Prince Lestat: The Vampire Chronicles

Hardcover | October 28, 2014

byAnne Rice

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A stunning departure, a surprising and compelling return…From Anne Rice, perennial best seller, single-handed reinventor of the vampire cosmology--a new, exhilarating novel, a deepening of her vampire mythology, and a chillingly hypnotic mystery-thriller.

"What can we do but reach for the embrace that must now
contain both heaven and hell: our doom again and again and
again…" --from The Vampire Lestat

Rice once again summons up the irresistible spirit-world of the oldest and most powerful forces of the night, invisible beings unleashed on an unsuspecting world able to take blood from humans, in a long-awaited return to the extraordinary world of the Vampire Chronicles and the uniquely seductive Queen of the Damned ("mesmerizing" --San Francisco Chronicle), a long-awaited novel that picks up where The Vampire Lestat ("brilliant…its undead characters are utterly alive" --New York Times) left off more than a quarter of a century ago to create an extraordinary new world of spirits and forces--the characters, legend, and lore of all the Vampire Chronicles.

The novel opens with the vampire world in crisis…vampires have been proliferating out of control; burnings have commenced all over the world, huge massacres similar to those carried out by Akasha in The Queen of the Damned…Old vampires, roused from slumber in the earth are doing the bidding of a Voice commanding that they indiscriminately burn vampire-mavericks in cities from Paris and Mumbai to Hong Kong, Kyoto, and San Francisco.

As the novel moves from present-day New York and the West Coast to ancient Egypt, fourth century Carthage, 14th-century Rome, the Venice of the Renaissance, the worlds and beings of all the Vampire Chronicles-Louis de Pointe du Lac; the eternally young Armand, whose face is that of a Boticelli angel; Mekare and Maharet, Pandora and Flavius; David Talbot, vampire and ultimate fixer from the secret Talamasca; and Marius, the true Child of the Millennia; along with all the other new seductive, supernatural creatures-come together in this large, luxuriant, fiercely ambitious novel to ultimately rise up and seek out who-or what-the Voice is, and to discover the secret of what it desires and why…

And, at the book's center, the seemingly absent, curiously missing hero-wanderer, the dazzling, dangerous rebel-outlaw--the great hope of the Undead, the dazzling Prince Lestat…

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From the Publisher

A stunning departure, a surprising and compelling return…From Anne Rice, perennial best seller, single-handed reinventor of the vampire cosmology--a new, exhilarating novel, a deepening of her vampire mythology, and a chillingly hypnotic mystery-thriller."What can we do but reach for the embrace that must nowcontain both heaven and hel...

Anne Rice is the author of thirty-two books. She lives in Palm Desert, California.  www.annerice.com

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Format:HardcoverDimensions:480 pages, 9.7 × 6.59 × 1.46 inPublished:October 28, 2014Publisher:Knopf Doubleday Publishing GroupLanguage:English

The following ISBNs are associated with this title:

