When I was about 11 and at boarding school, I bought a boxset of James Herbert's books. In the boxset of three, were The Fog, The Rats and Lair. Actually, I should say I was given them by my parents; an 11-year-old boy would not have been allowed to purchase such books in those days. My parents, bless them, would also have been blissfully unaware of their content and would have been happy just in the fact that I was reading. Had they known what the books contained they would have refused, point blank, to buy them for me. I didn't deliberately misguide my parents by not telling them that they were horror books, it was just that I had read other books by James Herbert in the past and loved them that much that I was dying to read these.
We were allowed half-an-hour of reading before 'lights out' at boarding school and after the assistant headmaster had roamed the corridors doing his nightly checks I whipped the boxset out and took one of the books to read. I was about thirty pages into 'The Fog' and already engrossed when Mr Rowland, the assistant head, came back into the dormitory to talk to one of the boys he had forgotten to relay a message to. He saw what I was reading and bellowed for me to hand the book and the boxset over. He said that I could have them back at the end of term. The next day I was called to the headmaster's office and consequently given 'six of the best', a term used when a pupil is caned, using a three foot long bamboo cane, across the palms of the hands, six times. It smarted a little.
I went back to class, feeling sorry for myself, but mainly wondering why I had been so severely punished for wanting to read a book. It made me want to read the books even more, though, and at the end of term, having received my books back, and having read them, I realised why. They were brilliant! Mr Rowland was clearly jealous that I had the books, and he hadn't, and he had confiscated them all for his greedy self, the rotter! Ever since then I have loved James Herbert.
Until, that is, I read 'Creed'.
Now, I knew what to expect when I picked this book up off of my TBR shelf. I knew that it would be gory, and that it would have a good story, and that I would be engrossed. But none of these things occured. It was a bit of a rollercoaster, to be honest, parts were a four star and I 'got into' it, and others were a two star, especially the last eighty or so pages, the pages you expect to be the most enthralling, and I couldn't wait for it to end. It was too over the top, too unrealistic. All in all it was disappointing. And I'm disappointed not just because the book was bad but because James Herbert was one of my favourite authors, an author I remember fondly as a child, because I had an amazing childhood (apart from the several canings I received) and in a way this book has spoiled a tiny bit of my childhood; not a massive amout, just a tiny bit.
If you were to ask me if I would read any more books by James Herbert my honest answer would be, unless it was recommended to me, I would have to say no. However, to you, the reader who is reading this review, do not let this put you off reading Herbert's earlier works; The Fog, Lair and The Rats are a must. Just dont waste your time with this one.