i read this dude’s book and i wanted to like it but it was basically incoherent, like he was doing a quick and patchy review of something he had already gone over in greater detail elsewhere.
it’s also full of absurd funny stuff that gets presented with no elaboration and then left to dangle in the wind, like when he claims that aliens left a giant naked man in the woods behind his house who camped in the trees and prevented him from approaching the landing site. then he just moves on into the next paragraph like he had not just said that ridiculous thing
Despite the rising hostility and falling sales, I continued writing my books, attempting to make some headway in convincing people to at least entertain the notion that this might be true. All that happened was that I was tuned out, gradually, more and more. Sales that had been falling now plummeted. I attempted to return to horror fiction. It didn’t work. Those readers had already abandoned me.
The visitors ended the walks in the woods and stationed a guardian behind the house. It distressed me that this poor man was out there night and day, no matter the weather. He looked sort of human, and he was extremely fierce. I would find little lean-tos he would make for himself, and stone redoubts put together with the skill and patience of an Inca. If we did anything he thought dangerous, he would rush back and forth in the woods near the house breaking sticks and gasping like an appalled old spinster. If I tried to approach him, he would become infuriated. But whenever people would come up near the house, he would be there banging on the windows or something.
Along with the loss of readers came financial decline and blackest depression. Thankfully, Andrew was away at school and did not see any of this anguish. It became obvious to me in about 1993 that I was doomed to lose my second cabin, where I had entered into and was living a life of ongoing contact.