ISBN - 10:0307962520

ISBN - 13:9780307962522

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Reviews

Rated 5 out of 5 by from Anne Again......lestat!!!! Thank anne for bringing him back. Brilliant book with an excellent story. Always a pleasure and I find myself reading well past what I should in a sitting.
Date published: 2015-08-19
Rated 1 out of 5 by from A steaming pile of moneymaker Anne writes as if she hasn't interacted with another human being since the 80s. Her characters are now caricatures of what they once were. Her sense of humour is far from refined. Her inclusions of technology into the story are embarrassing. This book is garbage.
Date published: 2015-08-09
Rated 1 out of 5 by from The final Lestat book Classic Anne Rice... Terribly written, very little character development and next to no plot. The entire story could have been told in less than two pages.
Date published: 2015-04-13
Rated 5 out of 5 by from The Prince's Return It was so very good to read and hear from the older characters and even a return from those thought long gone. Probably the harder book for me to put down in a while. Get this book!
Date published: 2015-04-03
Rated 5 out of 5 by from What you would expect. If you like the other books, you will like this one. I quite enjoy how much more freedom the author allows herself with the same sex romantic aspects where it was himted at but never explicitly stated. I have not read most of the middle books in the series, so it may be more prevalent there. Reading this new installment has certainly resparked my interest in a massive reread and first reading of all the books in this world. A+
Date published: 2015-03-17
Rated 5 out of 5 by from Exceptional Anne Rice never disappoints! Her style of writing coupled with the subject matter and character development always keep me intrigued. If I didn't know better, I'd say she was a vampire herself =)
Date published: 2015-02-07
Rated 5 out of 5 by from Astonishingly superb! I've always lived for the release of a new Anne Rice novel however this installment of the Vampire Chronicles is so complex, so vivid, so tantalizing that I truly couldn't put it down! Even though this book was named "Prince Lestat", I feel that this was truly a tale of the whole "tribe" of those with the "dark gift". Having breathed life and identity into the spirit Amel, I would welcome the chance to read more of him. As always, one of my greatest pleasures in life is reading an Anne Rice novel. Thank you!
Date published: 2015-01-21
Rated 5 out of 5 by from Great timing This book takes you right back into the vampire cronicles. Lots of character development of many points of view. Dont get lost it finally comes together.
Date published: 2015-01-20
Rated 5 out of 5 by from Pure prose I love the eloquence of Anne Rice. Her prose is pure artistry. A Picasso of literature. And so the story continues.
Date published: 2014-12-20
Rated 3 out of 5 by from Doesn't stand up to the legacy of which it keeps reminding us For better or worse, depending upon your perspective, Prince Lestat is well-and-truly an Anne Rice novel in all respects. It's long and meandering, but lush and full of detail. It's full of heavy prose that invites you to linger, but scarce on plot development. It has a cast of characters that will challenge less-than-avid fans, but an inconsistency of character development that will challenge even avid fans. Roughly 11 years have passed since we last met Rice's vampires upon the page, a decade during which she abandoned her atheism, returned to the Catholic church, nearly died (twice), rededicated her writing to glorifying God, once again distanced herself from organized Christianity, and ultimately returned to the world of vampires. For better or worse, that question of faith and that self-awareness of one's own mortality have more do with Prince Lestat than the Gothic opulence to which most fans so desperately wished to return. Right off the bat (no pun intended), we realize this is going to be a very different sort of vampire tale. We're introduced to vampire doctors, scientists, and guinea pigs, all of them contributing to a pseudo-scientific explanation for vampirism that reeks of midi-chlorians. Not long after that, we're introduced to Lestat's son, a plot development that seems a desperate attempt to put a new spin on the idea of mortality, countering that dark cloud of intellectual progress being pulled over the supernatural concept of immortality. Not only that, but there's a whole Christ-like allusion to his role that I almost expected, but could have done without. Moving onto our titular character, this book is less about Lestat than it is the vampires pining for his absence from the world. I'm not sure how much of it is deliberate and how much is Rice having lost the voice, but Lestat is a pale imitation of his previous self. Gone is the arrogant, daring, charismatic monster of old, and in his place is a tired old man, overwhelmed by his own legacy, and disinterested in claiming his place in the world. The voice that draws him out of retirement is probably the most interesting aspect of the tale, leaving the reader to wonder what's real and what's madness, but the final reveal doesn't live up to the mystery. Before that final reveal, however, we get a half book dedicated to exploring the other vampires of the world, fleshing out their stories, introducing their connections to one another, and establishing their ties to Lestat. Some of those stories are incredibly interesting (in a few cases, I'd read an entire novel dedicated to each), but what they all have in common is a tiresome bit of meta-fiction, constantly reminding us how successful and how important the original Vampire Chronicles were. At first it was funny, and then it became tiresome, and then it became embarrassing. That said, there is an exciting story contained within the second half of the novel, but as is often the case with Rice, she makes us wait for it. Vampires everywhere are hearing the same voice as Lestat, with the old ones burning the young, and the young ones turning on one another. It's part civil war, part serial genocide, and it makes for a good bit of bloody, ashen drama. Some major characters die here, which is a bit of a surprise, although their deaths lack the shock factor we'd expect, and don't summon the kind of passionate response they would have in previous books. Ultimately, while Prince Lestat is a beautiful book to read, with language to savor, it lacks the passionate emotion of the original Vampire Chronicles. It feels almost as if Rice has lost the love for her characters, and only approached the story as a personal challenge to put a spiritual twist on the saga and redeem her own work. It's interesting, and it certainly has its moments, but it doesn't stand up to the legacy of which it keeps reminding us.
Date published: 2014-12-16
Rated 5 out of 5 by from Prinve Lestat Loved catching up on with our favourites, and meeting new ones. I hope she writes more about the new. Great read!
Date published: 2014-12-13
Rated 5 out of 5 by from The Savage Garden awaits... I have forgotten how much I love Lestat and all the children of the savage garden. Hearing his voice again after so many years was like listening to an old friend you haven't spoken to in a long while and yet still pick up exactly where you last left off. Lestat has grown and matured into what he has always been working towards. He has become what he was destined to be and shaped through all his trials. The new story was amazing and I tried to draw out the reading of it as long as possible so as to savour every last word and nuance. It was a feast for the senses and I enjoyed casting myself back into the world of the children of the night. Their curiosity, strength, loyalty, and love astounds me and forces my eyes open to the beauty of the trials of life. How I have missed Lestat and all his world. I'm thankful that we have been blessed with another glimpse of their lives. Thank-you, Anne Rice, for the gift you have given us, the gift of Lestat and the children of the night and their savage garden.
Date published: 2014-11-25
Rated 4 out of 5 by from Prince Lestat Hated the ending!
Date published: 2014-11-12
Rated 5 out of 5 by from Lestat is back! Anne Rice has done it again with the latest story of her Brat Prince-Lestat! The story is fantastic and I had to slow down so I could savor every drop! You as the reader,will not be disappointed with this story! It will leave you wanting more!
Date published: 2014-11-07
Rated 5 out of 5 by from Prince Lestat Z This has turned out to be my favorite book of all in the Vampire series of books by Anne Rice. I can hardly wait for the next tale to be spun.
Date published: 2014-11-05

