Jessica wrote:
> dragon wrote:
>
> >She wrote Memnoch long before Stan died, so no excuses there! She
said
> >in an interview before Memnoch came out that Lestat's voice had left
> >her. After reading the way she trashed Lestat's character in
Memnoch,
> >I agreed with her completely.
> >
> >dragon
> >
> Hello,
>
> Would you have that link for the amazon rant available? I would love
to
> read this. I heard about this but did not get to read it myself.
>
> Thanx.
> JC
The link is too long to try and print out for you. If you want to look
it up yourself, it was in response to the negative reviews of Blood
Canticle, posted on September 6, 2004. Here is what she wrote:
Reviewer: Anne Obrien Rice (New Orleans, LA United States) - See all my
reviews(REAL NAME)
Seldom do I really answer those who criticize my work. In fact, the
entire development of my career has been fueled by my ability to ignore
denigrating and trivializing criticism as I realize my dreams and my
goals. However there is something compelling about Amazon's willingness
to publish just about anything, and the sheer outrageous stupidity of
many things you've said here that actually touches my proletarian and
Democratic soul. Also I use and enjoy Amazon and I do read the reviews
of other people's books in many fields. In sum, I believe in what
happens here. And so, I speak. First off, let me say that this is
addressed only to some of you, who have posted outrageously negative
comments here, and not to all. You are interrogating this text from the
wrong perspective. Indeed, you aren't even reading it. You are
projecting your own limitations on it. And you are giving a whole new
meaning to the words "wide readership." And you have strained my
Dickensean principles to the max. I'm justifiably proud of being read
by intellectual giants and waitresses in trailer parks,in fact, I love
it, but who in the world are you? Now to the book. Allow me to point
out: nowhere in this text are you told that this is the last of the
chronicles, nowhere are you promised curtain calls or a finale, nowhere
are you told there will be a wrap-up of all the earlier material. The
text tells you exactly what to expect. And it warns you specifically
that if you did not enjoy Memnoch the Devil, you may not enjoy this
book. This book is by and about a hero whom many of you have already
rejected. And he tells you that you are likely to reject him again. And
this book is most certainly written -- every word of it -- by me. If
and when I can't write a book on my own, you'll know about it. And no,
I have no intention of allowing any editor ever to distort, cut, or
otherwise mutilate sentences that I have edited and re-edited, and
organized and polished myself. I fought a great battle to achieve a
status where I did not have to put up with editors making demands on
me, and I will never relinquish that status. For me, novel writing is a
virtuoso performance. It is not a collaborative art. Back to the novel
itself: the character who tells the tale is my Lestat. I was with him
more closely than I have ever been in this novel; his voice was as
powerful for me as I've ever heard it. I experienced break through
after break through as I walked with him, moved with him, saw through
his eyes. What I ask of Lestat, Lestat unfailingly gives. For me, three
hunting scenes, two which take place in hotels -- the lone woman
waiting for the hit man, the slaughter at the pimp's party -- and the
late night foray into the slums --stand with any similar scenes in all
of the chronicles. They can be read aloud without a single hitch. Every
word is in perfect place. The short chapter in which Lestat describes
his love for Rowan Mayfair was for me a totally realized poem. There
are other such scenes in this book. You don't get all this? Fine. But I
experienced an intimacy with the character in those scenes that
shattered all prior restraints, and when one is writing one does have
to continuously and courageously fight a destructive tendency to
inhibition and restraint. Getting really close to the subject matter is
the achievement of only great art. Now, if it doesn't appeal to you,
fine. You don't enjoy it? Read somebody else. But your stupid arrogant
assumptions about me and what I am doing are slander. And you have used
this site as if it were a public urinal to publish falsehood and lies.
I'll never challenge your democratic freedom to do so, and yes, I'm
answering you, but for what it's worth, be assured of the utter
contempt I feel for you, especially those of you who post anonymously
(and perhaps repeatedly?) and how glad I am that this book is the last
one in a series that has invited your hateful and ugly responses. Now,
to return to the narrative in question: Lestat's wanting to be a saint
is a vision larded through and through with his characteristic vanity.
It connects perfectly with his earlier ambitions to be an actor in
Paris, a rock star in the modern age. If you can't see that, you aren't
reading my work. In his conversation with the Pope he makes
observations on the times which are in continuity with his observations
on the late twentieth century in The Vampire Lestat, and in continuity
with Marius' observations in that book and later in Queen of the
Damned. The state of the world has always been an important theme in
the chronicles. Lestat's comments matter. Every word he speaks is part
of the achievement of this book. That Lestat renounced this saintly
ambition within a matter of pages is plain enough for you to see. That
he reverts to his old self is obvious, and that he intends to complete
the tale of Blackwood Farm is also quite clear. There are many other
themes and patterns in this work that I might mention -- the interplay
between St.Juan Diago and Lestat, the invisible creature who doesn't
"exist" in the eyes of the world is a case in point. There is also the
theme of the snare of Blackwood Farm, the place where a human existence
becomes so beguiling that Lestat relinquishes his power as if to a
spell. The entire relationship between Lestat and Uncle Julien is
carefully worked out. But I leave it to readers to discover how this
complex and intricate novel establishes itself within a unique, if not
unrivalled series of book. There are things to be said. And there is
pleasure to be had. And readers will say wonderful things about Blood
Canticle and they already are. There are readers out there and plenty
of them who cherish the individuality of each of the chronicles which
you so flippantly condemn. They can and do talk circles around you. And
I am warmed by their response. Their letters, the papers they write in
school, our face to face exchanges on the road -- these things sustain
me when I read the utter trash that you post. But I feel I have said
enough. If this reaches one reader who is curious about my work and
shocked by the ugly reviews here, I've served my goals. And Yo, you
dude, the slang police! Lestat talks like I do. He always has and he
always will. You really wouldn't much like being around either one of
us. And you don't have to be. If any of you want to say anything about
all this by all means Email me at Anneobrienrice RemoveThis @mac.com. And if you
want your money back for the book, send it to 1239 First Street, New
Orleans, La, 70130. I'm not a coward about my real name or where I
live. And yes, the Chronicles are no more! Thank God!
>> Stay informed about: new anne rice novel Blood Canticle 
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