...that's what he tells us anyway.
He was away from his own body when somebody murdered him. Who? I'm not going to tell you, that would be against the point.
James Herbert's latest book is like many of his more recent works- less focus on 'splat' horror, more focus on a thrilling and psychological journey into the bizarre. It starts a little too slowly for my liking, but once it gets itself going, it's fairly relentless, the peaks always higher that the troughs, always leaving you wanting more.
It's not as 'horror' as The Rats or The Fog, but I enjoyed it. It's written with JH's usual flowing prose, enough detail put in to give the flavour, enough left out to let your imagination fill in the gaps (something many authors seem unable to do of late, with every blade of grass and crack in the pavement described in the finest detail...).
If you like good stories, good horror stories, or good (if offbeat) thrillers, you'll like this. If you like James Herbert, you'll probably love it. I did.