I've enjoyed several of Clive Barker's novels, including Weave Worldand Sacrament, so I had at least moderate expectations approachingthis book, particularly in light of the reviews (I should know better by now). The Kirkus reviewer likened this to an amalgam of John O'Hara, Faulkner and Cartland. I don't know about O'Hara, having never been interested in reading him, and the only thing I know about Barbara Cartland is what I gleaned from a 60 Minutes episode. But I have read everything I could ever find by Faulkner.... About the only thing remotely resembling that esteemed author is a southern setting. I have to admit I gave this novel a swift burial half way through the book. When hot-house Rachel discovers Galilee washed ashore at Maui or wherever it's supposed to be, I threw the book in the trash and said "I can't take anymore of this!" I don't care if it's passed off as tongue-in-cheek or not. It's still soap-opera dreck. It's worse than Harlequin romance because it's affected. At least Harlequin writers make no bones about their intentions. This is just disingenuous drivel. And the guy wants to write a sequel? Please, Mr. Barker, spare us. Find something worthy of your talents.