, nor where the analysis should be targeted. But just to momentarily pretend like I'm a real book reviewer, here goes. I'd copy from Wikipedia, but
the summary there hardly goes deeper than the blurb on the jacket, and the
Amazon.com editorial review is nearly as short, and has some inaccuracies. So:
The book is set in modern day London (circa 1985, when it was written), and while there are four or five main characters, and several important supporting players, the central protagonist (perhaps unjustly) is Martin Strauss. He's in prison when the book opens, and has been for six years, though he's nearing the end of his term. He's 30 years old and wound up in prison after getting deeply into gambling debt and taking part in a failed and unsuccessful robbery to try and pay off those debts. Marty's drawn down deeply into himself in prison, no longer thinking about hope or freedom, but that shell is cracked by the intrusion of Bill Toy, the confidant and bodyguard for Joseph Whitehead, a business mogul. Whitehead is looking to hire a new bodyguard, and has Toy searching the prisons for a likely candidate, figuring a man who owes him his early release, and who will be sent back to prison if he proves unsatisfactory, will work harder and show more loyalty than mere money can buy.
Marty is chosen for the task, and spends a few pleasant months on Whitehead's private estate, getting back into shape and adjusting to his limited freedom. He only gradually comes to know Whitehead and his even more reclusive, heroin-addicted 20 y/o daughter, and also gradually begins to realize that Whitehead fears something more than physical harm, from any common human attackers.
He's got cause to, since as the reader learns through the multiple POV narration, Whitehead's old friend/enemy Mamoulian is hunting him, to repay past injustices. Whitehead and Mamoulian met in the anarchic months after WW2, when Europe was in chaos and Whitehead the thief and gambler sought out Mamoulian, the legendary, magical, and undefeatable card player, in the festering ruins of bombed out Prague. Mamoulian has powers, hypnotic and mind controlling, and can work magic a well, weaving overpowering telepathic illusions, and even raising and compelling the dead. He and Whitehead became friends and Whitehead used what he learned of Mamoulian's powers build a vast empire, an effort he largely completed after a violent break with Mamoulian, some twenty years before the novel's time.
The bulk of
The Damnation Game details Whitehead's fear of his old friend, Mamoulian's efforts towards and plans for revenge, and Marty's struggle to protect his savior and Whitehead's physically frail but psychically-strong junkie daughter. There are a few twists and turns in the plot, but it's not a thriller or a straight out horror story. Barker doesn't write those, at least not very often. His novels and worlds are always far more layered and nuanced and subtle, and The Damnation Game is a good example of this, though in a very early, rough, unpolished way.
The novel really isn't about the plot; if it were I'd find no reason to reread it, or write about it. The take away value here comes from the characters and the themes and the level of intelligence and maturity conveyed by the writing. Barker's imagination is justly famed, largely in a pop culture, movie-friendly, "Pinhead the Cenobite" way, but I think his greatest strength is as a writer. His ability to work words and describe things blends perfectly with the maturity of his fictional worldview and the dynamic characters he crafts. This novel is far from his masterpiece, but it's a good start in the novel form.
LineageLooking retrospectively, there's a direct line between the themes, plot events, and especially the type of characters in this book,
Weaveworld (1987), and
Imajica (1991). Barker did not write those novels back to back, they are not set in the same "world," nor do they feature any of the same characters. Nevertheless, there's a clear progression through these books, with the same plot elements and character types, but growing larger, more complicated, and more inventive in each. I don't think Barker's done anything near the quality of Imajica since then, and I think that's the best novel I've ever read, in any genre.
Just going by dimensions,
The Damnation Game is about 430 pages,
Weaveworld is around 700, and
Imajica is upwards of 1000, depending on the edition. It's commonly sold in two volumes these days, not something you often see for a single, stand-alone novel not featuring filthy hobbitses.
The Damnation Game is a bit soggy too, in places. It could easily be cut down under 350 pages without losing anything essential, an editing option I would not advise for
Weaveworld or
Imajica, since it would do them grave harm.
