\\"The work of horror really is a dance—a moving, rhythmic search. And what it’s looking for is the place where you, the viewer or the reader, live at your most primitive level. The work of horror is not interested in the civilized furniture of our lives. Such a work dances through these rooms which we have fitted out one piece at a time, each piece expressing—we hope!—our socially acceptable and pleasantly enlightened character. It is in search of another place, a room which may sometimes resemble the secret den of a Victorian gentleman, sometimes the torture chamber of the Spanish Inquisition... but perhaps most frequently and most successfully, the simple and brutally plain hole of a Stone Age cave-dweller. Is horror art? On this second level, the work of horror can be nothing else; it achieves the level of art simply because it is looking for something beyond art, something that predates art: it is looking for what I would call phobic pressure points. The good horror tale will dance its way to the center of your life and find the secret door to the room you believed no one but you knew of—as both Albert Camus and Billy Joel have pointed out. The Stranger makes us nervous... but we love to try on his face in secret.\\"
This quote, perhaps overly lengthy to begin this review with, yet it encapsulates what I found so compulsively readable about this non-fiction by King. Throughout the book, King transitions from boy to man, introducing the reader to a plethora of horrifying titles across all media types. Many, especially those at the start, were unknown to me. King offers synopses (often with spoilers), briefly describing each before dissecting their horrifying genius and their impact on him over his life.
I was immensely interested in all this, even more so when I was familiar with the media he discussed. But it was the discussions around these disparate titles that held fast appeal. Only through the lens of horror media did we reach the heart of horror as a genre. Once there, King provides a surprisingly deep insight into why it affects us so profoundly and continues to hold society in equal measures of deep-rooted pleasure and fear.
The whys of horror, rather than the titles, are what I gained the most from this. Now I also have notebook pages filled with a vast number of movie and book titles, giving me a lifetime of horrifying media already planned out. And I'm not the least bit angry about it.
Chico Steve, apart from being a productive writer, also turned out (not that I ever had any doubts on this matter) to be an enthusiastic "consumer" of horror. In his research, which covered a period of 30 years (from the 50s to the 80s of the 20th century), he demonstrates an encyclopedic awareness of the genre's representatives in cinema, television, and literature. I won't dwell on the first two areas because they don't particularly interest me. See, regarding his views on literature, I will jot down a few general lines, although I'm not entirely in agreement with all his conclusions.
To begin with, King clarifies that the genre framework of horror is a rather flexible concept, and the idea of finding an exact definition is truly a trap. Personally, I don't feel there is a more boring academic discipline. Just like the endless discussion of intonational units in contemporary poetry or the possible excess of some punctuation marks in the short story, this discussion falls into the category of "How many angels can fit on the head of a pin?" and in principle, it only interests two types of people - the drunk and the diploma holders, two almost identical states of incompetence.
Then he examines the three novels that lay the foundation of horror, Frankenstein, Dracula, and The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, and relates them to the corresponding archetypal images - The Thing, The Vampire, and The Werewolf - which occupy the greater part of modern artistic horror literature.
For the finale, he stops at ten books that represent everything good in this genre: horror stories as both artistic and entertaining prose, an indispensable part of 20th-century literature, worthy heirs of the previously mentioned ones.
Here they are:
1. Ghost Story - Peter Straub (1979)
2. The Haunting of Hill House - Shirley Jackson (1959)
3. The House Next Door - Anne Rivers Siddons (1978)
4. Rosemary's Baby - Ira Levin (1967)
5. Invasion of the Body Snatchers - Jack Finney (1955)
6. Something Wicked This Way Comes - Ray Bradbury (1962)
7. The Shrinking Man - Richard Matheson (1956)
8. The Doll Who Ate His Mother - Ramsey Campbell (1976)
9. The Fog - James Herbert (1975)
10. Strange Wine - Harlan Ellison (1978)
Of the mentioned (nine novels and one collection), only three have been translated into Bulgarian, but... who knows, in some better future, we might be able to see them (all or some of them) on the domestic market. Dreams die last, right? :)
And now a few curious quotes, so you can understand which authors clearly irritate King, ha-ha-ha.
If you have the desire to read John Saul and Frank De Felitta, no one is stopping you, the money is yours. But I won't discuss them here.
I'll just say that his books (by Ira Levin) manage to be tense without turning into preachy dry sermons (two novels that directly fall into the category of Preachy Dry Sermons are "Damien" by Terry Kline and "The Exorcist" by William Peter Blatty - Kline's writing style has improved significantly since then, and Blatty has fallen silent... if we're lucky, permanently).
Good horror novels are by no means found everywhere, but it seems they are never completely exhausted either. I mean, every year at least one very good (or at least very interesting) horror or supernatural novel appears. The same more or less applies to horror films. If the year happens to be particularly good, among all the trashy boulevard books about creepy children with paranormal gifts and presidential candidates who have come out of hell, and among the pretentious editions with glossy covers, like the recent "The Girl" by James Patterson, a total of three good novels can be discovered.