A friend sent me a poem this morning that reminded me of Christopher Pike, specifically of what I thought was his most profound work — the book about the teenagers in a hospice (I looked it up, The Midnight Club). How I loved his books in school. I want to re-read them now, and read the ones I missed back then. I don’t remember much — but I remember how his books made me feel. I believe that they must have influenced me on some level, because I was very scared of darkness for a long time and now I have tea with Lucifer on a regular basis (thank you, Tori Amos). The most lasting resonance I have of those books is that he played with darkness the way people play with their cigarette lighters while they speak, relishing the burn and the warmth. That he knew it intimately.
If anyone knows where I can find his books in Chennai, please let me know. Am leaving comments open on this post.