The thief of always

Review by Booklist Review

Barker follows Stephen King's lead this year in significantly reducing his page count (this one's shorter yet than its stated 240 pages, for there's a blank spacer page, a full-page frontispiece, and a title page for each of its 26 chapters) and coming up with a much better book. He calls this one a fable, and it's about 10-year-old Harvey Swick who's so bored one dreary February day that he is enticed by a curious, grinning conman--appropriately named Rictus--to come to Mr. Hood's Holiday House. There the seasons go round in what seems to be a single day, play is always fun, and whatever you want, you get, even when it's impersonating a vampire so well you scare the living daylights out of your friend--and yourself. But there's a viscous, foreboding black lake full of huge, sad-eyed fish and only two other children around despite a huge cache of children's clothing, some of which looks centuries old. Then one of the other kids turns into a fish, and Harvey knows he must get away. Harvey, of course, is the hero who eventually discovers and conquers the elusive, evil Mr. Hood, whose power stems from giving in to pure appetite, electing exciting illusion over mundane reality. Indebted to Bradbury's Something Wicked This Way Comes and the episode of King's Waste Lands in which Jake escapes the house-monster, Barker's fantasy is, for him, abnormally absorbing and provocative. Here, Barker seems to be stout second fiddle to King, the Thackeray to his Dickens, for the first time. (Reviewed Oct. 15, 1992)0060177241Ray Olson

From Booklist, Copyright (c) American Library Association. Used with permission.

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Review by Publisher's Weekly Review

In a tale that manages to be both cute and horrifying, bestselling novelist and screenwriter Barker ( Imajica ) puts the dark side back into childhood fantasy, recalling the violent undercurrents of the Grimm Brothers' tales and other classics. When archetypal 10-year-old Harvey Swick desperately wishes to be delivered from a boring February afternoon, he is miraculously rescued by Rictus, a smiling (if somewhat sinister) creature. Rictus takes Harvey to the Holiday House, where every morning is spring, every afternoon is summer and every evening offers Halloween, Thanksgiving and Christmas in quick succession. Barker masterfully embroiders this fantasy world with a mounting number of grim, even gruesome details. Harvey must heroically battle what is gradually revealed to be the malevolent force behind the Holiday House in order to save not only himself but all its previous young guests. Barker's own illustrations convey the story's deceptively sweet appeal. A welcome modern-day return to a classic form, this fable lives up to the publisher's billing as a tale for all ages. 100,000 first printing; $140,000 ad/promo; Literary Guild, Doubleday and Sci-Fi Book Club alternates; author tour. (Nov.) (c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved

(c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved

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Review by Library Journal Review

Young Harry Swick, already jaded by life, desperately wishes for some fun and excitement-which the eccentric Mr. Hood is only too happy to offer. Mr. Hood is the designer of the Holiday House, which has stood for hundreds of years as a refuge for wayward children. Seasons come and go in a day, revelries are always around the corner, but all is not as it seems in this haven. When things start to sour at Holiday House, Harry begins to suspect something malevolent in Mr. Hood's attentions, but it might already be too late. VERDICT Barker (Books of Blood) finds the perfect balance between wide-eyed wonder and the evils of lost innocence in a fantasy that reads like something Ray Bradbury would have written if he were fed a steady diet of Stephen King in his formative years. (SLJ 2/1/93) (c) Copyright 2013. Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.

(c) Copyright Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.

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Review by School Library Journal Review

YA-- What teens could resist an opening line like ``The great gray beast February had eaten Harvey Swick alive''? Harvey succumbs to the lure of instant pleasure, and lives to battle his way back to the real world twice , in order to regain all that he has lost. Lots of white space and full-page black-and-white illustrations invite readers to harken back to their younger days and the pleasures of folk and fairy tale collections. A candidate for reading aloud, this new twist on the fable genre may lead to independent writings or a new appreciation of the form. Layered with both supernatural elements and a large dose of horror, this one will entice fantasy fans to broaden their reading interests.-- Barbara Hawkins, Oakton High School, Fairfax, VA (c) Copyright 2010. Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.

(c) Copyright Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.

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Review by Kirkus Book Review

Is it penance? Cockiness? A final burst of youth? Whatever the reasons, in recent years, several middle-aging horror authors have written children's books (rarely marketed as such): Whitley Strieber's Wolf of Shadows (1985); Stephen King's The Eyes of the Dragon (1987); Dean Koontz's Oddkins (1988)--and now, from Barker, a ``fable'' about a wish-granting house that may be the weakest of the lot. Barker's adult novels (Imajica, 1991, etc.) deal with the play between our world and fabulous alternate realities. Here, too, the hero--ten-year-old Harvey Swick--encounters another world, by having his cry of boredom answered by a yellow-skinned man named Rictus who flies through Harvey's bedroom window and offers to take him to ``Holiday House.'' The boy agrees and, led through a wall of fog, finds himself in a magical place where, during each 24 hours, all four seasons pass (hot, sunny afternoons; snowy winter nights, etc.) along with their holidays, including Christmas mornings that find Harvey's most cherished wishes answered beneath the tree. It's paradise, Harvey thinks at first, but soon wonders: Why is fellow- visitor Lulu so morose? What kind of fish are those, with eyes like ``prisoners,'' lurking in the pond out back? And where is Mr. Hood, the House's wish-granting owner? In time, Harvey senses evil at work and flees, only to find that, back home, his parents have aged a year for every day at the House. And so he returns to the House, to find and battle Mr. Hood and win back his stolen years.... The House is a splendid conceit, but Harvey (Barker's first child hero) is as real as a Norman Rockwell kid, and the studiously simple narration--leached of Barker's usual X-rated, riotous imagery--lacks spirit. If this were a limited edition, it'd be a minor collector's item; with a 100,000 first printing, it's a major miscalculation. (Drawings--42--by Barker.)

