I had another bone to pick with the horror genre. The back covers of horror novels always inform the reader that unspeakable horror lurks within. But in fact, the horror that lurks within is, invariably, eminently speakable. It's always a vampire or a ghost or a wraith or a satanic child or a dysfunctional Amish pretten or a hound from hell or a monster that looks like one of the creatures from The Unnamable [sic] II that's going to wrap its entrails around your throat, eat you, and then feed its feces--including you--to other hounds from hell. The horror that lurks behind the door or at the end of a lane up in the attic is always a recognizably and even stereotypically horrific monster.