You try to remember that as long as you can pick up our books, we can still speak to you directly. Still make you smile, still make you care, still make you cry.
It’s the best sort of immortality there is.
Tag Archives: eloquent eloquence
These, for me, are the two most depressing paintings in western history. They were painted by post-impressionist Henry de Toulouse-Lautrec, a man who, due to inbreeding, was born with a genetic disorder that prevented his legs from growing after they were broken. After being so thoroughly mocked for is appearance, he became an alcoholic, which is what eventually caused his institutionalization and death. His only known romantic relations were with prostitutes.
And then he paints something like this which is so beautiful and tender and sentimental. It seems like the couple in bed really loves each other–cares about each other. Wakes up happy to look at each other. And I see that love and passion and I wonder how lonely he must have been. I wonder how he could paint something like this without it breaking his heart.
Maybe they say artists should create what they know, not because its unbelievable when they extend themselves beyond their experiences, but because when they pull it off with such elegance, it’s so damn unbearable to look at. I hate thinking of Lautrec, wondering about the lovers he created and knowing it was beyond his experience. Creating something that he knows is beautiful and knows he’ll never really understand.
12, 15, 27
12. Describe 5 unusual characteristics your muse has:
I’d say my eyes are first….a winter grey, yet often mistaken or considered blue, violet. They absorb the hues easily and they are eerily bright. More predatory than human, they also glow red in the flash of a camera or under infrared light. It’s why I wear shades.
Secondly, my hands and nails….they’re decidedly feminine and each finger is tipped with a glassy razor that is harder and brighter than a diamond. Even if I smudge them with ashes, they are difficult not to notice.
Thirdly, my teeth….the fangs are perfection but some of my teeth are a bit crooked. Unfortunately, dental care wasn’t the same in my mortal youth and orthodontics weren’t available to me. I also have a bit of a crooked smile.
Fourth, no matter how much I attempt it, I cannot seem to completely obliterate my accent unless I am acting or replacing it with received pronunciation. It’s the oddest thing…..
Fifth, I write with ellipses. Personal trademark.
15. Can they multi-task or must they focus on one subject at a time?
I can multi-task better than most….though I do my mental and physical limits. I’ve tested it. However, I have a fondness for focus on one task. I admire that sort of mental channeling…it often produces quality results instead of quantity in the mediocre.
21. If your character had one thing to say to their parents before they died, what would it be?
I still talk to my mother when she graces me with her presence. I have the distinct advantage of knowing that she will always be here and that gives me comfort. To my father….well, I suppose I should have been easier on him in his final years and after I was turned. I rescued him from falling prey to the guillotine but I would like to tell him in genuine fashion, that I forgive him for everything I suffered in my mortality.
Every time I see people like “cats are evil and will never love you” I’m like bro cats are adorable losers, they rub against you and head butt into your hand when you pet them and they make a dumb vibrating noise when they’re happy and chase after moving lights and shoelaces and tuck their feet under their bodies to become a fucking cat loaf cats are great ok.
Can we talk about… how Louis repeatedly has visual/auditory/tactile hallucinations, episodes of dissociation and depersonalization, and panic and anxiety attacks all throughout IWTV but these things are never really touched upon again in the series… like these are all possible symptoms of very severe depression, which I guess Rice alludes to Louis having throughout the series, but like honestly Louis was barely functional in IWTV and that’s never really been demonstrated again… in the later books Louis is always described as being calm, quiet, morally exceptional, conveniently kind, and romantically “sad.” I’ve always felt like the others’ perception of Louis was completely different from Louis’s perception of himself in his own account, and I wonder what ever happened to that intensity in his character in IWTV. I think if it’s touched upon later at all, it’s in Merrick? A little? Still though, it feels like Louis was conveniently stabilized and made static in the narrative in order to make him an easier character to sideline lmao
Very much so…..
//Frankly, this is an astute observation. And I think a lot of the changes in Louis’ character came, frankly, from his author no longer wishing to associate with him. Anne made it quite clear that she hated Louis’ voice and never wished to write in it again–and it took her almost forty years (39, to be exact) for her to be able to write in it again (I’m referring to the Epilogue in Prince Lestat).
ooc; I agree with @devilsfool re: Anne. I believe she was actually quoted at one point after writing Merrick saying that she didn’t want to ever write in Louis’ voice again??? Or something like that. She definitely expressed not caring all that much for his character.
