Halloween is only a few days away! In case you aren’t yet in the spirit, or if you are and you want to add a bit more scary fun to these last few days, consider picking up one of these classic horror books!
There are a lot of scary stories out there, too many to read. However, if I have to recommend some good scary books, I’ll recommend the following eight classics of the genre. These books are essential reading for anyone even remotely interested in horror fiction because they are 1) thoughtfully written and well-crafted; 2) unsettling, creepy, and horrifying; and 3) insanely influential. Stephen King wouldn’t be famous at all if it weren’t for Mary Shelley, Shirley Jackson, and Robert W. Chambers.
Also, its worth noting that while you may “know” about these classics, if you haven’t read them, you’re missing out. So run to your nearest bookstore, library, or Amazon account and get yourself any one of these for a spooky read. If you’re pressed for time, you might like some of the short story collections, which are quick, morbid reads. Enjoy!
*Beware of some spoilers!*
There are so many great books out there, and hardly enough time to read them. On top of that, it’s hard to find them. The bestseller lists, though full of great choices, are only a small sampling of the available books. Those lists aren’t terribly diverse either, which can make for some stale reading lists.
In an effort to combat this problem, I thought I’d try something new this month and share my September 2015 reading list!
Every month, I’ll post a list of the books I plan to read (I may not get to all of them–life happens). I’ll include a brief description and a few thoughts. Feel free to comment with any recommendations for my future reading list!
Don’t you just hate it when you buy a well-reviewed novel with an intriguing plot description, only to slog through the whole thing and realize it’s not very good? It’s not a great feeling to realize around page 220 of 400 that you might have wasted your time. But because you read such good reviews, you persist through dragging plot development, characters you don’t care about, and a whole lot of extra detail that lacks emotional depth and makes you want to start editing the book as you read it.
I have to admit I felt this way about Stephen King’s recent novel Revival.
Odds are, Dear Reader, that you own a least one IKEA item. Odds are even higher that you’ve visited an IKEA at least once in your life. Those stores are everywhere—a quick Google search tellls me that IKEA operates 351 stores in 46 countries on 5 continents. Its furniture is endemic to college dorms and first apartments because its relatively good furniture for being dirt cheap. While IKEA furniture is ridiculously easy to assemble, the shopping at IKEA is like running a gauntlet. Huge crowds, a maze-like showroom floor, and a massive warehouse are only some of the obstacles you must overcome to get your Klippan sofa home.
Seriously, you don’t know the meaning of existential frustration until you go to IKEA for one thing, but you are funneled into the showroom labyrinth through no design of your own, and for two hours you are stuck behind a family that takes up the entire width of the path and stops to touch every. Single. Thing.
I am here, reading with you. I am reading this over your shoulder. I make your home home,
I’m the Braille on your wallpaper that only your fingers can read—I tell you where you are.
Don’t turn to look at me. I am only tangible when you don’t look.
Home. There place where we belong. Where we put our things, our emotions, our past. More often than not, it is a dwelling of some sort—a room, an apartment, or a house. You know every room, every door, all the corners, the way the fourth step from the top creaks, and the way the sunlight enters the windows. You know it intimately. You will carry this knowledge with you forever.
I’ve always been fascinated by the interaction between a person and the building she inhabits. It is a relationship, and both person and dwelling provoke change in each other. I’ve written about it before on this blog, particularly to examine the ways in which purportedly haunted buildings physically interact with the people who move about inside.
Even after we have left, we carry the physical presence of home. It is part of us, and we have become a part of it. Home is a record of our lives. We dirty it. We wear it down. Sometimes we break it or fix it up. Home is the intersection of our past, present and future.
Which brings me to my new favorite book, White is for Witching.
I don’t know about you, but I love Christmas time! I love the songs, the holiday parties, the food, and spending more time with family and friends. As much as I love my family, however, sometimes it’s nice to wander off to a quiet corner with a cup of hot cocoa and curl up with a good book.
And given that Christmas occurs around the winter solstice, when the days shrink at the onslaught of frozen nights, this is the perfect time to branch out into some scary wintery tales.
I’ve done some research and compiled a list* of horror novels related to Christmas or wintertime. In no particular order:
I love vampires. I think they might be my absolute favorite monsters. As far as monsters go, vampires are especially threatening because they can move amongst humans undetected. They are often beautiful, cunning, and charming, all the while masking a barely restrained brutality. Sometimes the vampire is full of self-loathing and struggles with the moral and existential repercussions of her bloodlust. Other times, the vampire fully embraces her power and relishes each victim.
Why do kids love being scared? Not just sneaking slasher films or scary movies, I’m talking about ghosts stories, urban legends, monster stories told in tight circles, bathed either in the glow of the TV or the campfire.
Tales of the boogeyman. Playing “Light as a Feather.” Communicating with the other side using a Ouija board. Gathering the courage to summon Bloody Mary in a dark, cramped bathroom.
I think kids feel the same attraction adults feel. Scary things make you excited, in the purest physiological meaning of the term.
You know what it feels like to watch a really, truly terrifying movie. Your heart rate increases, as does your blood pressure and your respiration rate. Your amygdala goes to work, flashing signals to your pituitary glands and adrenaline glands, which, depending on how intense the situation is, release adrenaline and cortisol.
It’s a rush, and people generally love the sensation.