You may dismiss some of the material I plan to cover as "trash." Yes, the contents of this blog may not always explore the upper echelons of literature, but these novels speak to me, they are not a light in the grim darkness of everyday life but something even darker. The title of this blog is a throwback to Clive Barker's Books of Blood, which I adore.
There is something almost magical when I have a book in my hands that I simply cannot put down, no matter how late the hour or how pressing work or social activities may be. I am on a constant quest to rediscover that feeling of awe, the knowledge that I have something special and completely unlike anything I have ever read before in my hands with no clue as to what will happen next.
That feeling often comes to me when I read horror novels. It seems completely opposite my nature as a calm, shy young woman that abhors violence in the material world. When I was in the seventh grade and picked up my first Stephen King novel (it was Cujo) it is not an exaggeration to say that it changed my life. I admired the courage of the main characters and reveled in their naked fear, absolutely delighted to find an author that did not restrain himself like the authors of the young adult novels I had admired before. Many more gifted authors have explained this phenomenon more eloquently than I could ever hope to, but what it boils down to is an unabashed delight in the voyeurism that horror novels provide from the absolute safety of our own homes. Who cares if you had a bad day, this poor woman is being held captive by a rabid dog!
I do want to warn you of spoilers. I get to the tough, leathery meat of these novels so if you encounter a review for something you haven't read yet, you may want to move on.
No comments:
Post a Comment