Lestat Addresses His Fans
"Now to those of you, who worship me. You know, the millions.
You say you want to hear from me. You leave yellow roses at my gate in New Orleans, with handwritten notes: "Lestat, speak to us again. Give us a new book. (...) We love the VC (...) Lestat, please come back!"
But I ask you, my beloved followers (don't all stumble over yourselves now to answer), what the Hell happened, when I gave you ?emnoch the Devil? Hmmm? That was the last of the Vampire Chronicles written in my own words.
Oh, you bought the book, I? not complaining about that, my beloved readers. Point of fact, ?emnoch has outsold the other Vampire Chronicles completely, how is that for a vulgar detail? But did you embrace it? Did you understand it? Did you read it twice? Did you believe it?
I? been to the Court of God Almighty and to the howling depths of Perdition, boys and girls, and I trusted you with my confessions, down to the last quiver of confusion an misery, prevailing on you to understand for me why I? fled this terrifying opportunity to really become a saint, and what did you do? You complained!
?here was the Vampire Lestat? That? what you wanted to know. Where was Lestat in his snappy black frock coat, flashing his tiny fang teeth as he smiles, striding in English boots through the glossy underworld of everybody? sinister and stylish city packed with writhing human victims, the majority of whom deserve the vampiric kiss? That? what you talked about!
Where was Lestat the insatiable blood thief and soul smasher; Lestat the vengeful, Lestat the sly, Lestat the well, actually Lestat, the Magnificient.
Yeah, I like that: Lestat, the Magnificient. That sound like a good name for this book. And I am, when you get right down to it, magnificient. I mean, nobody has to say it. But let? go back to your song and dance over Memnoch.
We don? want this shattered remnant of a shaman! you said. We want our hero. Where? his classic Harley? Let kick him start and roar through the French Quarters streets and alleys. Let him sing in the wind to the music pumping through his tiny earphones, purple shades down. Blond hair blowing free.
Well, cool, yeah, I like that image. Sure. I still have my motorcycle. And yeah, I adore frock coats. I have them made; you?e not going to get arguments from me on that. And the boots, always. Want to know, what I? wearing now?
I? not going to tell you!
Well, not until further on.
But think it over, what I am trying to say.
I give you this metaphysical vision of Creation and Eternity here, the whole history (more or less) of Christianity, and meditations galore on the Cosmos Big Time and what thanks do I get? ?hat kind of novel is this? you asked. ?e didn? tell you to go to Heaven and Hell! We want you to be the fancy fiend!?/p>
Mon Dieu! You make me miserable! You really do, I want you to know that. Much as I do love you, much as I need you, much as I can? exist without you, you make me miserable!"
