To Anne Rice

A personal statement by the Vampire Lestat regarding the novel Interview With The Vampire

 

On October 8, 1994, I finally got round to reading your novel, "Interview With The Vampire." The book is, I am told, a worldwide success, but, as you know, the world has never interested me that much, and I have better things to do at bedtime than sit and read. When I think of all the novels recommended to me over the last two hundred years, I shudder at the hours I wasted ib Mr. Stoker, with his quaint "effects," or that vulgar little tramp Mary Shelley. But a few days ago, still recovering from my exertions at Milan fashion week, I spent the night in the company of your prose. I am making this personal statement now for my victims, and for myself. It's not a news story. I paid for the space. O.K., I had to rip a couple of throats along the way, but you know publishing.

What I have to say is this:

I loved your book. I simply loved it. I read it to a couple of naval recruits, and they loved it, too. It surpassed my maddest expectations, although personally I would have cut back on the adjectives a teeny bit. But I was honored and stunned to discover how faithful this novel was to the spirit, the content, and the ambience of my life. I was moved by your poignant sympathy, and touched by the good sense with which you banished the old mirror-and-garlic stuff. I mean, I have the sign of the cross on the front of my *car*. Having said that, I noticed you still buy all that crap about white faces, leeched lips, etc. Wake up, honey. Has Clinique not reached New Orleans, or what? And I know you think the books are "really" about guilt and suffering, and the plight of the outsider, but what did you expect me to do? Get married? Let me tell you, outside is a fun place to be. For one thing, I like to watch. But these are just quibbles. Basically, I'm one lucky immortal. Anne, you are great. I wish every pansexual bloodsucker could know the happiness you gave to me. I love you for it. And I hope and pray, for our sake, that you never meet me.

And now I have a confession to make. I adored the first book so much that I went and bought the sequels, and I loved them, too. I loved their stamina, their restless intensity. And my undead friends in Hollywood tell me that a motion picture is on the way. At last! It must be *years* since I first made those polite enquiries. Never had much time for movies myself, not since von Stroheim died. But some while back, deep in my usher-and-bellhop phase, I spent an evening at the pictures, and there onscreen was this juicy little piece called Cruise, and I thought, *yes*. If anyone ever wanted to play me--no, to become me--it would be that boy. I'm so moved that somebody was kind enough to take an old vamp's advice. So, did you see the movie? In a theatre, or only on tape? I hear you couldn't get to the screening because of a blood-related problem. Love it. If I'm wrong, if you don't like the picture--let me know. Laugh in my face. Write me letters. Call me. I have to stick my neck out and say your book is great, and I'm sure the movie is great, too. Do forgive me if I skip the premiere; I have some travelling plans that can't be put off. As I always say, if you're destined to roam the earth for the rest of time, you might as well make a party of it--you know, really *roam*. It's so simple these days; who needs coffins in the hold when you can fly to Europe overnight and still arrive in the dark? I always travel Virgin myself. The stewards taste so fresh.

 

All my love to you,

 

 

PAID FOR BY THE VAMPIRE LESTAT. PERMISSION IS GRANTED TO REPRINT THIS STATEMENT AS LONG AS IT IS REPRINTED IN THE BLOOD OF A RAT.