Interview With The Vampire by Anne Rice
First publication date: 1976.
Edition: Warner Books, 2000. 368pp.
Source: purchased at bookshop eons ago; still readily available.
Summary/reviews on cover: In a darkened room a young man sits telling the macabre and eerie story of his life…the story of a vampire, gifted with eternal life, cursed with an exquisite craving for human blood.
‘One of the most wonderful, erotic, sensual books ever written’, courtesy of the musician Sting
‘Thrilling … A strikingly original work of the imagination … Sometimes horrible, sometimes beautiful, always unforgettable...’ Washington Post
‘... Miss Rice’s Interview With The Vampire’ must stand alongside Bram Stoker’s Dracula. It is a work of literature told in a horror-tale genre.’ from The Catholic Herald (inner cover review)
Prior to rereading Interview With The Vampire, I’d recently forced myself through one of Rice’s historical fiction narratives, The Feast Of All Saints’ , for research. It stands out in that it does not feature the supernatural. The historical setting is elaborate, meticulous and vivid - the reader can picture exactly what world her characters exist in, how they experience it. Due to the comparative brevity of Interview and of journalistic interviews generally, the reader is spared Rice’s fondness for unbearably laborious, overworked descriptions of every single aspect of her characters’ lives, from every single character she’s ever invented.
In Interview, this crime doesn’t occur - much.
The book is in four parts. Parts 1 and 2 go by whizzingly. The writing is tight: the narrative is urgent, locations are not described to death and the characters are fascinating. Part 1 begins with a young reporter, fumbling with recording equipment in preparation for an interview. This takes place in an unusually dark room because the interview subject claims to be a vampire, a creature who supposedly only embodies Eastern European myth and Gothic fiction.
This doesn’t really sink in till the reporter (whose name is never mentioned throughout the entire novel) is forced to inspect his storyteller’s skin properly. The vampire, Louis can now begin his tale. As it unfolds, the reporter’s disbelief progresses to fascination, then terror. Through Louis’ eyes, the reader learns minimal details about his mortal life, his background, how he ceases to be mortal when attacked by another vampire, Lestat.
Louis’ teething troubles, as it were, begin here. Lestat has no desire to educate or ease his ward into his undead existence. Louis rationalises that if suffering ennobles the human race, there is a reason for his, even now in death. He has a lot of trouble reconciling his (previously human) morals with being undead. Lestat further demonstrates amoral parenting. The little observation he can offer Louis that they both have a freedom to act upon any so-called depraved desires society imposed in mortal life. An example: he frames the upcoming burst of European decadence and its aesthete-dandy as a morsel to be consumed willy-nilly. It should be enough to know that vampires have a choice over their source of nourishment. Lestat does not want to waste potential snack time educating his offspring, so he does what most deliberately ignorant beings do - he belittles Louis for clinging onto any trait of mortality. Lestat accepts his own human-specific bloodlust and will continue to satisfy it without reflection. Louis’ ennui is completely foreign to him.
Just as the reader gets into the thick of undead epistemology, we are recalled to the reporter, the novel’s supposedly neutral presence. Louis has to remind him every so often not to interrupt his story. The two do warm to one another and we see this in the reporter’s attentiveness and respect - even dealing with recording equipment issues with as little intrusion as possible, if any interruption. Louis occasionally forgets the reporter’s basic human needs (sleep cycles, passing waste, thirst, hunger). When this happens, his apologies to the reporter are genuine in that he sees humans as more than a food source.
On rereading two decades or so later, it definitely deserves its place on the Boxall biblical canon and could probably be read in a few sittings on a lazy day. Perhaps more suited to cold, wet seasons? It seemed out-of-place to read it in a country where desert temperatures are sometimes normal. It may even enhance a reader’s appreciation for Alan Ball’s True Blood HBO series: much of the contemporary vampire or supernatural narratives now available to us continue to be used as a way of discussing themes that humans are divided over - ‘vices’, politics, sexuality, religion, definitions of art and popular culture. A long way of saying that decades after its initial publication, it’s a bloody good read, for entertainment and for lit wankers.
