A horny devil

I think I may have to finally cave on my (admittedly foolish) no-new-books-for-2010 policy, if only to buy a copy of Joe Hill‘s new novel, Horns. I’ve been a big fan of Hill’s writing since his debut short story collection, 20th Century Ghosts, and while I didn’t think his first novel, Heart-Shaped Box, quite lived up to those stories, it showed a whole lot of promise and was a really fun read. The new book sounds like it will be, too.

I particularly liked this recent interview with Hill at the AV Club:

AVC: Horror fiction tends to operate on a strict, E.C. Comics-style morality. In your stories, bad people still get punished, but there’s more sympathy toward people who make mistakes.

JH: There’s two things to say about that. First of all, I was talking to someone the other day who was talking about a line in the new Peter Straub novel [A Dark Matter], which I haven’t read. A character in the book’s saying, “What am I feeling here, horror or terror? I think it’s horror.” There is a difference. Terror is the desire to save your own ass, but horror is rooted in sympathy. It’s really rooted in this notion of imagining what it might be like for someone else to suffer the worst. On that level, I suspect that horror fiction is very humanizing.

Though he goes on to acknowledge that

Okay, one of the great flaws of genre fiction is, characters understand each other. They talk about a situation, they trade information in a way that makes perfect sense to both of them. I almost never have conversations like that in real life. I think that one of the things you see in literary fiction is a much more honest and daring approach about character, where characters have a tendency to talk past each other. They’re each talking… This is something I learned from watching John Sayles movies. A couple who are in love will sit down at a table and tell each other about the day, and neither one is really hearing a word the other person says. They’re talking, the conversations are existing on two different planes. I kind of love that. Because real connection is rare.

Yeah, I think I’m going to have to read this book. Maybe Straub’s new novel, too, come to think of it.

Wednesday various

  • John Scalzi’s Everything I Ever Needed to Know About Winter, I Learned From Science Fiction Movies column is nice, but it really just makes me want to watch The Thing again.
  • “Let’s get the reformed alcoholic punk-rock 45-year-old drummer from another country with a broad accent — that’s the way to go in the late-night world.” I’m starting to think I really should be watching Craig Ferguson’s show more often. Apparently, he just aired an hour-long, audience-free conversation with Stephen Fry. He’s slowly morphing into an antic Tom Snyder with puppets, and that sounds very intriguing to me. [via]
  • Ever wonder how to pronounce an author’s name? It’s an incomplete list, obviously, but it’s a terrific concept. [via]
  • Inside the Antiques Roadshow [via]
  • And finally, Stephen Merritt on the perverse art or love songs:

    You know, most love songs are not cheesy and corny. Most love songs are complaints, I think. Or about unrequited love, coming at it from some oblique angle. Only the ones that say “I love you” over and over are the cheesy, corny ones that people complain about. At least half the songs people hear in the world are love songs. I feel like my love songs, probably none of which just say “I love you” over and over again, are in the mainstream of that tradition of being a little off.

    I also like his thoughts on clichés and how he felt the need to clarify that by “Oprah” he was referring to “the TV show starring Oprah Winfrey.”

Thursday various

Wednesday various

Perpetual sludge

Today was such a wet and sludgy day, my first day back to work after a three-day weekend, and all around it was pretty busy. I’ve got several book projects in the pipeline, a couple that need to finished and off my desk before the end of the month, so I spent most of the day reading chapters for one of those projects and making some final edits where needed. I’m really just sort of glad the day is over.

This evening I spent a whole lot more time than I expected to working on a little side project, my mother’s birthday present. It’s all hush-hush, but her birthday is this weekend, and I’ve been putting together this gift for awhile.

And I also finished reading Scott Westerfeld’s The Risen Empire. It’s really space opera, and the fact that it ends on a cliffhanger with much of the plot unresolved is maybe the best argument against my whole “no new books for 2010” pledge yet.

And that’s that. Right now, I’m going to go to bed or watch Lost and then go to bed. I haven’t yet decided, though bed is definitely in the near future.