I flew to L.A. in 2001, a few weeks after 9/11, to meet Clive Barker and talk to him about his then-forthcoming sexy, creepy haunted Hollywood novel, Coldheart Canyon, for The Advocate. The airports in Toronto and L.A. were like ghost towns, with everyone vigilant and on their best behaviour. I read the galleys on the plane. The next day was warm and soft, a Southern California fall day like something out of a movie about Southern California in the fall. I met Barker at his house that afternoon, and we spoke for two and a half hours, about books, films, life, and Coldheart Canyon. Throughout, he couldn't have been more generous and forthcoming—a true gentleman, on and off tape, then and now.
