Anne Rice

The Vampire Chronicles — (1976-2003) Publisher: Witness the confessions of a vampire. A novel of mesmerizing beauty and astonishing force, it is a story of danger and flight, love and loss, suspense and resolution, and the extraordinary power of the senses.

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New Tales of the Vampires — (1998-1999) Publisher: Anne Rice, creator of the Vampire Lestat, the Mayfair witches and the amazing worlds they inhabit, now gives us the first in a new series of novels linked together by the fledgling vampire David Talbot, who has set out to become a chronicler of his fellow Undead. The novel opens in present-day Paris in a crowded café, where David meets Pandora. She is two thousand years old, a Child of the Millennia, the first vampire ever made by the great Marius. David persuades her to tell the story of her life. Pandora begins, reluctantly at first and then with increasing passion, to recount her mesmerizing tale, which takes us through the ages, from Imperial Rome to eighteenth-century France to twentieth-century Paris and New Orleans. She carries us back to her mortal girlhood in the world of Caesar Augustus, a world chronicled by Ovid and Petronius. This is where Pandora meets and falls in love with the handsome, charismatic, lighthearted, still-mortal Marius. This is the Rome she is forced to flee in fear of assassination by conspirators plotting to take over the city. And we follow her to the exotic port of Antioch, where she is destined to be reunited with Marius, now immortal and haunted by his vampire nature, who will bestow on her the Dark Gift as they set out on the fraught and fantastic adventure of their two turbulent centuries together.

Interview with the Vampire

There are two major traditions when it comes to vampire fiction. In the first and older conception of them, they are out-and-out monsters, demons lusting after mortal blood from beyond the grave. Examples of this would include Stephen King’s ‘Salem’s Lot or the original Dracula to some extent. The second tradition humanizes vampires, focusing on the men and women they once were rather than the supernatural beings they have become. Interview with the Vampire is of the latter camp, one I admit I have had little patience for in the past. Anne Rice won me over, however, with her fascinating study of the impact immortality and the supernatural might have on the mortal mind, as well as her startlingly poignant prose and elegant narrative style.

The point that I want to convey most strongly concerning this text is that it is far more artistic and nuanced than (fairly or unfairly) many readers may expect of the vampire genre. Rice is elegant, classy, and clever in her use of language. If I had to choose a word to describe the prose, it would be lush. Honestly, that’s the best descriptor. It’s very centered on imagery, much of the wording is very sensual (in every meaning of the word) and there are layers to nearly every moment in the plot.

The trouble with this fact is that while some readers will very much enjoy the striking imagery and philosophical depth, others may find it a bit slow. There is a decent plot here, but at times it is rather slow-moving and even enjoying the book as much as I was, I began to wish Rice would just move it along. She has a tendency to languish a great deal of attention on relational issues between her characters, so much that occasionally the prospect of a nice bloodbath sounds rather attractive just to shake things up.

A lot of this is down to the main character, Louis. His story is simple enough: he’s a wealthy landowner in New Orleans suffering from guilt over his brother’s death. He is transformed into a vampire by the enigmatic Lestat, and the two of them embark on an immortal existence in which Louis questions what it is to be a vampire or an immortal in any sense, inevitably leading to a consideration of what it means to be human and mortal. This is complex stuff, and the issues covered are interesting. In terms of entertainment value, however, there really were times when I wanted to strangle Louis. He is far more a philosopher and observer than he is an actor in his own story, and from day one we see him being pushed around with depressing ease by more forceful personalities. Louis spends much of the novel wringing his hands and crying “woe is me!” and thus cannot avoid looking rather pathetic as a protagonist. In some respects, this adds to the artistic depth of the piece, but on the other hand I must say that it is often difficult to relate to Louis, and easily frustrated readers may turn away from him about halfway through.

For most, however, I would say that Louis or the sometimes plodding narrative, taken as separate issues, would be of negligible importance. It’s when the two of them combine that an issue starts forming. Louis’s infatuation with Armand, for instance (I maintain that Armand is akin to cyanide for pacing in the early VAMPIRE CHRONICLES), dragged on and on until I longed for the good old days of Louis being bullied into angsty submission by a cheerfully homicidal Lestat.