But I can agree with what you’re saying too, because ultimately, IwtV was the only first-person narrative from Louis until the last chapter of PL. I’ve always felt Louis to be this intense perfectionist that can’t tolerate his own downfalls, and I definitely agree that he shows numerous symptoms of depression. He’s his biggest critic, and I think that shows a lot in IwtV.
I feel like IwtV would have seemed a lot different if told from Lestat’s perspective? Because while Lestat may get really, really angry with Louis sometimes, his descriptions of Louis are the most glorified in the books. He’ll talk about Louis moping around, but he paints a general picture of Louis being a very strong person that is dedicated to his convictions. Louis is literally his emotional rock, and really, I don’t believe Lestat would actually ever openly write of any breakdowns Louis may or may not have had. And I feel like if Louis was to have a bad bout of depression, Lestat would be the one to know, above anyone else.
Then you have Khayman’s description of Louis, where he flat out says that Louis can’t exist without Lestat. And Armand’s bit about Louis in TVA paint him as very melancholy, imo.
I also look at where Louis was when he gave the interview. He’s a very careful, private person, and he had his reasons for giving the interview in the first place (which can be debated in itself; I’ve always thought it was a cry out for Lestat and/or suicidal recklessness). He’d been alone for years and felt he’d nothing left. He was infuriated that Daniel didn’t see his story as despairingly as he himself viewed it to be. Louis felt down on everything at that point, and I don’t know that he’d really be that open with his experiences and feelings on any other night?
Idk, I’ve always felt that for as emotional as Louis seems to be, he still sucks majorly at actually dealing with his own emotions. Which is how I reason his major breakdown(s) in Merrick.
/writing this at 1am and hopes it makes sense lol
#YES #THIS #this post cannot be improved upon
Gonna add 2 things anyway.
1 – AR wrote IWTV after the loss of her daughter. Louis was pretty much AR herself, dealing with that grief, questioning a God as to why he had to punish her so much. What did Louis do to deserve a life-in-death living hell? What did Claudia do to deserve eternal imprisonment in that little body? What did AR’s daughter do to deserve dying so painfully at such an early age?
In the end, Louis (and the readers) draws his own answers and has to come to some kind of peace in order to move on. Lestat has his Savage Garden, in which peace lies in the fact that there is no explanation, bad things just happen to good people. The most we can do is try to do Good and help eachother survive the slings and arrows, try not to be the slinger of arrows, and if we are, to do it for the sake of Good. We’re all imperfect.
2 – Louis’ voice is pretty damn hard to write, when done well. My guess is that AR didn’t see a need to revisit his POV, especially with the intensity of focus it required. @annabellioncourt had some excellent points on this awhile back:
“Louis is more along the lines of the Oscar Wilde’s era of the very late 19th century, which is what most people think of today when they think “Victorian writing.” Similar in voice (though not subject) would also be Matthew Arnold (read some of his essays, and tell me that’s not how Louis talks), Wilkie Collins, and Henry James.
”…Louis is not so much involved in human goings on, he’s aware of events and films, but still speaks in the language of the century where he spent the most time communicating with others–also he would not have lost his speech patterns over those decades with Armand because Armand was mostly isolated in his language circles. So we can look at all of that as to why Louis talks the way he does.“
“Louis does show a HEAVY influence from the French symbolist poets (the school that Charles Baudelaire was from).”
And of course Louis would express himself in the language of the writers he enjoyed. OF COURSE HE WOULD. We all know he’s basically a big ol’ bookworm w/ fangs.
Misery. The only word that came close to describing the current life of the young plantation owner known as Louis de Pointe du Lac. Wandering aimlessly and drinking were all he could manage to do with his time as of late. Drinking, and drinking, and more drinking, but no amount of alcohol could kill this misery and it certainly wasn’t going to kill him, at least not fast enough. That was the only option in his mind at this point. To die.. to rot away to nothing in the cold ground like his brother. What peace it seemed awaited him whenever he would breathe his last.. That illusion of peace so tempting that he had been seeking it out, provoking brutish men into violence night after night. Just last evening he thought he had found his precious death, that the blade of a common street criminal might strike a vein and leave him to bleed out on the dirty cobblestone. But a powerful punch delivered to his jaw had left him penniless and unconscious, to awake simply furious an hour later on the ground. Such a sting of failure that he could not even reach the mercy of death and that his own hands could not carry out the deed no matter how he thought and thought on it. He might have hung himself from one of the ancient trees on his own property, had he the courage to slip the noose around his neck. These thoughts were madness.. absolute madness, but not like Paul’s madness. That had been full of irrepresible passion, confidence, unwavering dedication, maybe even something to admire. His own suffering had no passion. No passion for anything anymore. Only the inescapable and horrifying desire for his heart to cease its beating. This evening, he sat in a run down saloon, drinking raspberry brandy straight from the bottle and intoxicated enough that his stride was unsteady, regal clothing unkempt, and raven hair a mess of tangles. Louis threw back another swig of the sickeningly sweet liquor, tired eyes scanning the noisy bar with a challenging glimmer as he searched for the man who might, with any luck, end his life tonight.
