![]() ![]() James have become my most adored tour guides when venturing into the impenetrable stygian darkness, providing nefarious cover for things that go bump in the night.īy way of a confession, my leanings toward such works have even found me enjoying Dennis Wheatley, though I’m unlikely to advertise this guilty pleasure unless tempted to do so by Bacchus himself! Counterpointing this reverence for the venerated masters of the Gothic genre, is a counterintuitive fondness for books which flagrantly lampoon this hallowed genre, and its iconic progenitors. ![]() These lucky finds remain one of my greatest joys, and go a long way to explaining the enduringly ineluctable pull of the second hand book shop upon both my curiosity, and book craving psyche.Īmongst my many predilections is a taste for the macabre, the supernatural and the luridly scintillating, recondite shibboleths of the occult. Quite by chance I will be drawn to a book ostensibly appearing to be something unlikely to tickle my fancy, yet upon closer inspection, said book magically provides unexpected noetic stimulation, and the invaluable balm of unadulterated entertainment. As with innumerable readers, my reading proclivities benefit from the deft hand of serendipity acting as a delightful agent of fortuitous thaumaturgy. ![]()
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