The issues of a weak protagonist and occasional slow pacing aside, however, Interview with the Vampire is overall an excellent effort, worthy of the reputation it has received as one of the preeminent vampire novels ever written. As I said above, Rice’s prose is phenomenal, and she has clearly given her ideas a lot of thought. I very much enjoyed the novel (more than I expected to, in all honesty), and as a personal aside I went out of my way in the week following to try Cajun foods purely because the depictions of old New Orleans resonated with me so powerfully. This is excellent vampire fiction. Recommended to any fans of the genre, and most who are curious and don’t mind a bit of a slower-paced read. —Tim Scheidler

The Vampire Lestat

Anne Rice's second vampire novel is both a prequel and a sequel to her original story Interview with the Vampire. A sequel because it is framed by a sequence of events in contemporary times, and a prequel because it recounts the history of the vampire Lestat, the sire of the protagonist Louis in Interview. After waking from centuries-sleep in 1980's New Orleans, Lestat discovers the Interview manuscript and goes about setting the story straight, recounting his mortal life as a young French aristocrat, his transformation into a vampire, and his ongoing quest to find the answers behind his new condition. Stretching from the French Revolution to Egyptian myth to the modern day world, his journey is one that only an immortal could take, and we're lucky enough to be taken along for the ride.

Lestat is perhaps Rice's most popular creation, and it's easy enough to see why: he is charismatic, merciful, deep-thinking and tormented; in other words a truly three-dimensional character and possibly the most relatable member of the undead in the huge vampiric canon of books and movies (well, with the possible exception of Angel and Spike). His moral crisis on becoming a vampire is especially intriguing, with his reluctance to destroy innocent mortals.

More than this however, is Rice's (and consequently Lestat's) exploration into the mythos of the vampire and the search for the origins of the vampire. She ingeniously melds the legends of ancient Britain, Greece and Egypt to tell the complete history of the vampire creatures, making especially good use of the myth of Osiris and Isis, whose existence bears a fascinating similarity to the making of a vampire. Finally Lestat gets to the heart of the matter after tracking down different vampires of increasing age, and the full truth behind the vampire and the creation of the first vampires. It is one of the most interesting and thought-provoking theories on the subject that I have ever read, and yields further revelations and connections on each re-reading.

As well as this, Rice includes Lestat's complex relationships with his mother and best friend who become privy to his vampiric secret, and toward the end Louis and Claudia are mentioned also (so make sure you've read Interview as Lestat gives away the details of their life together). Fellow vampires such as Armand, Marius and Magnus make prominent appearances, all of whom had later novels dedicated to their characters and serve as "stepping stones" to Lestat's journey of discovery, each yielding more clues and information to the intellectual path that he takes.

Anne Rice's language is gorgeous to read, rich and poetic and full of sublime passages and descriptions. Sometimes she can go a little overboard: on more than one occasion I found myself reading a passage and realising I had no idea what was going on, but her rich detail and extensive knowledge of history sets her vampires in an utterly realistic and mysterious world. Concepts such as "the conversation," the Savage Garden and the wolf killer echo through the novel, adding resonance and extra meaning to the unfolding story where the smallest detail can hold the greatest importance.

All in all, an immensely rich and rewarding read at times scary, beautiful, intriguing, and exceptionally clever. Rice has created a new breed of vampires that are both similar and extremely different from those of traditional folklore. Usually I dislike books that make vampires "good guys" and thereby strip them of any potency or menace whatsoever, but Rice is the only author that I know of (with the exception of Angel and Spike of course) who makes this work. I can't wait to read more. —Rebecca Fisher

The Vampire Lestat

Anne Rice’s The Vampire Lestat is the second (and probably best-regarded) of her VAMPIRE CHRONICLES. The Vampire Lestat is probably the seminal work of vampire fiction since Bram Stoker. Much of what was implied in Interview with the Vampire is made concrete here as Rice broadens and deepens her mythology, all the while creating one of the archetypal figures of the genre.

The first thing one should say about The Vampire Lestat in comparison with Interview with the Vampire is that if you spent the first novel sighing to yourself that all of this was rather good, but Louis was a whiny sort of fellow who liked to talk more than to act, you shall be overjoyed with this installment. Lestat is the vital, charismatic hero that Louis was not. If he loses some of Louis’s tragedy and philosophizing, he makes it up in the simple fact that he is from the first page a more relatable character. The narrative style of Lestat’s book is faster-paced and more direct than that of Louis’s, but leaves ample room for Rice’s trademark sensual imagery and dense characterization.

