Memnoch ​the Devil (The Vampire Chronicles 5.) 4 csillagozás

Anne Rice: Memnoch the Devil Anne Rice: Memnoch the Devil Anne Rice: Memnoch the Devil Anne Rice: Memnoch the Devil Anne Rice: Memnoch the Devil Anne Rice: Memnoch the Devil Anne Rice: Memnoch the Devil

The ​fifth volume of Rice's Vampire Chronicles is one of her most controversial books. The tale begins in New York, where Lestat, the coolest of Rice's vampire heroes, is stalking a big-time cocaine dealer and religious-art smuggler--this guy should get it in the neck. Lestat is also growing fascinated with the dealer's lovely daughter, a TV evangelist who's not a fraud.

Lestat is also being stalked himself, by some shadowy guy who turns out to be Memnoch, the devil, who spirits him away. From here on, the book might have been called Interview with the Devil (by a Vampire). It's a rousing story interrupted by a long debate with the devil. Memnoch isn't the devil as ordinarily conceived: he got the boot from God because he objected to God's heartless indifference to human misery. Memnoch takes Lestat to heaven, hell, and throughout history.

Some readers are appalled by the scene in which Lestat sinks his fangs into the throat of Christ on the cross, but the scene is… (tovább)

Eredeti megjelenés éve: 1995

Arrow, Washington, 2010
402 oldal · puhatáblás · ISBN: 0099548135
448 oldal · puhatáblás · ISBN: 0345389409
354 oldal · keménytáblás · ISBN: 096319254X

2 további kiadás

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Népszerű idézetek


The atheism and nihilism of my earlier years now seems shallow, and even a bit cocky.


Oh, but when love is reached through suffering, it has a power it can never gain through innocence.


I tucked my arm under my head and started crying like a child. I was perishing from exhaustion. I was worn and miserable and I loved crying. I couldn’t do anything else. I gave in to it fully. I felt that profound release of the utterly grief-stricken. I didn’t give a damn who saw or heard. I cried and cried.


If you read this, read it for that reason that Lestat is talking again, that he is frightened, that he is searching desperately for the lesson and for the song and for the raison d'etre, that he wants to understand his own story and he wants you to understand it, and that it is the very best story he has right now to tell. If that's not enough, read something else.
If it is, read on. In chains, to my friend and my scribe, I dictated these words.
Come with me. Just listen to me. Don't leave me alone.


We have souls, you and I. We want to know things; we share the same earth, rich and verdant and fraught with perils. We don't either of us know what it means to die, no matter what we might say to the contrary.


He bent close to me, and suddenly kissed me, in a manner that seemed entirely childlike and also a bit European.


I was too miserable to take much consolation just from feeling good for a moment in a welter of shudders and salted, bloodstained tears.


Dear Reader, he switched human bodies before I made him a vampire, worry no more. It has nothing to do with this story.


Because if this being doesn’t exist inside my head, if he exists outside, then he can get you too.” This made him very obviously thoughtful and distant and then he said strange words to me I didn’t expect. “But he doesn’t want me, does he? And he doesn’t want the others, either. He wants you.” I was crestfallen. I am proud, I am an egomaniac of a being; I do love attention; I want glory; I want to be wanted by God and the Devil. I want, I want, I want, I want.


I crossed the street. The snow felt rather good, but then I’m a monster.

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Libba Bray: The Diviners
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