The Barrowfields is a wonderfully promising debut novel that loses its way by trying to be too ambitious.
At first, I was entranced by Philip Lewis' majestic and evocative prose, which reads as if it could have easily been penned in the 1940s. Henry Aster, our narrator,
…more relays the tale of his father, also named Henry, who returned to his small Appalachian town with his pregnant wife and eventually purchases a gothic haunted house, where horrendous murders took place.
The house is a red herring and that trail goes nowhere. It appears to serve as the metaphorical embodiment of the senior Henry's haunted mind, as he struggles to write a novel and fit in with often small-minded neighbors. The sense of time and place is truly exquisite.
Had the book pursued this angle – Henry, who is inexplicably drawn to the Barrowfields and his son Henry who also struggles with "you can't go home again" – this book would have been an unqualified winner. The second half of the book, however, focuses on Henry Jr's pursuit of an impossibly beautiful (sigh!) college girl named Story, who is very damaged by her past. In this section, melodrama rules.
I felt as if the first half and the second half didn't naturally coalesce and the way too familiar story of Henry Jr's connection with the exquisite blond and luscious Story didn't engage me anywhere as much as Henry's complicated family relationship. 3.5 stars. (less)