As always, something to be aware of when opening an Anne Rice novel is that if you are going in expecting some sort of monster bloodbath, you are likely to be disappointed. For better or for worse (it’s largely a matter of opinion), Rice is far more interested in the relational side of things than she is in the action. There are no instances of imaginatively gory killing sprees or daring vampire-on-vampire swordfights. Some readers may consequently find the book a little slow or wandering, but on the other hand, I think there are just as many (if not more) who will revel in its emotional depth.

Rice novels are like holiday chocolate: they’re rich, surprisingly sensual, and usually rather dark. The text, like Lestat himself, appears to be almost entirely concerned with deep, slow-moving emotions, teased and titillated until at last they begin to drift in the depths. Lestat is far more easygoing than Louis but his story is objectively far from light material. Rice does interesting things with that here, from a purely literary perspective, choosing her words with care particularly in the action scenes. The fight between Lestat and the wolves early on is a striking example of the way she uses her imagery to evoke a slow dread and sympathy for the boy who can possess such attitudes. To clarify, I do not mean to put The Vampire Lestat on a pedestal of intellectual brilliance. It is not necessarily a book for the Umberto Eco fan club to discuss at their next wine and cheese party. It does, however, try for a different emotional frequency than do most vampire novels, and for the most part it succeeds.

The book is not without flaws. Anne Rice is at her best when she is purely relating Lestat’s history. When she is setting up plot elements for the next book, the writing style dips a little in quality, as though she’s lost her rhythm somehow. The Vampire Lestat is a book within a book in format — that is, Lestat writes a book about himself, which is reproduced within the broader course of Lestat informing us about his exploits in what was the modern day when Rice wrote the book — and the framing narrative is far less impressive than the story it contains. I should also note that for all I’ve said on the subject of slow-moving emotion being an interesting choice and emotional depth being well and good, sometimes the book drops out of what might be called “deliberate” speed, and just becomes plain old draggy. This occurs particularly surrounding Armand’s history and Lestat’s painfully drawn-out, angsty world tour with Gabrielle.

In summary, I must recommend The Vampire Lestat because it is in so many ways a delightful book, alive with a powerful voice and a masterful command of language and symbolism. Rice manages to make the humanized vampire work for her (not an easy task), and on top of that provides some real depth of emotion and philosophy. The reader will come away believing that perhaps he or she understands a bit more fully the idea of living forever. While it is not a perfect novel, it is an excellent example of more-or-less contemporary vampire fiction and a must for fans of the genre. —Tim Scheidler

The Queen of the Damned

I have to admit to being rather disappointed with The Queen of the Damned. I came into the third book in Anne Rice’s VAMPIRE CHRONICLES fresh from the excellent The Vampire Lestat and ready for more. At the end of The Vampire Lestat, the reader is left with the distinct impression that everything in Rice’s meticulously constructed vampire universe is about to explode, and I was excited. It was the grand conclusion of the initial trilogy! Told from multiple perspectives! It was called The Queen of the Damned! (Honestly, that has to be the best title ever for a vampire novel.) In short, I was not burnt out on the series by this point. I was ready to love the novel. It just wasn’t to be.

The major problem with The Queen of the Damned is that not a whole lot actually happens. What events occur are certainly broad in scope, but they’re few and far between. The vast majority of the book consists of introducing a plethora of new characters, getting all of those characters together in a room, and then proceeding to talk in the room about vampire history for a good long while. Neither Lestat nor the Queen of the Damned herself, one Akasha, seems to be the main character of this installment. In fact, it takes Rice hundreds of pages to even catch her other characters up to Lestat’s cliffhanger ending from the last book.

There are two other flaws worth mentioning: the first is that there really doesn’t seem to be a relatable hero. Lestat’s sections are short, and he’s contracted an unfortunate case of the Louis syndrome in that he’s pushed around by a more powerful vampire for most of the book before finally putting his foot down. Maharet is about the closest thing Rice provides to a strong hero, but the trouble with Maharet is that, frankly, she’s a bit dull. The second flaw is the sheer absurdity of the antagonist. Put together, these mirroring weaknesses in both hero and villain figures send the suspense gurgling down the drain.

I don’t mean to imply that the novel is terrible. That’s not the case. Anne Rice is still in fine form as far as prose style goes, and there are some genuinely spectacular moments of writing here. Her depictions of vampirism continue to be entertaining, and of course her imagery is as stunning as ever. This book had all the trappings of a really phenomenal climax to the Akasha storyline, but fell flat in the central narrative drive. The book is like a particularly scraggly Christmas tree: it’s been decorated by an expert to within an inch of its life, but not all the artistically placed tinsel, lights, and strings of popcorn in the world will make the essential piece look less thin.

