I used to write as an escape. There's no escape. There's just me sending my voice into the dark, waiting for an echo. — Laird Barron Copy Share Image
“When, you wonder, does Sarah go west and build her rambling mansion? Not yet. Soon, but not yet. First, her husband has to do… — Laird Barron Copy Share Image
“Like cobblestones, clouds formed a path that led down after the hidden sun, whose glow dyed the clouds a deep, purplish pink.” — Laird Barron Copy Share Image
“I cannot explain, nor must an artist defend his work or elucidate in such a way the reeling audience can fathom, brutes that they… — Laird Barron Copy Share Image
A Pretty Mouth is a fine and stylish collection that pays homage to the tradition of the weird while blazing its own sinister mark.… — Laird Barron Copy Share Image
Horror is my motor. It gets to me on an animal level and satisfies my impulse toward scenario building. — Laird Barron Copy Share Image
Pulver's skills as a post-Beat visionary are in rare form. A House of Hollow Wounds is a thrilling foray into the dark frontier of… — Laird Barron Copy Share Image
but art is not relative to perfection in any tangible sense. It is our coarse antennae trembling blindly as it traces the form of… — Laird Barron Copy Share Image
“The whole political mess, the universal squalor, the essential pettiness of mankind oppressed him and he’d submerged himself in work and writing and books.” — Laird Barron Copy Share Image
“When he looked through the scope it was as if the largest part of him dissolved and what remained was the kernel everything sprang… — Laird Barron Copy Share Image
