This is an interesting novel. It has a lot of potential for both the fantastique and the humorous (since its a book about two kind of kennedy families, one a "physical" kennedy family and another a "spiritual" kennedy family, either way they are both disfunctional beyond reasons of insanity). Its a good read...but...

...first the novel jumps all over the place...one chapter you are reading a mystical experience, the next you are reading something that might as well have been written in a tabloid newspaper. Finally after around one to two hundred the novel gets going and it does a good job...

...second problem. Its just another Clive Barker series. In other words. You ain't never going to see the conclusion this side of paradise. Just like the Art series and probably with that new series Abbarat or whatever it is called... there is not ever going to be a conclusion because I think Clive writes to a point then just doesn't know where to put the period.

...third, good novel but...ultimately...its nothing new. Weaveworld was a classic novel, as was Imajica (though yes it was too long), but...its nothing new under the sun in the genre of the fantastique and the macabre. Nothing cutting edge which is a surprise since so many people keep thinking C.B. goes to the cutting edge. Really, its not.

Love conquers all in this fascinating tale of two families at war. I was transfixed from page one, always wondering what would happen next, and trying to figure out the riddle of it all. From the Barbosssa house set back among the hills of North Carolina, a man sits down to write a family history. It turns out to be a tale of love and hatred between clans- one a powerful American family(aka the Kennedys), and the other a phsycic, magical, sometimes evil family that has been around since the dawn of time. The two could not exist without each other, but yet one yearns for the destruction of the other. A lovely girl from Ohio is swept off her feet and finds herself emersed in the battle between a man's heart and his soul. I thought this book was brilliantly written as well as a great story.

I wish I could say that I liked "Coldheart Canyon" more than I actually did. Clive Barker is one of my favorite writers (and artists), and his more recent book "Abarat" really restored his status for me. However, "Coldheart Canyon" is not a terrible book, it just isn't the top-quality work I often expect from Barker's pen.

The interesting thing about "Coldheart Canyon" is that I could see in it his perspectives on Hollywood and California in general. I get the distinct feeling that much of what we see in the characters and the story of the book are sort of "in-jokes," little jabs at people he's known or met since he's been in the United States. There are parodies of Hollywood producers and actors, as well as what seemed to be a somewhat self-conscious look at people who've moved to California from other places.

The story centers around a young man and his gradual seduction by a spirit in a haunted house. As the story progresses, we get more and more hints that the spirit in the house (the ghost of a classic Hollywood actress) led a much more scandalous life than anyone really knew about... or at least more than they talked about. Our hero experiences spiritual orgies and debaucheries, all done with Barker's usual flair for the graphic.

The feeling I get from "Coldheart Canyon" in the end is that it was trying to be something like a parody of the standard Hollywood expose. The problem with it is that it's taken to such extremes that the funny or wry elements get overshadowed by the more glamorous, dramatic, graphic parts. The ending, also, is somewhat unsatisfying.

Barker has definitely written better books than this, but for some hint of what he thinks of Hollywood and his fellow Californians, it still makes for an interesting read.

Those dreading another limp, mushy delivery from Barker (think Galilee or Sacrament) can release that collectively held breath. Barker is back...sort of. While Coldheart Canyon is no Imajica or Weaveworld in scope of vision or imagination, the suspense, mythology, and characterizations herein certainly make up for the new-age, nice-guy deliveries of late. Here Barker offers Hollywood satire sandwiched between the opposing forces of spirituality. It doesn't have the bloodied edge of Cabal or his short fiction, and there are jaw-dropping discrepencies and flat-out mistakes in the plotting--why is the quality of editing always inversely proportional to the projected revenue? And yet there are scenes painted within that resonate with beauty and dread as only Barker can accomplish, and it's good to feel that chill again. It's also nice to have a decent horror novel releasd this year, with Dan Simmons doing suspense fiction and Dean Koontz doing what I can only describe as evangelical suspense fiction. Along with Black House, Coldheart Canyon has reaffirmed my belief in the genre. Stay tuned.

"Coldheart Canyon" is nothing less than a bittersweet satire on the hidden hedonism during the Golden Age of Hollywood; an indicting portrait of the destructive vanity and artistic barrenness of modern day Hollywood; and, most importantly, it is a startling, erotic, metaphysical ghost story, with passages that rival the most profligate work in Mr. Barker's canon--bringing to mind the excesses of Fellini's "Satyricon"-- conincided with touching, thought provoking ponderings on the meaning of life. And still it remains laugh-out-loud funny at times, and never fails to entertain.

"Coldheart Canyon" is one of Barker's most acclomplished works, continuing to solidify him, as Quentin Tarantino pointed out on the book's back cover, as the world's foremost imaginer. Come along for the ride if you like fiction that pushes the envelope of both craft and content--Barker is literature's undiscovered gem and the horror genre's misbegotten master. Like the characters in his books he lies on the threshold of uncertainty, a lost soul of sorts in a world that has no need for souls. To acknowledge Clive Barker is human, to read him divine.

Three major adult authors. Three young adult books that, the publishers continually remind us, can be read by the parents as well as the kids. Whether they're masters of the surreal or the horrific, these authors have produced some weird and wacky books, and it's quite a mixed bag.

"Coraline" is Neil Gaiman's chilling foray into Young Adult lit, a deceptively skinny book about the grimly resourceful Coraline, a little girl who finds herself in a battle with her clawed, button-eyed "other mother," who has abducted her parents and threatens Coraline as well...

"Abarat" is one of Clive Barker's few delvings into children's lit, and the result is not entirely satisfactory. Candy Quackenbush (nice name...) tries to escape her small-town life, with her alcoholic father and depressed mother -- but she stumbles onto a twenty-five island chain called Abarat, where every island (but one) represents an hour of the day, and two devious rivals are trying to take control.

"City of the Beasts" is, like "Coraline," Isabel Allende's first tiptoe into young adult lit, and the strain shows. Young Alexander Cold is sent to stay with his chilly grandmother, who is venturing into the jungles in search of a mythical "Beast." He and his friend Nadia begin a strange journey into a magical realm.

Some authors, like Gaiman and his fellow authors Michael Chabon and Carl Hiaasen, manage to deftly and easily shift into the young adult/children's realm of literature. Some of their contemporaries, however, don't succeed because of the constant awareness that they're writing for children. One thing to always recognize is that a good novel is a good novel, and that children can read and comprehend on the same level as adults. (Just keep it nice and clean!)

"Coraline" is spooky, creepy, grotesque and a delightful read for people who like a few gruesome thrills. Gaiman gets a little stilted at times, but otherwise he manages to keep it flowing nicely along with the likeable heroine. Barker does a pretty good job, but often he doesn't really feel like he's writing for kids; it gets fairly gruesome and dark in places. The pictures are pleasant to look at, though. And Allende falls flat on her face with "City," scrabbling to get her Big Message across (basically, it's: Save the Rainforest) as she hits readers with stilted dialogue, two-dimensional characters, and utterly laughable plot developments. Someone needs to tell Allende that the kiddies appreciate quality too.

Gaiman is good, Barker is okay, and Allende needs to read some young adult lit before she tries writing it. Fans of the above should check these out, and fantasy buffs will find a trio of stories that vary from the good to the bad.

If you love horror, blood and sin, you will deeply enjoy this book

I certainly would have appreciated a portrait book of my favorite authors but this isn't it. Beahm's C.V. is as biographer of Michael Jordan. His "dues" consist in bleeding the genuine affection readers have for an author through amaturish, hackneyed Star Wars/Star Trek type marketing.

It's hard to guess who the audience of this book could be. Lumping divergent authors between the same "horror genre" covers assumes a depressing blandness in taste, until you find where most of these pictures first appeared, in gossipy fanzines like Locus. Only such an audience would know Ellen Datlow for example as anything other then a competent editor, or want her picture. Gwinn is no Jill Krementz whose photography she is obviously mimicking, the only author both photographers have taken is Stephen King whose warmth Krementz captures eloquently in The Writers Desk, by contrast Gwinn's is oddly cold. This is not a good book, avoid it.

Photography is a difficult craft to master. I've photo-illustrated my own books for years, studied photography on my own, and have accidentally taken a few good portraits, but I've never been able to take the time away from writing to spend in my own darkroom or in Photoshop (for digital photography) to bring my craft where I'd like it to be.

The curious reader may certainly find examples of my work in any of my published books, but the real point of this piece is not to talk about my work but to talk about Beth Gwinn's work.

Beth Gwinn has obviously put in a lot of time behind the camera to master the elusive art of photography, because this collection of photos is the work of a solid professional.

I wish Amazon.com had run a few of them to show the quality of the work, because these are portraits that do exactly what a photograph SHOULD do: Show us the subject in a new light.

I could point to page after page of personal favorites -- the shot of Clive Barker, positioned in front of one of his paintings captures him perfectly; and Christa Faust, the dark lady of the field, looks absolutely smashing in black.

But suffice to say that if you have any interest whatsoever in seeing a portrait of your favorite writer that goes beyond the sterile "deer in headlights" publicity shot most publishers use for dust jacket photo mterial, you'll find much to like in Beth Gwinn's work.

Stanley Wiater should need no introduction, if you know anything about this field. He's paid his dues and chronicled the field for years. He was obviously the set-up man for the photo shoots and arranged dozens of dark dreamers to sit (or stand) for these shots.

I also like the write-ups provided by the writers. They vary in length, but all provide a glimpse (or more) about the writer in question. A nice touch.

The publisher of this book, Cemetery Dance, probably does require an introduction to the Amazon.com community at large. Suffice it to say that Rich Chizmar knows how to put together a book: The book is oversized and beautifully bound in black cloth with silver stamping, the dust jacket is simple and elegant in its design, the binding is sturdy, and the paper stock is glossy, which enhances the reproduction.

If the market for this kind of book was bigger, Rich, I'm sure, would have sprung for some more shekels to print the photos using a duotone (or tri-tone) process, which involves running the pages through the press again to achieve a deeper, richer black, but let's face it, there's enough people to support such first class treatment for ANSEL ADAMS AT 100, but genre books like this are lucky to see the light of day, and for that we should thank Gwinn, Wiater and the publisher, Cemetery Dance.

I have in my book collection several similarly themed books. SOUTHERN WRITERS, THE WRITERS DESK, THE FACES OF FANTASY (Patti Perret), and dozens of photo books by the Big Name Photographers. Obviously, readers want to see the faces behind the words, and books like this that require a lot of traveling and coordination to put together are visual treasures -- real keepers.

Bottom line, then: Buy this book and leaf through the pages and marvel at the portraits, and thank your lucky stars that there are small presses out there that devote their limited resources to books of this nature.

While Badley raises a few interesting points, she takes the literature far too seriously and will lose many readers because of her writing style, which is too heavy with academia. She also seems to have a feminist axe to grind, as she spends a great deal of space writing about feminist elements in the authors' work.

I would recommend looking for this at the library if you feel you must read it. There's not enough here to merit the cover price.