I would like to reach the point where I can love my imagination for terrorizing me; love it in more than a naive sense, as the surrealists seemed to do.
The Clinic': patient systematically reduced to progressively -- regressively -- cruder forms of life.
Detective writer who cannot bring himself to use the word 'corpse', replacing it in his fiction with entirely arbitrary terms. Readers amused by this quirk at first but soon begin to perceive more and more words as code words for 'corpse'
Those signs, symbols, portents, and omens that traverse the periphery of Villiers' tales. The cry of a bird, an oddly shaped patch of moonlight, each belonging to a separate realm of sound and space, each underlining the awesome presence of their opposites, which in these cases are silence and darkness. The faint emblems of the abyss.
Because they are so short and hasty, I found these half-worked up ideas imginatively engaging.