Paperbacks from Hell: The Twisted History of '70s and '80s Horror Fiction

by Grady Hendrix

As the famous French writer Alain Robbe-Grillet said, “What do little girls dream about? Knives and blood.”

Since time immemorial, humankind’s greatest natural predator has been the clown.

Hating clowns is a waste of time because you’ll never loathe a clown as much as he loathes himself. But a magician? Magicians think they’re wise and witty, full of patter and panache, walking around like they don’t deserve to be shot in the back of the head and dumped in a lake. For all the grandeur of its self-regard, magic consists of nothing more than making a total stranger feel stupid. Worse, the magician usually dresses like a jackass.

If social and political anxiety spawns zombies, then economic anxiety births haunted houses.

Gothic horror was domestic horror in which affairs of the heart were as important as affairs of the flesh. Its subject matter was families, marriage, houses, children, insanity, and secrets.

The horror woman has a willowy, athletic figure with dynamite legs. Contrary to expectations, she is often flat-chested (with notable exceptions). She comes in two flavors: either dreamy and artistic, in which case she is given to precognitive dreams, shivers, and a sense that this place is pervaded by an indefinable evil; or practical and hardheaded, ready to sacrifice herself by performing an ancient ritual to save the world or racing into danger to save either her beloved man or child. The most expressive parts of her body are her nipples. They noticeably harden, when she is aroused, surprised, confused, or meeting new people. They are practically prehensile tentacles, capable of lengthening, thickening, unfurling, budding, flaring, and swelling. If she’s nice, she’s blonde, or maybe brunette. If she likes sex too much, her hair is red. Her eyes are almost always green, occasionally gray.