Weaveworld

So a few weeks back I read Weaveworld. I've read a fair few other things since then; things which, quite honestly, would be easier for me to write about, but I think I'd be remiss if I didn't at least try to put something up on here about this book.It won't be a long piece though; I'll leave the in-depth analysis to someone more qualified than I.

The problem is that nothing I write is going to do justice to what can only be described as a masterpiece. It almost seems wrong to sully it with my witless ramblings. I don't like to gush, because I can come over all teenage girl at a Jonas concert if I let myself but this novel (shamefully, the only Clive Barker novel I've ever read although that is going to change) really is one of the most beautiful pieces of fiction, fantasy or otherwise, that I've ever had the great fortune to read.

It's one of those big books (clocking in at over 700 pages) that nevertheless manages to be over far to soon. Characters like Cal and Suzanna, Shadwell and Immacolata, even Gluck, who arrives late and has only a small, if pivotal part to play, all seem to exist fully formed on the page within sentences of their introductions and as I neared end of the book they had become so much a part of my life that the thought of saying goodbye to them left me genuinely saddened.

"Nothing ever begins", Barker tells us at the outset (in an opening line that ranks up there with 'Call me Ishmael' and 'It was the best of times...') and as the book draws to it's close we are told that neither shall this story have an ending. With characters as glorious as these, with a world so richly imagined and populated with such wonders, it would be a tragedy if it did.

Just read it. Youll see.