Lucky Jim

"THE old house had been empty for more than a year. It stood, detached and faded, away from the road, screened by foliage gone wild. No one went there, nobody showed much interest anymore."

These words - written more than 30 years ago - were how one of the most extraordinary stories of modern literature began.

For not only was this the prologue to The Rats - Herbert's first novel, and an instant hit - but, when published by New English Library in 1974, the book marked the start of the James Herbert phenomenon itself.

The man who dared to thrill and frighten readers with his imaginative horror stories has acquired, during those 30 years, acclaim from the book-buying public, disdain from many critics, and a 'master of the macabre' reputation that these days is probably more of a burden than an accolade.

James Herbert's own story is as extraordinary as any of his fictional creations. From humble roots as the youngest son of East End street traders, Herbert, now 60, is actually in his second career. The first saw him rise to associate director of a London advertising agency by the age of 26; the second career, that of best-selling writer, has seen his 20 novels sell more than 50 million copies worldwide.

I meet James Herbert in London on the day that his 21st novel, Nobody True, is published. Promotional duties are in full swing - he's up at the crack of dawn for an appearance on breakfast television, before doing this interview - but this part of being a famous author is what interests him the least.

"I'd rather let people judge me on the work, not as a personality," he says. "I don't really want people to know me, which is why I don't do much publicity. I want them to think of themselves in the book, and I don't want my personality to interfere with their reading."

Publicity-hungry he's not, then, but what does shine through is Herbert's enthusiasm for his craft. "I always said to myself that if I was successful, I would only ever write 20 books.

"Now I'm at that stage, I can't stop. I love doing it. The money doesn't come in to it any more. I'm dedicated to it."

And it seems he's keener than ever. "I've got a great idea for the next one and I can't wait to get started," he says, clearly itching to return to his home near Henfield in Sussex and begin "some real work".

"I've already written 557 ideas, and I join them up to make one. You know, the buzz is still there with me.

"I was quite exhausted about a year and a half ago, and worried that this would be my last book... but all the energy came flooding back and the book just flowed out of me."

Herbert's work has matured since his early blockbusters The Fog and The Dark, but that doesn't mean he can't still scare the living daylights out of us. Nobody True is gruesome and gripping in vintage Herbert style, yet is possibly his most moving - and disturbing - story to date.

Opening with the words: "I wasn't there when I died," the story is about Jim True, who returns from an out-of-body experience to find he has been brutally murdered, his body mutilated. No one can see him or hear him, but he still exists.

"What a great premise to work from," the author says. "You're able to see and observe all these people that you thought loved you, that you trusted, and one by one you find out they've not been true to you. Perhaps you're not as well liked as you thought.

"I love any subject that lets my imagination flow and leads me through a whole galaxy of ideas. It's almost better than anything. In fact - it is better than anything," he says, quickly adding: "I shouldn't say that, being married!"

Nobody True, as with many of his books, explores themes of loneliness and isolation. "I know about loneliness," he says. "When I was very young as a kid, my parents were always working or in the pub. My two older brothers were always out, so I spent many, many hours late into the night on my own."

This is only part of the story. Away from the writing he is Jim, the family man, married to Eileen for 36 years, devoted to his three grown-up daughters Kerry, Emma and Casey, and friend to many from his London days.

"On TV this morning they kept referring to me as a legend. But no way - I'm just Jim Herbert. At the same time, it's kind of flattering," he adds, acknowledging that "many people like you have grown up with the books".

True to his work ethic, he allows himself little praise. "I don't indulge myself that way. I'm very pleased with what I've done. Occasionally, I will sip a drink and think, 'Well, not bad, Jim, not bad.' But usually I'm too busy working to have time to reflect on it."

Warm and engaging, the only time that Herbert seems ruffled is in the face of what he regards as ill-informed sniping from critics. One journalist, for instance, recently wrote that he was a "parochial phenomenon" who appealed mostly to teenagers.

"I don't know what my audience wants and I'm not writing just for teenagers," he insists. "I write best-sellers, and that means you have to go straight across the board. It frustrates me, it upsets me, because they're not trying. It's lazy."

And a parochial phenomenon? "That's so crazy," he says, laughing at the absurdity (Herbert's books have been translated into 35 languages). "Russia, China, Argentina, Brazil! What is the man talking about? You can understand my frustration."

In fact, it's not only the literati that snub Herbert. "A year ago, 500 authors and their agents were invited to Buckingham Palace to meet the Queen. Guess who wasn't invited? Out of 500 authors, I never got an invite. Something's going on there," he sighs.

It's mystifying as to why Herbert is shunned like this. Yes, he made his name with a new wave of horror that dealt out helpings of sex and violence, but the stories were always more important.

In recent years, his subjects have been increasingly diverse and challenging. Others told a story of redemption from the perspective of a hunchbacked private investigator. Once... was an adult fairy tale, exploring the struggle between good and evil.

Am I allowed a sneak preview of the next one, I ask? "All I will tell you is that it's a good old-fashioned ghost story with a title that's very Agatha Christie."

He swears me to secrecy before telling me the title. "You cannot tell anyone - otherwise I'd have to kill you," he smiles. (I'm not taking any chances, by the way. The secret's staying with me.)

There are, of course, certain luxuries that best-sellers bring. The working-class boy from Whitechapel, whose first home was a small flat in a Guinness Trust building, now owns a mansion with 29 acres of land, a lake and a bluebell wood.

"From my study I can watch the deer come down and drink. And what could be better than that? My mother used to take me and my middle brother to bluebell woods, somewhere in Kent, just for a treat. And here I am, I've got my own bluebell wood. I get a great kick out of that."

And, I hope, it is a kick firmly directed at his sneering critics.

Nobody True, published by Macmillan, is priced at £17.99.