Mater Fabuloso, help! I’m reading totbt for the first time and I’m so disappointed in Lestat. How do I get my higher opinion of him back? :(

You’re going to be disappointed in Lestat. He does some terrible, awful, things in TOBT. He’s done some terrible, awful things before it, and will do terrible, awful things after.

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He’s not a #perfect cinnamon roll too good for this world. FAR FROM IT. He’s a little shit a lot of the time. There’s no way I can wave a magic wand and raise anyone’s opinion of him.

Pretty sure that ALL the VC characters are problematic in some regard. In fact, message me the characters with a list of their offensiveness. I would really like to compile a list.

What I CAN give you: If you’re disappointed in a character, does that mean it’s because you had a higher opinion of him before? Did you care about him before? Wanted to read his story? See more of him in canon?

Is it because you can see that he’s an evolving character, and though he has done bad things, he is capable of change? We don’t change overnight. People can continue to do bad things on their journey, failing bc of weakness or in an attempt to do the right thing.

With Lestat, you can rest assured that he wants to be good, but like an alcoholic, he falls off the “good” wagon. Repeatedly. It’s in his persistence in climbing back on again and again that should be considered when you’re formulating your opinion of him. If you can’t handle the failures, close the book. Unfollow his story. No one is forcing you to take the ride with him.

I think a crucial part of doing the right thing is having a better understanding of the wrong thing, a lot of Lestat’s failure comes from his inner turmoil. Even before he was turned into a monster, we can all agree that he had issues, to put it lightly.

I found this great essay by Warren Ellis. It might help you. Here’s a taste, with my emphasis added in bold:

“… Fiction is how we both study and de-fang our monsters. To lock violent fiction away, or to close our eyes to it, is to give our monsters and our fears undeserved power and richer hunting grounds.“

(a bit more under the cut)

“I don’t understand.” How many times have you read that in conjunction with a violent act?

“I don’t understand why he did it.” Or “I don’t understand why this happened.” Sammy Yatim, shot dead and then tasered by police on a Toronto streetcar, and even the chair of the Police Services Board asks, “How could this happen?”

….Here in Britain, our weakling government is attempting to launch a web filter that would somehow erase “violent material” from Internet provision — placing it, by association, in the same category as child pornography. Every week seems to bring a new attempt to ban something or other because it’s uncomfortably or scary or perhaps even indefensibly disgusting.

 ….we generally demonize violent acts and violent work. We make them Other, and we just distance ourselves. They are Other, and they didn’t come from us, and we’re just going to stand over there and shake our heads sadly. And, moreover, anyone who gets closer to it in order to experience or understand it must be a freak.

…The function of fiction is being lost in the conversation on violence. My book editor, Sean McDonald, thinks of it as “radical empathy.” Fiction, like any other form of art, is there to consider aspects of the real world in the ways that simple objective views can’t — from the inside. We cannot Other characters when we are seeing the world from the inside of their skulls. This is the great success of Thomas Harris’s Hannibal Lecter, both in print and as so richly embodied by Mads Mikkelsen in the Hannibal television series: For every three scary, strange things we discover about him, there is one thing that we can relate to. The Other is revealed as a damaged or alienated human, and we learn something about the roots of violence and the traps of horror.

… Fiction is how we both study and de-fang our monsters. To lock violent fiction away, or to close our eyes to it, is to give our monsters and our fears undeserved power and richer hunting grounds.”

Once we start calling people monsters, we start sacrificing our sense of curiosity, our obligation to ask how they became that way, and why they did what they did: life, and certainly fiction writing, is about being endlessly fascinated by the human condition–naming someone a monster is lazy; it allows you to stop thinking and questioning.

Hanya Yanagihara, Electric Literature (via kylelucia)

Monster

everlastingporcelain:

“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.”