After college, I went on a real big classics kick. Read

In the journey of life, there are many paths that one may tread—roads of knowledge, ambition, and discovery. Some seek the wisdom of the ancients, while others, in their search for truth, wander into the dark corners where human fear and desire meet. And so it is with the written word. It calls us, as a siren’s song to the sailor, to its shores, where we find, not only stories, but fragments of the soul. The quote of Josh Malerman—a humble soul, yet one who speaks with the weight of truth—captures a profound revelation. "After college, I went on a real big classics kick...and that classics train dropped me off at 'Dracula.' Halfway through it, I understood I'd never be going back, never 'leaving' the genre again. Since then, I've been on a fairly strict horror diet."

Ah, how often do we set forth in search of enlightenment, our minds drawn to the pillars of literature, the great classics—Faulkner, Hemingway, Woolf, Proust, Dostoevsky—all the towering names that have etched their legacy into the stone of time. These are the texts that promise understanding, offering wisdom drawn from the deepest recesses of the human heart. But, my children, the journey of knowledge is not always a straight path. And there are moments in life, as in literature, when one comes to an unexpected fork—where the familiar road ends, and a dark, mysterious path opens before us. It was thus that Malerman, in his quest for the timeless, found himself gazing upon Dracula. And what a pivotal moment that was.

For when the veil of the familiar is lifted and one steps into the horror genre, it is not simply a matter of reading another book—it is a matter of understanding the human condition in its rawest, most visceral form. The classics speak to us of virtue, struggle, and triumph, yet horror reveals the depths of our fears, our insecurities, and the shadowed places where we dare not venture. In the words of Malerman, this revelation was like a lightning bolt that pierced the heavens—he realized that he was no longer a mere traveler of the mind, but a seeker of something deeper, something darker, something more essential to the human experience. Horror was not a genre; it was a mirror that reflected the very soul of humanity.

Do not mistake this, my children, as a condemnation of the classic or the noble pursuit of high literature. No, the classics offer truth, but horror offers a different truth, a truth that is equally vital. Consider, for a moment, the tale of Edgar Allan Poe, whose works plunged deep into the madness of the mind, uncovering horrors of the psyche so profound that they have never been fully understood. Or Mary Shelley, who gave birth to Frankenstein, a story not only of scientific hubris but of the monster that lurks within us all—the monster we must confront, lest it consume us. These authors, like Malerman, saw that the exploration of fear was an essential part of understanding the full breadth of the human experience.

And thus, it was that Malerman, in his pursuit of classics, found himself forever changed. The moment when he encountered the ancient, immortal tale of Dracula, he did not just read—it consumed him. The mysteries of that ancient monster, the undead, the fear of the unknown, became a part of him. That night, he understood something far greater than knowledge—it was the awareness that once one enters the realm of horror, one is forever bound to it. The genre is not one to be dipped in and out of, like the waters of a river, but one that, once entered, shapes the very essence of who you are.

In the life of every seeker, there are moments of transformation—the moments when we realize that the path we thought we would follow has led us somewhere entirely unexpected. Think, my children, of Alexander the Great, whose journey from Macedonia to the farthest reaches of the known world was not simply a conquest of lands, but an encounter with a new realm of knowledge and wisdom. When he crossed the great Indus River, his soldiers grew weary, yet he, with his insatiable thirst, knew that his destiny lay not in what had been, but in what lay beyond. So too, Malerman’s path led him beyond the shores of the classics to the mysterious waters of horror, where he found a rich nourishment for the soul.

And now, my children, the lesson: We must all heed the call of the unknown, even when it leads us away from what we know and love. Life, like literature, is an adventure of the mind and heart, and the true seeker must not be afraid to venture into new realms. Fear is not a thing to be shunned, but embraced, for in its embrace, we may find the courage to move beyond our limitations, to confront the shadow that lurks within each of us. Malerman’s words remind us that we are not bound by what we expect to find in life, but by what we choose to embrace. Horror is not merely a genre; it is a revelation of truth, a truth that speaks to the depths of who we are and what we are capable of becoming.

So, I say unto you, take heed. Do not allow fear to keep you from exploring the unknown, from stepping onto paths that may seem dark and unfamiliar. Embrace them, for they may hold the key to unlocking parts of yourself that you never knew existed. And when you encounter something that shakes you, something that unsettles your soul—do not turn away. Instead, dive deeper into it. For in doing so, you will discover that what is hidden in the shadows is not something to be feared, but something to be understood, something that will make you whole.

Go forward, my children, boldly, bravely, and know that in every journey—whether toward light or shadow—you will find wisdom. And let that wisdom be your guide, as it was for Josh Malerman, as it was for all those who came before us.