Essentially, the plot is that Queen Akasha, the first vampire (who has remained a lifeless statue for thousands of years) is awoken by an infatuation with Lestat and a driving urge to cleanse humanity of its evils. She intends to do so by obliterating most of the vampires on the planet and nearly the entire male population of human beings, reasoning that the world shall be a peaceful garden without men and monsters (and is there a difference, ha haaaa…?) around to muck things up. She kidnaps Lestat, and his actions following that moment generally add up to a lot of flouncing about and telling Akasha that if she loves him, she’ll do this and this for him (leading to the inevitable question of to whom exactly the phrase “Queen of the Damned” would be best applied). Meanwhile, every vampire and his grandmother is gathering for vampire storytime, an excessively long and angsty vampire creation story. As Akasha plots to obliterate the hated Y chromosome and Lestat struggles to dissuade her via his manly wiles, the convocation of vampires still living prepares their final struggle with their queen.

I get the feeling Rice tried to play to her strengths here by avoiding a lot of gratuitous fight scenes in favor of philosophizing, but although there are some genuinely interesting ideas here, she went a bit overboard. After a while, the points on atheism and feminism had really been made and I began to dread another argument on the subject. Also, I do think that Rice works best with one character at a time. The many point-of-view figures in this installment are all very well-characterized and distinct (a noteworthy achievement), but their contributions to the storyline could have been better balanced and organized. They also bogged down the text to the extent that suspense really had no time to develop, as we spent too much time going over vampiric recollections for the present-day narrative to ever feel central.

Overall, The Queen of the Damned is certainly not a terrible book — it’s still very much Anne Rice, and so there is much to recommend it in terms of prose style and imagery — but given the high quality of its predecessors, it falls short. It’s still very much readable and I’m not necessarily recommending that, having read The Vampire Lestat and Interview with the Vampire, you give The Queen of the Damned a miss, but expectations should be adjusted. This novel is serviceable enough, but it lacks the punch of previous installments, it’s too unfocused, and on the whole it’s regrettably just a bit boring.
—Tim Scheidler

Merrick

I was looking forward to the story of Merrick, a distant biracial cousin of the famous Mayfair Witches, who practices voudoun. I was looking forward to Louis's quest for the ghost of Claudia — but then I've always liked Louis. In this book, in fact, a lot of interesting things happen to Louis — the Claudia thing, a new love, and a complete change of heart about how much vampiric power he wants. (I'll try not to commit a spoiler by telling any more details than that.) In other words, lots of character development.

So, my major gripe with this book is that it isn't told from Louis's point of view, but David Talbot's. See, David has had a crush on Merrick since she was a teenager seeking refuge with the Talamasca. And while some of the interaction between David and Merrick is interesting, I would have preferred to cut a few of the chapters describing the infatuation, making room for more Louis-stuff. Fascinating things go on in this book, but we are only spectators. —Kelly Lasiter

Blood and Gold

I enjoyed this book, except for the subplot about the Norse vampire, Thorne, at the beginning and end. This frame story had a lot of promise but ended up making little sense to me. I think maybe it alludes to Norse myth, which has never been my forte. Whatever the reason, it left me scratching my head.

But at least it gets Marius telling his life story, and perhaps because the "interviewer" is a stranger, he feels comfortable opening up about all sorts of things. In the words of Alanis Morissette, it's "strangely exciting, to watch the stoic squirm." Yes, at times Marius's story seems really familiar, since most of the major plot events have been told already in The Vampire Lestat, Pandora, and The Vampire Armand.

But now we know just how broken-up Marius was about some of the tragedies in his "life". We find out how much he loved Pandora, and how much he had to lean on a certain other vampire (I'll avoid the spoiler) after Santino burned him. I especially love the fact that his recollection of his brief reunion with Pandora is so very different from Pandora's version. Pandora says the Indian vamp was a jerk and that she didn't love him; Marius believes the two were codependent as heck. And Marius breaks someone else's heart that night as well. Even the letter, lost for fifty years, is different between the two books.

In short, this is a pretty good book. You may feel like you've read all this stuff before, but if you pay close attention, you'll get to see the other side of the cool, logical Marius. —Kelly Lasiter

Blackwood Farm

In the ninth book in The Vampire Chronicles (though the books are self-contained and can be read out of order) we meet Tarquin "Quinn" Blackwood, a fledgling vampire with a serious problem. The book opens with a letter he has written to the famous Lestat, begging him for advice in how to deal with the continued presence of Goblin, a spirit that has dwelt with Quinn for his entire life but is now taking on frightening new characteristics and powers after Quinn's conversion to vampirism.

