The primary seduction, though, is that to which the reader submits. We're not quite 25 pages into the book when Louis describes to the boy his first "kill," his first human victim, a runaway slave. "Killing is no ordinary act," the vampire tells the boy:

It is the experience of another's life for certain, and often the experience of the loss of that life through the blood, slowly. It is again and again the experience of that loss of my own life, which I experienced when I sucked the blood from Lestat's wrist and felt his heart pound with my heart. It is again and again a celebration of that experience; because for vampires that is the ultimate experience.

Now it is possible to read this with detachment, noting that the language is sometimes powerful (that "slowly" is masterful), sometimes maddeningly slipshod (as in the slack concluding clause: "because for vampires that is the ultimate experience"). It is possible to read it without endorsing the claim, implicit here, that we are being told something profound about human sexuality. But if, thus warned, we continue to read as the boy continues to listen, then—the logic of Rice's narrative suggests—it is because we long to be vampires too. I finished the novel with the sense of moral contamination that some books leave us with.

Which doesn't mean that—in this book or in the novels that followed—Rice simply argues that killing is OK if that's your inclination. What the books suggest instead is rather murky. On the one hand, Rice celebrates the free spirit, rejecting the Catholicism in which she was raised and all its strictures—and so also the claims of any moral absolutes. (As Ramsland puts it in [The Anne Rice Reader], "To her mind, writing about pure abstractions like the traditional notions of good and evil hinders real understanding.") And yet Ramsland quotes her as saying, "I do not think I could go on if I didn't believe in goodness."

In short, there was a profound contradiction at the heart of Rice's work. And so I concluded [a] review in 1997 by recalling Simone Weil—"Imaginary evil is romantic and varied; real evil is gloomy, monotonous, barren, boring. Imaginary good is boring; real good is always new, marvelous, intoxicating"—and wondering if, having taken imaginary evil to its limits, Rice might be poised to taste the intoxicating waters of grace.

If you want to write a book but can't come up with ideas, pretend there's yardwork waiting for you and a wife who thinks it needs to be done immediately.

We think too highly of the past. We lean too heavily upon history as a direct social model for the present day. Thus, I believe, our inaccurate reminiscences are keeping us from being morally coherent and intellectually relevant in the modern world . . .

Lewis, if anyone wants my opinion, was a very odd bird. Not the least odd thing about him was that for all his Anglicanism, tweed jackets, steam trains, nautical obsessions, bossy governesses, horrible schools, neglectful parents, and lack of interest in food and sex, he is more read and admired in the U.S.A. than in England.

I just finished reading The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe to my four-year-old son, Zachary.

When Father Christmas presents gifts to the children, he gives Peter a sword and shield. To Susan, he gives a bow and arrows and a horn. He then tells her, "You must use the bow only in great need, for I do not mean you to fight in the battle." Next, he gives Lucy a bottle and a dagger and says, "The dagger is to defend yourself at great need. For you also are not to be in the battle."

Lucy responds, "Why sir? I think---I don't know---but I think I could be brave enough." To which Father Christmas replies, "That is not the point. But battles are ugly when women fight."

During the battle at the end, Peter and Edmund---not Susan and Lucy---are the ones waging war against Aslan's enemies.

I have read good reports from Gene Veith that Douglas Gresham (C. S. Lewis's stepson) has sought to keep the movie faithful to the book. I cannot wait to see the film. But I will be thoroughly shocked if Lewis's vision wins out over contemporary feminism (particularly since I have seen clips of Susan wielding her bow). I hope I am wrong.

I will be greatly surprised if Lucy and Susan aren't playing the role of Zena during the battle scene.

Peter Jackson deemed it necessary to rewrite Arwyn's role in his portrayal of Lord of the Rings. After all, egalitarianism and feminism require everyone be equal -- equal killing, equal time on stage, ...

For my readers: pay attention to the gift scene when you see the movie. Will Father Christmas say "battles are ugly when women fight"? I'll buy a round of drinks for the entire BHT if that line *is* in the movie!

"We Gather Together"

We gather together
to ask the Lord's blessing;
he chastens and hastens
his will to make known.
The wicked oppressing
now cease from distressing.
Sing praises to his name,
he forgets not his own.

â€Å"We give thanks to you, Lord God Almighty,
who is and who was,
for you have taken your great power
and begun to reign."

-- Revelation 11:17 (ESV)

I have sometimes lamented our contemporary loss of any sense of antiquity, grandeur, or nobility. I have argued that the trivialization of Bible stories in things like Veggie Tales represents a far greater tone deafness to the story as God told it than any gain it represents in knowledge of broad plot outlines, or in the inculcation of the moralistic "lessons."

As a reductio, I have sometimes used the absurd example of what would happen if radical contextualizing missionaries tried to reach out to Muslims by making a Veggie Tales rendition of the Koran. The unhappy result would be fatwas everywhere, and jihad in between. I have also tried to show how silly this would be if someone tried to do The Lord of the Rings as a Veggie Tale. Well, as I have noted in other contexts, these are difficult days to be a satirist. And they actually did it.

I’m (very) wary of self-published books.

I want to be respectful here, because I know many of you have taken the self-published route (and I have a heard a large number of the success stories) but my first gut reaction whenever I’m pitched a self-published project is to make one of those leery â€Å"Mmmmm,â€? sounds that Marge Simpson often uses on Homer.

Self-publishing absolutely has its place. It’s ideal, I think, for niche non-fiction books for which there will be a targeted, sustained, but small audience. Health condition books are an example of this.

I’m less convinced of its efficacy for fiction. And I’m doubly hard to convince that a self-published book is likely to be republished by BHP.

The first reason is that by self-publishing I feel you’ve already been turned down my multiple publishers and have decided to pursue this route. What are the chances that a book multiple other publishers have rejected will work for us?

The second reason is that most self-published works, when submitted, don’t look so hot. The editing is rough. The typesetting is basic and unimpressive. The covers are often uninspiring. You are quite likely better off submitting your story in manuscript form to me. It’ll feel fresher, like it has more potential.

Finally, this intractability of mine is getting worse not better. Unfair as it sounds, you’re not just battling to sell your own book, you’re faced with the ghosts of all those rejected self-published novels that came before yours.

He dared to dream! And she did too! Together they wanted the world! But what they got was a broken rainbow!

Broken Rainbow blends elements of human drama and African American themes into descriptive character studies. By framing the narrative around settings, conversations, and with character inner thoughts, the reader is challenged to question his own place and responsibility to society and himself.

To Order Call . . .