Thanks for the memories, James
James Herbert died yesterday and I had that jaw-dropping moment when one doesn’t want to believe the news
I know he’s a writer who had his share of mixed reviews. I also know many of my readers will be surprised that I read or even like the horror genre, despite my saying constantly that I read anything and everything. Besides, some horror writers aren’t, truly, writing what I call horror even if there’s a share of that among the pages. If you read what Herbert had to say about his own work some of his motivations and underlying themes would surprise many.
Truth is, I ‘grew up’ on horror books. My teen years were romances (usually Mills & Boon because that was what my friends were reading), Herbert, King, and Steinbeck. LOL. You can’t get more varied than that. I’m serious when I say my library is eclectic. I suppose in a sense he was also a success story — well known and British. The young writer in me couldn’t help being a little envious.
So much happened to me throughout those years. Both I and my life went through so many changes. What I read during that time is blended with all the other memories.
So my small tribute is a simple one: many, many thanks for the memories, James.
A good write up by the Telegraph about his work and life:
