Witches. 

One of my very first literary heroine was a little witch who manages to get the better of all the bigger, older witches after having been put down by them -- the heroine of Otfried Preußler's Little Witch.  (In fact, I loved that book enough to write my very first fan letter to the author about it ... and I still love it enough to have put it on MR's "1001" list.)

Ever since, I've come to be interested in them because women are almost always maligned as "witches" when people are afraid of them because they -- the women in question -- happen to be better at something (or are merely perceived as being better at something) than others.  That's true for the poor ladies of centuries past who just happened to know their herbs a bit better than their neighbors, potentially even better than the local monastery's herbalist, and who, after having helped countless community members with every ailment from headaches to abortion, were duly burned at the stake for their troubles the second they even inadvertently stepped on someone's toes.  And it's still true for women who happen to be better at their jobs nowadays than their (mostly, but not necessarily male) colleagues.  Other slurs such as plainly denigrate -- "witch" (and to a certain extent also "bitch") implies an irrational element of fear.  In light of that, the transformation of witches -- or their perception -- from the worst of evil bogey(wo)men conceivable to a positive identification with the "women's power" movement is a thing to behold; not least in literature.

Which, incidentally, is just one more reason why I love Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman's Good Omens.   And along the same lines, who wouldn't love Mr. Pratchett's Granny Weatherwax and her coven?

Though, speaking of Pratchett, he has also created just about the only werewolf I can get behind (and for similar reasons) -- Angua of the Night Watch. 

And, well, yeah, in terms of stories that were films before they were books, Ladyhawke of course ... which isn't so much a horror as a "doomed lovers" story, obviously.

Vampires, though?  Hmm.  I mean, on the one hand, give me Dracula rather than Edward Cullen any day of the week (and I'm saying that as a confirmed non-horror reader).  On the other hand, I read Anne Rice's vampire novels -- until she turned BBA, that is -- for just about everything but the horror aspect; in fact, if she'd ramped up that one I'd have been gone in a flash.  (Incidentally, Rice once revealed in an interview that Lestat's character was inspired by Rutger Hauer's portrayal of Etienne de Navarre in Ladyhawke.  Go figure.)

And zombies?  Leave me alone and get the hell out of here.  They creep me out so badly I won't even go anywhere near them in a supposedly humorous context (like the "white trash zombie" novels that are currently all the rage).

3.5 stars.
I did not enjoy Interview with a Vampire, but a good deal of that blame lays with the insipid main character Louis and his insufferable hand wringing. I didn't care for the narrative style of the book, which kept the characters at arm's length with its romantic stiltedness.

Good news is that The Vampire Lestat is an improvement in many ways. Lestat was always more full blooded than Louis, though with Lestat's origin story given here in full, we see that there was a lot of Louising going on in Lestat's early thinking, darn it all. The story begins well with descriptions of Lestat's childhood and vampiric conversion. Things take an ugly turn for the reader when Armand enters the picture in the novel's middle. He brings out the worst in Lestat, and suddenly the reader is drowning in sentimental syrup. I felt like I was being pelted with small refrigerator magnets, each carrying a tired gothic cliche:

Come now, the flames await...
I do not wish to suffer...
the master had been wise...
hard, sweet kisses...
the blood was the blood...
don’t weep for thy master...
melted into this ecstasy...
join the children of darkness...
hooded figures in mendicant black...
a great melancholy shape...
all will was extinguished in him...

I think about the time I read this last phrase, all will was extinguished in me, too, and I put on the audiobook version double speed with the irritating Simon Vance, who can’t seem to help giving any vampire a Transylvanian accent, regardless of the fact that he’s a born and bred Frenchman.

Fortunately for all involved, the character of Marius and his origin take up the final third of the book, and here things get downright intriguing once again. The ending is a veritable romp, and makes one wonder how nice the books would be if everyone would just relax and embrace the nocturnal adventure. Cliffhanger ending leads right in to book 3.

The book is a bit of a hot mess, but worth a look. Recommend 2x audiobook if you begin to feel queasy from the drivel.

O the magnanimity! Even after disliking Interview for its romantic blather, here I am giving good old Anne Rice a second go. It was her very first novel, after all, so this one has to be so much better <crosses fingers>.  Different narrative style, perhaps? Please?

Anne Rice used to my favorite writers when I was young. Once she went back to the Catholic Church, I stop reading her books. And of course, the books themselves are not so great. 

Plus the fact that she sided with nasty writers do give me reason to stop reading her work.

Her son is difference. He is an openly gay writers who write crime mystery books with gay characters.

He is also very good looking gay who goes to book tour with his mom.

Anne Rice support for her only son is endearing and so normal that restored some of her more negative image.

Christopher Rice is the son of two writers. So, it is not really a big surprise that he turned into a writer himself. But his writing style is very difference from his parents. At least for me, he is much more contemporary and more down to earth with reality in the city. 

Still a fan of Christopher Rice. Started again to read the Wolf series by his mom after she departed from the Catholic Church again. Not that good. She has lost her touch. But it is still way better than the crappy Twilight books. 

For better or worse, depending upon your perspective,Prince Lestat is well-and-truly an Anne Rice novel in all respects. It's long and meandering, but lush and full of detail. It's full of heavy prose that invites you to linger, but scarce on plot development. It has a cast of characters that will challenge less-than-avid fans, but an inconsistency of character development that will challenge even avid fans.

Roughly 11 years have passed since we last met Rice's vampires upon the page, a decade during which she abandoned her atheism, returned to the Catholic church, nearly died (twice), rededicated her writing to glorifying God, once again distanced herself from organized Christianity, and ultimately returned to the world of vampires. For better or worse, that question of faith and that self-awareness of one's own mortality have more do with Prince Lestat than the Gothic opulence to which most fans so desperately wished to return.

Right off the bat (no pun intended), we realize this is going to be a very different sort of vampire tale. We're introduced to vampire doctors, scientists, and guinea pigs, all of them contributing to a pseudo-scientific explanation for vampirism that reeks of midi-chlorians. Not long after that, we're introduced to Lestat's son, a plot development that seems a desperate attempt to put a new spin on the idea of mortality, countering that dark cloud of intellectual progress being pulled over the supernatural concept of immortality. Not only that, but there's a whole Christ-like allusion to his role that I almost expected, but could have done without.

Moving onto our titular character, this book is less about Lestat than it is the vampires pining for his absence from the world. I'm not sure how much of it is deliberate and how much is Rice having lost the voice, but Lestat is a pale imitation of his previous self. Gone is the arrogant, daring, charismatic monster of old, and in his place is a tired old man, overwhelmed by his own legacy, and disinterested in claiming his place in the world. The voice that draws him out of retirement is probably the most interesting aspect of the tale, leaving the reader to wonder what's real and what's madness, but the final reveal doesn't live up to the mystery.

Before that final reveal, however, we get a half book dedicated to exploring the other vampires of the world, fleshing out their stories, introducing their connections to one another, and establishing their ties to Lestat. Some of those stories are incredibly interesting (in a few cases, I'd read an entire novel dedicated to each), but what they all have in common is a tiresome bit of meta-fiction, constantly reminding us how successful and how important the original Vampire Chronicles were. At first it was funny, and then it became tiresome, and then it became embarrassing.

That said, there is an exciting story contained within the second half of the novel, but as is often the case with Rice, she makes us wait for it. Vampires everywhere are hearing the same voice as Lestat, with the old ones burning the young, and the young ones turning on one another. It's part civil war, part serial genocide, and it makes for a good bit of bloody, ashen drama. Some major characters die here, which is a bit of a surprise, although their deaths lack the shock factor we'd expect, and don't summon the kind of passionate response they would have in previous books.