Copyright (c) Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.

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The Thief of Always Chapter One Harvey Half-Devoured 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. He didn't think much of his chances. More than likely he'd become so bored as the hours crawled by that one day he'd simply forget to breathe. Then maybe people would get to wondering why such a fine young lad had perished in his prime. It would become a celebrated mystery, which wouldn't be solved until some great detective decided to re-create a day in Harvey's life. Then, and only then, would the grim truth be discovered. The detective would first follow Harvey's route to school every morning, trekking through the dismal streets. Then he'd sit at Harvey's desk, and listen to the pitiful drone of the history teacher and the science teacher, and wonder how the heroic boy had managed to keep his eyes open. And finally, as the wasted day dwindled to dusk, he'd trace the homeward trek, and as he set foot on the step from which he had departed that morning, and people asked him--as they would--why such a sweet soul as Harvey had died, he would shake his head and say: "It's very simple." "Oh?" the curious crowd would say. "Do tell." And, brushing away a tear, the detective would reply: "Harvey Swick was eaten by the great gray beast February." It was a monstrous month, that was for sure; a dire and dreary month. The pleasures of Christmas, both sharp and sweet, were already dimming in Harvey's memory, and the promise of summer was so remote as to be mythical. There'd be a spring break, of course, but how far off was that? Five weeks? Six? Mathematics wasn't his strong point, so he didn't irritate himself further by attempting--and failing--to calculate the days. He simply knew that long before the sun came to save him he would have withered away in the belly of the beast. "You shouldn't waste your time sitting up here," his mom said when she came in and found him watching the raindrops chase each other down the glass of his bedroom window. "I've got nothing better to do," Harvey said, without looking around. "Well then, you can make yourself useful," his mom said. Harvey shuddered. Useful? That was another word for hard labor. He sprang up, marshaling his excuses--he hadn't done this; he hadn't done that --but it was too late. "You can start by tidying up this room," his mom said. "But --" "Don't sit wishing the days away, honey. Life's too short." "But --" "That's a good boy." And with that she left him to it. Muttering to himself, he stared around the room. It wasn't even untidy. There were one or two games scattered around; a couple of drawers open; a few clothes hanging out: It looked just fine. "I am ten, " he said to himself (having no brothers and sisters, he talked to himself a good deal). "I mean, it's not like I'm a kid. I don't have to tidy up just because she says so. It's boring." He wasn't just muttering now, he was talking out loud. "I want to...I want to..."He went to the mirror, and quizzed it. "What do I want?" The strawhaired, snub-nosed, brown-eyed boy he saw before him shook his head. "I don't know what I want," he said. "I just know I'll die if I don't have some fun. I will! I'll die!" As he spoke, the window rattled. A gust of wind blew hard against it--then a second; then a third--and even though Harvey didn't remember the window being so much as an inch ajar, it was suddenly thrown open. Cold rain spattered his face. Half closing his eyes, he crossed to the window and fumbled to slam it, making sure that the latch was in place this time. The wind had started his lamp moving, and when he turned back the whole room seemed to be swinging around. One moment the fight was blazing in his eyes, the next it was flooding the opposite wall. But in between the blaze and the flood it lit the middle of his room, and standing there--shaking the rain off his hat--was a stranger. He looked harmless enough. He was no more than six inches taller than Harvey, his frame scrawny, his skin distinctly yellowish in color. He was wearing a fancy suit, a pair of spectacles and a lavish smile. "Who are you?" Harvey demanded, wondering how he could get past this interloper to the door. "Don't be nervous," the man replied, teasing off one of his suede gloves, taking Harvey's hand and shaking it. "My name's Rictus. You are Harvey Swick, aren't you?" "Yes..." "I thought for a moment I'd got the wrong house." Harvey couldn't take his eyes off Rictus's grin. It was wide enough to shame a shark, with two perfect rows of gleaming teeth. Rictus took off his spectacles, pulled a handkerchief from the pocket of his waterlogged jacket, then started to mop off the raindrops. Either he or the handkerchief gave off an odor that was far from fragrant. The smell, in truth, was flatulent. "You've got questions, I can see that," Rictus said to Harvey. "Yeah." "Ask away. I've got nothing to hide." "Well, how did you get in, for one thing?" "Through the window, of course." "It's a long way up from the street." "Not if you're flying." "Flying?" "Of course. How else was I going to get around on a foul night like this? The Thief of Always . Copyright © by Clive Barker. Reprinted by permission of HarperCollins Publishers, Inc. All rights reserved. Available now wherever books are sold. Excerpted from The Thief of Always by Clive Barker All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.

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