One Of The Things I Rarely Do

It's Not Like It Ruined My Life, I Was Going To Say, But Then I Didn't. Because It Occurred To Me That Maybe It Had Ruined My Life, In A Kind Of Quiet Way--a Little Lie, Probably Not So Vital, Insidiously Separating Me From Everyone I Loved.

Here Is The Door Of My Mom's House, Well-remembered Childhood Portal. Here Is The Yard, And A Set Of Wires That Runs From The House To A Wooden Pole, And Some Fat Birds Sitting Together On The Wires, Five Of Them Lined Up Like Beads On An Abacus.

The Kind Of Person I Find Myself Interested In Is A Cross Between Being Very Emotionally Complex And Very Immature. That's What I Felt I Was Like When I Was Younger.

I Don't Think Anybody Deals Well With Tragedy Or Grief, But Maybe My Characters Are Particularly Bad At It. Which Is Why I Love Them.

I've Been Reading Peter Straub Since I Was A Teenager, And His Work Is Hardwired Into My Brain. A Dark Matter Contains Echoes Of All That Has Been Great About Straub's Previous Work And Builds Upon It. This Rashomon-like Tale Is As Spooky And Frightening As Anything He Has Written, But It's Also An Intense And Moving Celebration Of Love. Out Of The Darkness Comes, Ultimately, A Surprising And Haunting Sense Of Joy.