Monster
“Do you
still believe in perfection?” A soft female voice asked, breaking the silence
that surrounded the abandoned walls of what had been once a home, the
wallpapers were rotting, the bats had claimed the upstairs, the figure of a
curvy young female could be distinguished within the weak lights that managed
to spare the room’s darkness, she looked holy, unlike everything around her;
Everything was dying, vanishing, everything but her and the young male curling
up against the darkest corner. “Let me
go.” He begged, and she smiled as if she mocked of his cowardly, the blonde
still made her way towards him; slowly, letting the echo of her heels rumble on
the walls.“Let you
go? Were you intending to let me go before?” She asked with certain curiosity
as the light finally illuminated her perfect oval face, enhancing the smoothly
pale skin that had started to look way too inhuman for him in the moment she
had freed herself form his grip. “Look, I’m sorry.” He squeaked
desperately, leaning forward in a last try to negotiate, but it seemed like she
sweet girl from the bar had turned into the worst demon he could ever had
imagined, one that had already crushed the bones of his right foot in a second,
the young man was scared, sweating, and perhaps for the first time in his life:
praying. “You said I was an angel, the most perfect think that ever walked on
earth.” She added sweetly, ignoring his grief as soon there were no more steps
to take, he was right next to her feet.“What
changed?” She questioned him as she pulled him up so easily, grabbing his cheap
leather jacket to pin him against the wall, finally the light illuminated his
dirty black hair, such a beautiful face he would have, she just could wonder
how many girls had fallen under his wing, how many of them had survived, for
once the ancient vampire didn’t want to find out about that, she simply decided
to finish, satisfy her thirst with him, he would be a fair resistance to her
deadly bite, or so she hoped he would be. “Let me go!” He screamed in the
moment her small but sharp fangs broke his delicate skin. “Bitch!” He added,
giving his best push, but her hands were firm rocks holding him against the
concrete. His heartbeat accelerating, like a chicken that just had its head
cut, he fought, but soon enough he gave in and in a moment his life was nearly
gone. “It’s Bianca.” She finally whispered in his ear before letting his figure
fall down, finally lifeless. “You might as well…send my salutations to my
kinsmen down there, Thomas.”
Anthropologist David Gilmore has proposed the idea that, in most cultures, monsters assist people in “awakening…to their own values and moral traditions.” If so, then in a communal society, perhaps the wendigo is the embodiment of hunger’s selfishness. It does not run in packs or pair off to mate and raise offspring; rather, the wendigo stalks the wilderness alone, attuned only to the black hole of its gullet.
But monsters leave the liminal space of one culture’s nightmares and enter the rest of the world where they are appropriated and changed to suit other fears and fancies. For those of us raised on the tender vampires of Anne Rice and Stephenie Meyers, there’s also a strange romance in untrammeled hunger. After all, ravenousness is metaphoric as well as literal. We conflate physical hunger with romantic desire in ten thousand pop songs, and who among us has not looked at a beloved and wanted to consume them?
In a different mirror, the wendigo’s insatiableness might be a manifestation of loneliness, a kind of desire for connection that has metastasized.
Kate Angus, “The Wendigo” (via existingcharactersdiehorribly)
whens armands bday?
Who knows? Does Armand himself know? Had Marius came up with some date as well as with the name?
Fandom (at least part of it), as it seems, picked 11th November and celebrates it in RP.//I believe, as with Lestat’s bday and Louis’, it’s a thing AR stated somewhere.
Anyway, those are interesting questions. Armand probably would not know, specially because kids bdays were pretty much not a thing, so it’s unlikely the date was important in any way. On the other hand, with how much people liked astrology in Venice it’s possible they had picked a day for him? (Maybe Bianca did it xD) Maybe Marius would have liked to celebrate the boys bdays somehow? Interesting to consider.
#Headcanon Accepted
…and it would also aggravate Armand to no end that everyone tends to make such a big deal for Lestat’s birthday 4 nights before his bc otherwise the Brat Prince throws a royal tantrum. The one-upmanship never ends.
I-want-my-IWTV 