JК
Danse Macabre :: Кинг Стивен
Страница: 335 из 359Somewhere in the middle of "Alice's Restaurant," Arlo Guthrie tells his audience, "I could play all night. I'm not proud . . . or tired . . ." I could say much the same thing. I haven't talked about Charles Grant's Oxrun Station books, or Manley Wade Wellman's Appalachian bard John, he of the silver-stringed guitar. I've had only a chance to touch briefly on Fritz Leiber's Our Lady of Darkness (but gentle reader, there is a pale brown thing in that book that will haunt your dreams). There are dozens of others. No, I take that back. There are hundreds .
If you need a slightly longer arrow-or if you're just not tired of talking about books yet- glance at Appendix II, where there is a list of roughly one hundred books issued during the thirty years we've been jawing over here, all of them horror, all of them excellent in one way or another. If you're new to the field, you'll find enough stuff to keep you quaking in your boots for the next year and a half. If you're not, you'll find you've read many of them already . . . but they'll give you my own hazy conception of where north lies, at least.
CHAPTER X
The Last Waltz-Horror and Morality, Horror and Magic
1
"YES, BUT HOW do you justify earning a living by feeding off people's worst fears?”
2
The police have been summoned by a neighbor who has heard a commotion of some kind.
What they find is a bloodbath-and something worse. The young man admits, quite calmly, that he has murdered his grandmother with a pipe, and then cut her throat.
"I needed her blood," the young man tells the police calmly. "I'm a vampire. Without her blood, I would have died.” In his room the police find magazine articles about vampires, vampire comic books, stories, novels.
3
We'd been having a pretty nice lunch, this reporter from the Washington Post and I, something I was grateful for. I'd just started a twelve-city tour for my novel The Dead Zone the day before in New York with a kick-off party thrown by the Viking Press at Tavern on the Green, a huge, rococo eating and drinking establishment on the edge of Central Park. I had tried to take it easy at the party, but I still managed to put away about eight beers there, and another six or so at a smaller, more relaxed party with some friends from Maine later on.
Nevertheless I was up the next morning at quarter of five to make the six o'clock Eastern shuttle to Washington so I could, in turn, make a seven o'clock TV appearance to plug my novel. Welcome to touring, friends and neighbors.
If you need a slightly longer arrow-or if you're just not tired of talking about books yet- glance at Appendix II, where there is a list of roughly one hundred books issued during the thirty years we've been jawing over here, all of them horror, all of them excellent in one way or another. If you're new to the field, you'll find enough stuff to keep you quaking in your boots for the next year and a half. If you're not, you'll find you've read many of them already . . . but they'll give you my own hazy conception of where north lies, at least.
CHAPTER X
The Last Waltz-Horror and Morality, Horror and Magic
1
"YES, BUT HOW do you justify earning a living by feeding off people's worst fears?”
2
The police have been summoned by a neighbor who has heard a commotion of some kind.
What they find is a bloodbath-and something worse. The young man admits, quite calmly, that he has murdered his grandmother with a pipe, and then cut her throat.
"I needed her blood," the young man tells the police calmly. "I'm a vampire. Without her blood, I would have died.” In his room the police find magazine articles about vampires, vampire comic books, stories, novels.
3
We'd been having a pretty nice lunch, this reporter from the Washington Post and I, something I was grateful for. I'd just started a twelve-city tour for my novel The Dead Zone the day before in New York with a kick-off party thrown by the Viking Press at Tavern on the Green, a huge, rococo eating and drinking establishment on the edge of Central Park. I had tried to take it easy at the party, but I still managed to put away about eight beers there, and another six or so at a smaller, more relaxed party with some friends from Maine later on.
Nevertheless I was up the next morning at quarter of five to make the six o'clock Eastern shuttle to Washington so I could, in turn, make a seven o'clock TV appearance to plug my novel. Welcome to touring, friends and neighbors.