Extra Content

Read from the Book

The VoiceYears ago, I heard him. He’d been babbling.It was after Queen Akasha had been destroyed and the mute red-­haired twin, Mekare, had become “the Queen of the Damned.” I’d witnessed all that—­the brutal death of Akasha in the moment when we all thought we would die, too, along with her.It was after I’d switched bodies with a mortal man and come back into my own powerful vampiric body—­having rejected the old dream of being human again.It was after I’d been to Heaven and Hell with a spirit called Memnoch, and come back to Earth a wounded explorer with no appetite anymore for knowledge, truth, beauty.Defeated, I’d lain for years on the floor of a chapel in New Orleans in an old convent building, oblivious to the ever-­shifting crowd of immortals around me—­hearing them, wanting to respond, yet somehow never managing to meet a glance, answer a question, acknowledge a kiss or a whisper of affection.And that’s when I first heard the Voice. Masculine, insistent, inside my brain.....“Hear me, come to me.” And he’d say that over and over again, night after night, until it was noise. . . .   The Voice rumbled and bellowed and whispered whenever I was there, rolling their names around in a stew of invective and rumination and demand. One evening, the Voice said, “Beauty is what drove it, don’t you see? It was the mystery of Beauty.”   A year later, I was walking along the sands of South Beach in Miami when he broke that one on me again. For the moment, the mavericks and rogues had been leaving me alone. They were afraid of me, afraid of all the old ones. But not enough.   “Drove what, dear Voice?” I asked. I felt it was only fair to give him a few minutes before shutting him down.   “You cannot conceive of the magnitude of this mystery.” He spoke in a confidential whisper. “You cannot conceive of this complexity.” He was saying these words as if he’d just discovered them. He wept. I swear it. He wept.   It was an awful sound. I don’t glory in any being’s pain, not even the pain of my most sadistic enemies, and here was the Voice weeping.   I was hunting, thirsting though I didn’t need to drink, at the mercy of the craving, the deep agonizing lust for heated, pumping human blood. I found a young victim, female, irresistible in her combination of filthy soul and gorgeous body, white throat so tender. I had her in the fragrant darkened bedroom of her own lodgings, lights of the city beyond the windows, having come over the roofs to find her, this pale woman with glorious brown eyes and walnut-shaded skin, black hair like the snakes of Medusa, naked between the white linen sheets, struggling against me as I sank my fangs right into the carotid artery. Too hungry for anything else. Give me the heartbeat. Give me the salt. Give me the Viaticum. Fill my mouth. . . .   On this dreary cold night, I’d been thirsty, more thirsty than I could bear. Oh, I don’t technically need the blood anymore. I have so much blood from Akasha in my veins—the primal blood from the old Mother— that I can exist forever without feeding. But I was thirsting, and I had to have it to stanch the misery, or so I told myself, on a little late night rampage in the city of Amsterdam, feeding off every reprobate and killer I could find. I’d hidden the bodies. I’d been careful. But it had been grim—that hot, delicious blood pumping into me and all those visions with it of filthy and degenerate minds, all that intimacy with the emotions I deplore. Oh, same old, same old. I was sick at heart. In moods like this, I’m a menace to the innocent and I know it only too well.   Around four in the morning, it had me so bad, I was in a little public park, sitting on an iron bench in the damp, doubled over, in a bad seedy part of the city, the late night lights looking garish and sooty through the mist. And I was cold all over and fearing now that I simply wasn’t going to endure. I wasn’t going to “make it” in the Blood. I wasn’t going to be a true immortal like the great Marius, or Mekare or Maharet or Khay- man, or even Armand. This wasn’t living, what I was doing. And at one point the pain was so acute, it was like a blade turning in my heart and in my brain. I doubled over on the bench. I had my hands clasped on the back of my neck, and I wanted nothing so much as to die, simply to close my eyes on all of life and die.   And the Voice came, and the Voice said:   “But I love you!”   I was startled. I hadn’t heard the Voice in such a longtime, and there it was, that intimate tone, so soft, so utterly tender, like fingers touching me, caressing my head.   “Why?” I asked.   “Of all of them, I love you the most,” said the Voice. “I am with you, loving you now.”   “What are you? Another make-believe angel?” I said. “Another spirit pretending to be a god, something like that?”   “No,” he said.   But the moment he’d started to speak, I had felt this warmth in me, this sudden warmth such as addicts de- scribe when they are infused with the substance they crave, this lovely reassuring warmth that I’d found so fleetingly in the blood, and I’d begun to hear the rain around me, hear it not as this dismal drizzle but as a lovely soft symphony of sounds on the surfaces around me.   “I love you,” said the Voice. “Now, get up. Leave this place. You must. Get up. Start walking. This rain is not too cold for you. You are too strong for this rain and too strong for this sorrow. Come on, do as I tell you. . . .”   And I had.   I had gotten up and started walking and made my way back to the elegant old Hotel De L’Europe where I was lodged, and I’d gone into the large, exquisitely wall- papered bedroom and closed the long velvet draperies properly over the coming sun. Glare of white sky over the Amstel River. Morning sounds. Then, I’d stopped. I’d pressed my fingers to my eyelids and buckled, buckled under the weight of a loneliness so terrible I would have chosen death then if only I’d had such a choice. “Come now, I love you,” said the Voice. “You’re not alone in this! You never were.” I could feel the Voice inside me, around me, embracing me.   Finally, I lay down to sleep. He was singing to me now, singing in French, singing some lyrics put to the beautiful Chopin etude, Tristesse. . . .   “Lestat, go home to France, to the Auvergne where you were born,” he whispered, just as if he were beside me. “Your father’s old chateau there. You need to go there. All of you human beings need a home.”   So tender it sounded, so sincere.   So strange that he would say this. I did own the old ruined chateau. Years ago, I had set architects and stonemasons to rebuild it, though why I did not know. I saw an image of it now, those ancient round towers rising from that cliff above fields and valleys where in the old days so many had starved, where life had been so bitter, where I had been bitter, a boy bound and deter- mined to run away to Paris, to see the world.   “Go home,” he whispered.   “Why are you not winking out the way I am, Voice?” I asked. “The sun’s rising.”   “Because it is not morning where I am, beloved Les- tat.”   “Ah, then you are a blood drinker, aren’t you?” I asked. I felt I’d caught him. I began to laugh, to cackle. “Of course you are.”   He was furious. “You miserable, ungrateful, degenerate Brat Prince,” he was muttering . . . and then he’d left me again. Ah, well. Why not? But I hadn’t really solved the mystery of The Voice, not by a long shot. . . .   When I woke, it was of course early evening, and Amsterdam was filled with roaring traffic, whizzing bicycles, myriad voices. Scent of blood pumped through beating hearts.   “Still with me, Voice?” I asked.   Silence. Yet I had the distinct feeling, yes, the feeling that he was here. I’d felt wretched, afraid for myself, wondering at my own weakness, inability to love.   And then this happened.   I went to the full-length mirror on the bathroom door to adjust my tie. You know what a dandy I am. Well, even down and out, I was in a finely cut Armani jacket and dress shirt, and, well, I wanted to adjust this bright, flashing, beautifully hand-painted silk tie and—my reflection wasn’t there!   I was there, but not my reflection. It was another me, smiling at me with triumphant glittering eyes, both hands up against the glass as if he were in a prison cell behind it. Same clothes, yes, and me down to the last detail of long blond curling hair and glittering blue- gray eyes. But not a reflection at all.   I was petrified. The dim echo of doppelgänger rose in my ears, and all the horror such a concept connotes. I don’t know if I can describe how chilling this was—this figure of myself inhabited by another, leering at me, deliberately menacing me.   I remained sober-faced, and I continued to adjust my tie, though I could see no reflection of what I was doing. And he continued to smile in that icy mocking way, as the laughter of the Voice rose in my brain. . . .   I went to Anatolia to escape it all. I wanted to see Hagia Sophia again, to walk under those arches. I wanted to wander the ruins of Göbekli Tepe, the oldest Neolithic settlement ever discovered. To hell with the problems of the tribe . . .