So,
Weaveworld featured much bigger ideas, bigger plots, more characters, more substance, and
Imajica continued that progression, easily doubling the size of
The Damnation Game, while vastly expanding upon it in scope and gravitas of subject. And in books, as in life, size does matter. What are these themes and concepts that were so expanded and improved through this non-trilogy? Familiar themes to those of you who have read a fair amount of Barker, and themes difficult to succinctly explain to those of you who have not (yet).
In these books and in most everything Barker has written, there's a sense of a magical, mystical, demon-infested world within, or beneath, our world. Most people have no inkling of it, but here amidst us are demons and humans possessed of rare magical powers. No one is ever a simple comic book character, though. Barker's characters are invariably possessed of strong personalities and drives, and usually devoted to some great goal. One reason Barker's never sold as well as King and others in the genre, despite being clearly the best writer of the bunch, is that he doesn't do easy, crowd-pleasing, black and white plots or characters. There aren't good guys or bad guys, or clear struggles where the readers is sure to root for one side. In most of Barker's books the good guys have some bad traits, but most interestingly (and influentially to me) are the bad guys, who are never just "bad." They're often evil, or destructive, but for perfectly valid reasons. And while they usually appear to be horrible demons when initially introduced, as the novels progress they are humanized, and often revealed to be flawed, vulnerable, or entirely justified in their actions.
Mamoulian certainly is in
The Damnation Game, and so are his various minions. Perhaps the most memorable character in the book is Breer, the razor-eater. Breer is a corpulent, psychopathic pedophile, who swallows razors, engages in self-mutilation, and is fond of murdering young children, then posing them like living dolls in carefully-arranged scenarios. He also tends to lovingly butcher them, slicing the tender meat of their bodies into a paper-thin delicacy which he reverently offers to others like the precious gift it is. Perfectly horrible, of course, but Breer is actually a sympathetic character in the book. Filled with self-loathing, disgusted by what he does, desperate for a purpose or goal in life, and always just wanting to be loved. Whitehead's daughter earns his undying devotion upon their first meeting, when she doesn't recoil in horror at the sight of his grotesque, blood-splattered form. Ultimately, Breer becomes a sort of good guy, when he turns against Mamoulian after being betrayed and by the magician. Oh, and did I mention that Breer commits suicide shortly before Mamoulian returns for him at the start of the book, and spends the entire novel slowly rotting and being consumed by flies, while never quite realizing he's already dead? Nice touch there, eh?
As for Mamoulian, he first seems to be a monster, but as we get to know more about him, from his pathetic origin to his empty existence to his desire to simply lie down and die, he becomes one of the most interesting characters in the book. He's never quite sympathetic, but he's clearly a better man than Whitehead, and more honest too. Both work malign deeds and destroy the lives of others, but Mamoulian has the courtesy to do it one on one, face to face, in a very personal fashion. He only destroys what and who he must. Whitehead has less blood on his hands, but through his ruthless business ambitions he has ruined the lives of countless people, both personally and professionally. Mamoulian is the more honest man as well; he doesn't resort to trickery or deception to obtain his ends, at least not very often, unlike the scheming, manipulating, stoop-to-anything Whitehead.
Honestly, neither character is a tenth as interesting as the leads in
Weaveworld,
Imajica, or various other later works by Barker, but the basic character templates; the depth and dynamic nature of them, are repeated and reused through Barker's work. The only other author I've read (besides myself, on a thus far limited nature) who does this sort of work with characters is George R. R. Martin in his ongoing
Song of Ice and Fire series. And that's one of the things I like best about Martin's work, that characters who initially seem like pure villains are eventually revealed to be very human and, (like everyone you meet in real life), the heroes of their own story. Sometimes even of the book's story. It's a clear mark of bad fiction (which is to say, most fiction) when the "bad guys" are simply that. Bad, evil, uncomplicated and one-dimensional. If the enemies in a book or film exist merely to serve as hurdles for the good guys on their victory lap, it's generally a sign of a lazy or uninspired author.