To Quinn's surprise, Lestat agrees to help him, and joins him at his grand home of Blackwood Farm where Quinn begins to tell his story. Beginning in childhood and ending with his transformation into a vampire, Quinn's autobiographical account takes up 90% of the book, with only a few chapters front and back that deal with events in the present time. This account is equal parts intrigue and dullness; interesting when it deals with Goblin and the mysterious Sugar Devil Island, but sluggish when it provides endless detail on Quinn's relationships, personal growth and interests. To put it bluntly, Quinn is likeable enough, but not particularly interesting.

But his supernatural experiences keep the reader involved. His love/hate relationship with Goblin is the central storyline of the novel, and though it often reminded me of Lasher and the Mayfair Witches, it is ultimately revealed to be quite different. Quinn also shares his lineage, starting with his ancestor Manfred Blackwood and the story that emerges that eventually leads him to a mysterious hermitage on Sugar Devil Island out in the swamp. Quinn immediately adores the secluded island, but it seems that the house and the odd mausoleum are already inhabited by some sinister being...

Also included in the story is Quinn's experiences with an evil spirit named Rebecca who was the mistress of Manfred and came to an unfortunate end, and his introductions to both the Talamasca and the Mayfair family (who readers will have already met in other books). Of especial note is Mona Mayfair whom Quinn falls madly in love with. As well as this, there are a range of family members and devoted servants at work in Blackwood Farm — especially his beloved Aunt Queen — and illegitimate children, ghostly inhabitants, vampire visitors, secret lovers and other friends and tutors who influence Quinn's life.

It's all melded together into a complex, detailed narrative that's filled with trivia and occult lore that harks back to previous Rice books, (I especially liked the fact that Quinn notices the word "Lasher" carved into the oak tree on the First Street property, something that will mean nothing to someone that hasn't read The Witching Hour). We get updates on several characters and concepts, such as Lestat, Rowan and Michael, Merrick, Mayfair Medical and the Talamasca, with a cameo appearance from Oncle Julien and an ending that opens up a brand new world for a reoccurring character.

As always, Anne Rice's settings, language, atmosphere and imagery are second to none. Every swath of velvet, every shimmering cameo, every strand of Spanish moss is described in loving detail — Rice doesn't just write a book, she creates a world. Blackwood Farm is meticulously planned and described, from the house's interior, to the outdoor cemetery to the treacherous passages of the swamp. I loved the idea of the secret Sugar Devil Island, and found as much pleasure in its restoration as Quinn did. Many are frustrated at Rice's meandering pace when it comes to such detail; on this particular occasion however, I was in no hurry and simply enjoyed the story as it unfolded. However, there are a few problems that stilted my enjoyment of Blackwood Farm.

First of all, is the fact that Quinn falls in love quite a lot, seemingly with anyone and everyone around him. Seconds after meeting Mona he is declaring that he intends to marry her. He abruptly loves Petronia after spending most of the book despising and fearing her. He has an affair with a woman who rocked him in his cradle, wooing her in the most unromantic way possible. Even Lestat gets in on the act — after hearing Quinn's story, the first thing he tells him is: "I've fallen in love with you." At this stage I let out a hearty: "Huh?!" Love is cheapened when it's thrown around so haphazardously and after a while it gets both ridiculous and tedious. There is neither intrigue, realism nor passion when characters so suddenly declare their eternal love.

A lot of time and effort is spent in introducing the evil spirit of Rebecca, the mistress of Quinn's ancestor, but toward the end of the novel she is dropped and not picked up again. As interesting as her situation and tragedy is, I had to wonder: was there a point to her at all? Other characters that I became intrigued with are also neglected; namely Arion and Manfred who seem to have fascinating stories of their own which are only vaguely hinted at. And as always, (at the risk of sounding prudish) the sex-capades of various characters are a little too graphic for my liking, especially as here most of it is between humans and spirits — which gets a little weird.

But all in all, I liked Blackwood Farm, perhaps because it reminded me of my favourite Anne Rice novel The Witching Hour, with its regressions into a mysterious family and its dealings with the supernatural. Whether it's read as a continuation of The Vampire Chronicles or a stand-alone novel may impact one's enjoyment of it, but as one who reads Rice's books sporadically and without any regard for chronology (oops, I know) I give it a healthy three stars. —Rebecca Fisher