He’s got me hooked.
Written by: Brent R. Oliver
In the 1980s, horror was booming. You couldn’t swing the undead cat from Pet Sematary without smacking into a pile of movies destined to become classics: A Nightmare on Elm Street; The Re-Animator; The Evil Dead; An American Werewolf in London; The Shining; The Howling; The Thing; Poltergeist. And that’s just a fraction of the list.
We were similarly blessed by a crop of authors revitalizing the genre with amazing work: Dan Simmons; F. Paul Wilson; Richard Laymon; Ramsey Cambell; Robert McCammon; Joe R. Lansdale; Peter Straub; Jack Ketchum; John Saul. And, you know…Stephen King was doing stuff, too.
Horror was no longer hiding underground; it had become legit and was tainting the mainstream with blood and guts. Things were going like a house on fire.
Clive Barker dropped into that blazing house like a nuclear bomb. His talent was so prodigious, so ruthlessly…
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