James Herbert: A Personal Tribute

It is 3 am. My old house is quietly creaking as the wind sighs past the gables and the rain patters gently against the windows. It is a cold morning, but has the hint of a fine spring day.

         I am sitting at my desk and my thoughts turn to James Herbert whose books take central honours in my bookcase.

         I remember when I started writing fiction and as usual found inspiration difficult, but then James Herbert entered my life with The Secret of Crickley Hall. I was instantly hooked and then rapidly worked through all his books with The Magic Cottage and the Ghosts of Sleath being two of my favourites. Then he led me onto many more writers of the genre. Soon I began to go backwards to the 1920s and 1930s which although written in a completely different style, were just as entertaining.

         James inspired me to revel in his imagination, to read many other authors whom I had never heard of, and then eventually to produce my own book Catacombs of the Damned. Authors and readers worldwide owe so much to his genius. When you read his books you feel that you are actually there in the pages such is his skill. I feel that there can be no higher accolade.

        And outside, the rain still patters, the wind still sighs but the house is less cold. He would have loved that.

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