It's possible to have a compelling villain who is just bad, bad, bad, but far more often the most entertaining bad guys are multi-dimensional, even to the point of becoming anti-heroes. Hannibal Lecter, for instance. Even someone like Darth Vader, despite being a principle in the cartoonishly childish
Star Wars saga, is eventually revealed to be layered and complicated, and that makes his actions, and the plot of
Return of the Jedi far more interesting than it would have been if he'd simply remained a horrible murderous villain in black plastic. Barker clearly had the idea for multi-layered bad guys and complicated world mythologies in place early on, since they show up in lots of his early short stories. They are nascent in
The Damnation Game, but fully emerge from their cocoon in his later works.
The good guys in Barker novels have more up their sleeves, too. Marty Strauss in
The Damnation Game isn't a great example of that, since Barker hadn't really come into his inventive prime yet. Marty is just your usual everyman protagonist, swept up in a world of magic and mystery far beyond his ability to comprehend or battle against. The fact that he's only the main character by default, and that he brings very little to the tale, is one of the main reasons I don't score this book higher. The main character in
Weaveworld starts out as an everyman, but soon gains a far more important role in things than merely a pawn in the buffeting winds of chaos, and the main character in
Imajica is an unimportant painter making a living off of forgeries and a parade of beautiful women, who grows to hold almost god-like status as that fantastically complicated book unfolds.
Incidentally, the depth of Barker's characterization is clearly demonstrated in
The Damnation Game by the fact that a good dozen disposable characters are given full 3D profiles, with strengths, weaknesses, ambiguities, and ambitions having nothing to do with those of the main storyline, even if they're only "on screen" for a few minutes. The first and most obvious example is the warden of the prison Marty's in when the book opens. He has two short scenes, but in them he's portrayed as a hard man who is rapidly falling apart after the untimely death of his wife. There's no real reason to give the warden a personality, or to have him be more than a man in a suit during Marty's interview with Whitehead's agent. But the fact that he's a memorable character, despite his irrelevance to the larger novel, adds to the realism and detail of the world. Numerous other such characters are found in
The Damnation Game, from Whitehead's chauffeur, to Marty's cellmate, to a fruit merchant, to Marty's ex-wife's new lover, etc. All seem fully-formed and real, and could easily be the stars of their own stories; that much is clear even if they only appear on half a dozen pages.
For all the great things Barker does, and did even in the early effort that is
The Damnation Game, his weaknesses are displayed as well. I've heard from other horror fans that Barker's work never really involves them. They enjoy his writing talent, and some elements of his work, but on the whole it doesn't engaging them. Malaya always said she found Barker's writing "too cold." Technically brilliant, but to her they were books to read almost as an intellectual exercise, rather than great stories to lose herself in.
That never occurred to me in my teens when I was first devouring his work and horror fiction in general, but reading it now I can see the point. I didn't quite feel that way about Barker's more recent novels, even ones like
Galilee that I disliked, but I get enough enjoyment from the craftsmanship and writing quality and overall excellence that the fact that some of the books are entirely populated by unlikable, largely emotionless characters, engaged in struggles the outcome of which I am indifferent to, doesn't weigh too heavily on me. (This is a further point to George R. R. Martin's credit; that he can do the dynamic characters, make his villains interesting and compelling, de-villainize them as the reader learns more about them, and still keep the overall story churning along.)
In that light,
The Damnation Game is a far better novel than it is a good read. I enjoyed reading it last week, but not in the same way I would have enjoyed a good early Stephen King story. I was pulled along through The Damnation Game since I was analyzing the style and form and approach Barker took, and making notes on how he structured the book. His skills as a novelist were profound, even in this early work, and the way he introduced characters, worked exposition into conversation and events, kept the story moving, relayed information to the reader through multiple POVs, occasional flashbacks, juggled multiple characters and storylines without abandoning any for so long they cooled in the reader's memory, etc, were all very well done.
If the book had a more interesting plot, had more sympathetic characters, more building conflict, was a page turner, bridged the personal struggles to larger societal themes (something Barker does very well in later works), etc, it would be a great novel. As it is it's a very well written book powered by a story that would have been unreadably dull and boring in the hands of a lesser writer. I remember
Weaveworld being somewhat better, and
Imajica being a masterpiece, and since I've got both books sitting out to work my way through in the weeks to come, I guess I'll find out soon enough.
Labels: book review, clive barker, horror, writing