Editorial Reviews

Praise for Anne Rice’sPRINCE LESTAT “[Rice] retakes her throne as Queen of the Damned . . . visceral and gritty . . . [Prince Lestat] infuses new life into the Vampire Chronicles and sets the stage for a new era. -Elise de los Santos, Chicago RedEye “No one does what Anne Rice does . . . Not only does she find ways—brilliant ways—to tease new narrative potential from old stories, she does so while acknowledging that those stories are already part of the other characters’ psyches.  I don’t know of any other novelist doing that . . . she has not lost any of her flair for description, allowing us to experience the world the way her vampires do, with the sensory volume turned up to 11 . . . fun, sexy, and irresistible.” -January Magazine “Irrepressively seductive.” -John Russell, Next Magazine “Bloody marvelous . . . Prince Lestat is saving the undead from banality and overfamiliarity.” -Daniel D’Addario, Time “Chilling.” -Us Magazine “Anne Rice reminds us just how immense and rich with history her universe of poetic, morally questioning vampires is, and Prince Lestat serves as a palate cleanser to the hormone-soaked teen dramas of the past few years. It’s nice to have a real grown-up back in the game.” -Cotton Codinha, Elle “Ambitious...Rice never lost touch with the exuberant, often witty, and always fearless voice of irrepressible vampire Lestat de Lioncourt... Rice has offered us a tale of tremendous ambition, and she’s absolutely delivered.” -Matthew Jackson, BookPage