Edition: Warner Books, 2000. 368pp.
Source: purchased at bookshop eons ago; still readily available.
Summary/reviews on cover: In a darkened room a young man sits telling the macabre and eerie story of his life…the story of a vampire, gifted with eternal life, cursed with an exquisite craving for human blood.
‘One of the most wonderful, erotic, sensual books ever written’, courtesy of the musician Sting
‘Thrilling … A strikingly original work of the imagination … Sometimes horrible, sometimes beautiful, always unforgettable...’ Washington Post
‘... Miss Rice’s Interview With The Vampire’ must stand alongside Bram Stoker’s Dracula. It is a work of literature told in a horror-tale genre.’ from The Catholic Herald (inner cover review)
Prior to rereading Interview With The Vampire, I’d recently forced myself through one of Rice’s historical fiction narratives, The Feast Of All Saints’ , for research. It stands out in that it does not feature the supernatural. The historical setting is elaborate, meticulous and vivid - the reader can picture exactly what world her characters exist in, how they experience it. Due to the comparative brevity of Interview and of journalistic interviews generally, the reader is spared Rice’s fondness for unbearably laborious, overworked descriptions of every single aspect of her characters’ lives, from every single character she’s ever invented.
In Interview, this crime doesn’t occur - much.
The book is in four parts. Parts 1 and 2 go by whizzingly. The writing is tight: the narrative is urgent, locations are not described to death and the characters are fascinating. Part 1 begins with a young reporter, fumbling with recording equipment in preparation for an interview. This takes place in an unusually dark room because the interview subject claims to be a vampire, a creature who supposedly only embodies Eastern European myth and Gothic fiction.
This doesn’t really sink in till the reporter (whose name is never mentioned throughout the entire novel) is forced to inspect his storyteller’s skin properly. The vampire, Louis can now begin his tale. As it unfolds, the reporter’s disbelief progresses to fascination, then terror. Through Louis’ eyes, the reader learns minimal details about his mortal life, his background, how he ceases to be mortal when attacked by another vampire, Lestat.
Louis’ teething troubles, as it were, begin here. Lestat has no desire to educate or ease his ward into his undead existence. Louis rationalises that if suffering ennobles the human race, there is a reason for his, even now in death. He has a lot of trouble reconciling his (previously human) morals with being undead. Lestat further demonstrates amoral parenting. The little observation he can offer Louis that they both have a freedom to act upon any so-called depraved desires society imposed in mortal life. An example: he frames the upcoming burst of European decadence and its aesthete-dandy as a morsel to be consumed willy-nilly. It should be enough to know that vampires have a choice over their source of nourishment. Lestat does not want to waste potential snack time educating his offspring, so he does what most deliberately ignorant beings do - he belittles Louis for clinging onto any trait of mortality. Lestat accepts his own human-specific bloodlust and will continue to satisfy it without reflection. Louis’ ennui is completely foreign to him.
Just as the reader gets into the thick of undead epistemology, we are recalled to the reporter, the novel’s supposedly neutral presence. Louis has to remind him every so often not to interrupt his story. The two do warm to one another and we see this in the reporter’s attentiveness and respect - even dealing with recording equipment issues with as little intrusion as possible, if any interruption. Louis occasionally forgets the reporter’s basic human needs (sleep cycles, passing waste, thirst, hunger). When this happens, his apologies to the reporter are genuine in that he sees humans as more than a food source.
On rereading two decades or so later, it definitely deserves its place on the Boxall biblical canon and could probably be read in a few sittings on a lazy day. Perhaps more suited to cold, wet seasons? It seemed out-of-place to read it in a country where desert temperatures are sometimes normal. It may even enhance a reader’s appreciation for Alan Ball’s True Blood HBO series: much of the contemporary vampire or supernatural narratives now available to us continue to be used as a way of discussing themes that humans are divided over - ‘vices’, politics, sexuality, religion, definitions of art and popular culture. A long way of saying that decades after its initial publication, it’s a bloody good read, for entertainment and for lit wankers.