I promised myself that now and then I’d dip into something contemporary, a modern novel or other piece of art, so I’ve recently finished a book that I was tempted by. My thoughts, not-so-nice thoughts, are thus…
Clive Barker’s Galilee is a prime example of modern fiction’s penchant for convoluted plots, overwrought prose, and the misguided belief that more is always better. This novel, a tangled mess of romance, mythology, and dark fantasy, is an exercise in literary excess, one that collapses under the weight of its own grandiosity.
At its core, the story is supposed to be about the feuding Geary and Barbarossa families, but Barker’s execution is so muddled and disjointed that it’s hard to care. The Gearys, your run-of-the-mill wealthy American family, are pitted against the Barbarossas, whose supposed mythic quality feels like nothing more than a lazy attempt to inject supernatural elements into an otherwise tedious saga. Barker’s exploration of legacy and destiny comes off as shallow, with characters that are more caricatures than compelling figures.
Galilee Barbarossa, the novel’s namesake, is a pretentious bore. As a quasi-immortal figure, his musings on love and existence are tiresome and trite. His relationship with Rachel Pallenberg, a Geary family member, is intended to be profound but instead feels forced and devoid of any genuine emotion. Their romance, which should be the emotional core of the story, is reduced to a series of clichéd encounters that do nothing to elevate the narrative.
Barker’s prose, while lush, is an exercise in self-indulgence. The novel is bloated with descriptions that add nothing but unnecessary length, making the reader trudge through page after page of purple prose. This obsession with detail only serves to highlight the lack of substantive plot or character development. The narrative is so bogged down by its own verbosity that any sense of momentum is completely lost.
The world-building, often touted as one of Barker’s strengths, falls flat in Galilee. The integration of the supernatural with the real world is clumsy and unconvincing, creating a setting that is more confusing than captivating. The Barbarossas’ mythos, which should be the novel’s saving grace, is a mishmash of cultural and historical references that feels more like a desperate attempt to seem profound than a cohesive backdrop.
One of the most glaring issues with Galilee is its structure. The sprawling narrative is disjointed, with subplots that lead nowhere and characters that disappear as quickly as they appear. Barker’s ambition to tackle vast themes results in a diluted, unfocused story that fails to deliver any meaningful resolution. The pacing is erratic, with bursts of action drowned out by interminable stretches of dull, meandering prose.
Reading Galilee is a stark reminder of the folly of indulging in modern fiction. Barker’s attempt to create a sweeping epic is a resounding failure, marred by pretentious writing and a lack of narrative coherence. This novel is a testament to the dangers of unchecked ambition in literature, where the desire to appear profound overrides the need for a well-told story.
So, Clive Barker’s Galilee is a bloated, pretentious mess that exemplifies the worst tendencies of modern fiction. Its overwrought prose, convoluted plot, and shallow characterisations make for a tedious and unsatisfying read. Barker’s failure to craft a coherent and engaging narrative ensures that Galilee is a novel best forgotten, a cautionary tale about the perils of literary excess.
I’m not sorry that I couldn’t be a little generous with this one. I think sometimes that my moods determine the severity of my critique. It’s an outlet.
Wording 