Looking at the state of the horror genre in the early
years of the new era, I can’t help being reminded of what it was like growing
up. Horror fiction was my gateway
drug. It was the genre that got me to
pick up my first book somewhere around the age of seven. The first author I was ever aware of was a
fellow named John Bellairs. He’s long
gone by now, but he has a movie out in theaters as I write this. He also led me from his own work (it was The Letter, the Witch, and the Ring, as
I recall) onto the next step. That would
have been the Scary Stories to Tell in
the Dark series, written by Alvin Schwartz and brought to mind-screwing
life by the fundamentally disturbed illustrations of Stephen Gammell (it also
helps that George S. Irving seemed to have the perfect voice for these stories
on audio tape. If I live to be a
million, I’ll still remember his rendition of “Mi-Ti-Doughty-Walker”).
It’s Schwartz’s form of the horror tale that I’m
reminded of the most going over the current landscape of the genre. It’s hard to tell whether horror fiction is
in a slump or currently enjoying a quiet underground success. I hope the latter is the case. Not only would such a situation keep the torch
lit, it could also act as spur to any young talent to take a shot at carving
out a name for themselves.