Steve and Nancy just want to pick their kids up from camp, but when Steve decides to get drunk and pick up an escapee from Sing Sing along the way, the couples’ plans are derailed. Those kids are just going to have to wait.
A bored hunter decides to play out his own version of “The Most Dangerous Game,” with a vicious dictator as the target. Suffice it to say, the game turns on him and he’s chased o'er hill and vale by a hunter as good–or better–than him.
A young Welshman, unjustly considered complicit in a murder, travels to Bavaria to stay at his relatives’ castle. There he discovers a Germany torn apart by its recent defeat in WWI, unrequited love, and an intimate look into a growing political party that threatens to change everyone’s future.
Daphne du Maurier was a master of nightmares, and this collection is full of them: vacation-ruining ghosts, midnight trysts that devolve into homicides, and the killer birds that Hitchcock loved so much.
Alfred A. Knopf, 1973. A find at the Book Barn in Niantic, Conn. A sterling example of the New England Gothic genre, anticipating similar themes in “The Wicker Man.” I’ve always wondered if the town in the novel was based on Cornwall, Conn., which is a genuinely weird and unsettling place.
October is a great month to read horror stories. Whether they contain crazed psychopaths, demonic ghouls, cackling witches, or pissed off extraterrestrials, it just feels right to read these tales in the fading light of an October afternoon. (Or even better: late at night which a cup of coffee and a slice of pie.) I just stared Harvest Home by Thomas Tryon, which has been described by S.T. Joshi as “an imperishable masterpiece.” What are some of your favorite scary books to read late at night?
INTERVIEWER You’ve announced thirty-three forthcoming books. Why thirty-three?
CENDRARS The list of thirty-three books that I’ve been announcing for forty years is not exclusive, restrictive, or prohibitive; the number thirty-three is the key figure of activity, of life. So this is not at all in ink. If might be an index, but it is not The Index. It doesn’t include the titles of novels which I will never write—the other day I was surprised to discover that La Main coupée, which I published in 1946, had been on this list since 1919. I had completely forgotten that! On the list are books that I will take up again and that will appear in the future. Also listed are the ten volumes of Notre pain quotidien, which are written but that I left in various strongboxes in South American banks and which, God willing, will be found by chance some day—the papers aren’t signed, and are left under a false name. I’ve also listed a group of poems that I value more than my eyes but that I haven’t decided to publish—not by timidity or pride, but for love. And then, there are the books that were written, ready for publication, but which I burned to the great detriment of my publishers: for example, “La vie et la mort du soldat inconnu” (five volumes). Finally, there are the bastards, the larvae, and the abortions which I will probably never write.
If you don’t mind the Spanish subtitles, you should watch this, a delightfully creepy 70s film titled The Other, based on a novel by that name. The IMDB synopsis: “In the summer of 1935, 9-year-old twins Niles and Holland Perry live with their family on a Connecticut farm. Their loving grandmother Ada has taught them something called ‘the game.’ A number of accidents begin happening, and it seems to Niles that Holland is responsible. It is Ada who begins to see the truth, and she is the only one who can stop this macabre game of murder.”
I saw the movie when I was maybe 7 or 8 and read the book a short time after and feel like both had surprisingly long-lasting effects on my creative mind.
“Hot. Getting hotter.
By day and by night, summer bloomed, blazed. The horse-chestnut
tree became a darker green, its leaves broadening, glistening with a
leathery, waxy sheen, its branches sprouting small prickly balls. The
lawns, however, sprouted only dandelions, crabgrass, and witchweed.
Awnings were useful. While certain people returned, sorrowfully,
to the city, others arrived to enjoy the blandishments of the
country. Some loved the weather, some endured it, some suffered
from it. My, wasn’t it muggy, sticky, damp, humid? And in an age
before air conditioning, too.”