RIP to the Queen

 

 "In the winter of my twenty-first year, I went out alone on horseback to kill a pack of wolves."

~The Vampire Lestat

Writers write because they love stories; because they love the sound of words, and the shapes of sentences, and the way lines in ink can conjure the realest of images in the mind. You start as a reader, as a devourer of books, until you're so full of words that you have to rearrange and contribute them to the field; it's no longer enough to simply read - you have to write. You have to give the words back. And you can't write a proper book without having read many, many books, some of which you cast aside like dandelion seeds - and others you press between the pages of your mind like the most precious of blooms, dried and saved for later. 

Sometimes, you come across not just a book, but an author, that grabs you. And then sits you gently down in a comfortable place, offers you a warm drink, and says, "Settle in. This while take a while, but it will be worth it." A book that plucks your imagination like violin strings. An author's whose voice is so immediately immersive and special and inviting that it feels like that book was written just for you. Like the author knew what you wanted, or what you maybe needed without knowing it. Knew all the little aesthetic buttons to push, knew the way a description of the lift of a hand, the dousing of a candle, the flash of light on yellow hair would be so pleasing to you. Anne Rice is one of those authors for me. For me, reading her books is like having my imagination step into a cozy room, kick off its shoes, and snuggle in, nourished and happy. 

I think the title of "Queen" gets tossed around far too frequently in bookish circles. Each week there's a new "Queen of ___" touted. Books of the moment, books with good sales numbers. But Anne Rice truly was the Queen of Vampires as we know them today. There's shades of Anne in all modern vampire narratives. Aside from Count Dracula, I can't think of a more famous vampire than the Brat Prince himself: Lestat de Lioncourt.

"Everybody was sick of Count Dracula. They thought it was marvelous that I was pretending to be the Vampire Lestat."

She leaves behind an incredible legacy, a body of work that I will cherish always. I love vampires, and creatures of the night, and the way her quest of understanding, her theological and religious questions found their way to the page - but I think the thing I love most is the way her books always feel utterly and entirely hers. She wasn't writing for the market, or for the numbers; she wasn't mimicking a popular style to cash in on a trend. To read her books is to know you're reading only the work that she most wanted, or felt like she needed to write. 

An immense talent, and a particular voice that will echo for generations. Rest in peace. Mrs. Rice. Thank you for sharing Lestat and his bloody family with us all.