Reviewing Anne Rice's Interview with the Vampire
I had a really hard time enjoying this book right up until the end - and I'm not sure that makes it worth it.
The reason I picked up this novel was because it was the only other vampire story I knew by name apart from Dracula (and Twilight, I suppose, but let’s not go there). This novel has spawned an ongoing series of books, a 1994 film starring Brad Pitt and Tom Cruise, and a television series that came out on AMC just ten days ago at the time of writing this review. I figured if there was anywhere I should attempt delving more deeply into vampiric storytelling, it would be here.
Unfortunately, this novel may have convinced me that I’m not nearly as into vampires as I thought I was.
It’s foolish to pretend that sexual desire isn’t an inherent trait of vampire stories. You’ll rarely see anyone attracted to a zombie, mummy, or werewolf (excluding Twilight once more) – but vampires have always been alluring to some extent. That’s part of their horror, and Dracula is certainly no exception. However, in my memory, I’d say Bram Stoker’s vampires were 40% sexy and 60% horrifying. There was a component of sexuality to the monsters, but they were far more scary than sexy. Now, there’s certainly a lot of scariness in this novel. A million people get eaten – men, women, children (an alarming number of children). But because we’re reading from the perspective of a vampire, we’re frequently shown their ravenous desire for others. In other words, the vampires are depicted as sexually desirable much more than they were in Dracula. Over the course of the novel, I found myself wondering if the book was an argument in defense of the vampire – which isn’t much of a stretch given that the structure of the narrative is more or less a confession from the vampire himself. I wasn’t keen on reading a story that glamorized and fetishized vampirism – and though I’ll talk about how the ending somewhat resolved this issue for me, I spent much of the book feeling troubled.
Where Dracula seemed to prefer female victims in his novel, Lestat and Louis’ relationship is thereby decidedly homosexual in nature. Based on the other reviews and discussions I’ve seen of this novel, there’s little argument on that point – the new television series in particular is leaning heavily into this idea. I’m not saying this is a good or a bad decision narratively – in fact, Louis’ struggle against his vampiric desires seem in some ways emblematic of a closeted gay man gripped with guilt. The issue I have is with Claudia, the vampire girl. If we’re meant to view these vampires as sexual beings – if the act of vampirism itself is a sexual act – then it’s really difficult for me to not understand the turning of Claudia into a vampire as a pedophilic chapter in the story:
“Take her, Louis, I know you want her.” And I did…the more I looked at her, the more I could taste her skin, feel my arm sliding under her back and pulling her up to me, feeling her soft neck…I wanted her!
Now, I know that this is a horror story. We’re supposed to be terrified by the evil within its pages. But this is also supposed to be entertainment – something that ultimately makes me glad to have read it. This element of dark desire for a very young girl made me feel uncomfortable, sick, and also complicit – for in reading any story, we briefly bring it to life. Why would I recommend this book to anyone? And why would anyone celebrate a novel that details not only such a vile act, but an entire relationship based on it? Claudia and Louis work together for the bulk of the novel, and the parallels to victims of sexual abuse at that age are evident. Claudia is an adult in a child’s body – a little girl who knows so much more than she should, and a minor who has no escape from her abusers. As she becomes a vampire herself, Claudia becomes tortured by her inability to grow up properly – she is permanently scarred by what has happened to her.
Some might rush to the novel’s defense by pointing out the ending as a fitting comeuppance for the evils leading up to it. There’s an interesting expansion to vampire mythology as the novel shows us vampires aren’t as immortal as we all thought. By the end of the book, the vampire Lestat seems to be on a path of fading away into nothingness – the emptiness of vampire life having taken its toll on him. Louis, our protagonist, seems to regret having ever become a vampire, as he cannot ignore the pain and suffering he has caused. However, it’s hard for me to justify the several hundred pages of evil I’ve read merely on the basis of a handful of pages at the end. The moral of the story seems to be that although vampirism (evil) ultimately isn’t worth it, it remains attractive and alluring to humanity. I just can’t help feeling that the novel focuses more on the alluring aspect of evil than its utter emptiness. As a result, I can’t in good conscience allow this book to remain on my family’s shelf.