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Memnoch the Devil / Anne Rice.

By: Rice, Anne, 1941-.
Material type: materialTypeLabelBookSeries: Rice, Anne, Vampire chronicles: ; Rice, Anne, Vampire chronicles: 5.Publisher: London : Arrow, 2010Description: 401 pages ; 20 cm.Content type: text Media type: unmediated Carrier type: volumeISBN: 9780099548133 (pbk.); 0099548135 (pbk.).Subject(s): Lestat (Fictitious character) -- Fiction | Vampires -- Fiction | Lestat (Fictitious character) Fiction | Horror talesGenre/Form: Horror fiction.DDC classification: Rental Fiction Summary: The vampire Lestat, featured in Interview with the Vampire, is snatched from this world to face his most extraordinary adversary yet. Memnoch, the Devil, takes him on a tour of Creation, and Lestat confronts the realms of Heaven and Hell.
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Enhanced descriptions from Syndetics:

In this terrifying novel from the phenomenally successful Anne Rice, the vampire Lestat makes a Faustian pact with a fallen angel who calls himself Memnoch.Lestat soon discovers that Memnoch is in fact the Devil himself and that he has come to New Orleans with a proposition. With his satanic guide Lestat tours the boundaries of space and time as Memnoch offers an alternative and personalised account of the Bible, exploring the events which shaped our world.Their journey ends with an apocalyptic denouement in hell, from which Lestat returns frail and broken. The experience has shattered his perceptions of the known Universe, but can you ever trust the Devil?

Originally published: London: Chatto & Windus, 1995.

The vampire Lestat, featured in Interview with the Vampire, is snatched from this world to face his most extraordinary adversary yet. Memnoch, the Devil, takes him on a tour of Creation, and Lestat confronts the realms of Heaven and Hell.

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Excerpt provided by Syndetics

I SAW HIM when he came through the front doors. Tall, solidly built dark brown hair and eyes, skin still fairly dark because it had been dark when I'd made him a vampire. Walking a little too fast, but basically passing for a human being. My beloved David. I was on the stairway. The grand stairway, one might say. It was one of those very opulent old hotels, divinely overdone, full of crimson and gold, and rather pleasant. My victim had picked it. I hadn't. My victim was dining with his daughter. And I'd picked up from my victim's mind that this was where he always met his daughter in New York, for the simple reason that St. Patrick's Cathedral was across the street. David saw me at once--a slouching, blond, long-haired youth, bronze face and hands, the usual deep violet sunglasses over my eyes, hair presentably combed for once, body tricked out in a dark-blue, double-breasted Brooks Brothers suit. I saw him smile before he could stop himself. He knew my vanity, and he probably knew that in the early nineties of the twentieth century, Italian fashion had flooded the market with so much shapeless, hangy, bulky, formless attire that one of the most erotic and flattering garments a man could choose was the well-tailored navy-blue Brooks Brothers suit. Besides, a mop of flowing hair and expert tailoring are always a potent combination. Who knows that better than I? I didn't mean to harp on the clothes! To hell with the clothes. It's just I was so proud of myself for being spiffed up and full of gorgeous contradictions--a picture of long locks, the impeccable tailoring, and a regal manner of slumping against the railing and sort of blocking the stairs. He came up to me at once. He smelled like the deep winter outside, where people were slipping in the frozen streets, and snow had turned to filth in the gutters. His face had the subtle preternatural gleam which only I could detect, and love, and properly appreciate, and eventually kiss. We walked together onto the carpeted mezzanine. Momentarily, I hated it that he was two inches taller than me. But I was so glad to see him, so glad to be near him. And it was warm in here, and shadowy and vast, one of the places where people do not stare at others. "You've come," I said. "I didn't think you would." "Of course," he scolded, the gracious British accent breaking softly from the young dark face, giving me the usual shock. This was an old man in a young man's body, recently made a vampire, and by me, one of the most powerful of our remaining kind. "What did you expect?" he said, tete-a-tete. "Armand told me you were calling me. Maharet told me." "Ah, that answers my first question." I wanted to kiss him, and suddenly I did put out my arms, rather tentatively and politely so that he could get away if he wanted, and when he let me hug him, when he returned the warmth, I felt a happiness I hadn't experienced in months. Perhaps I hadn't experienced it since I had left him, with Louis. We had been in some nameless jungle place, the three of us, when we agreed to part, and that had been a year ago. "Your first question?" he asked, peering at me very closely, sizing me up perhaps, doing everything a vampire can do to measure the mood and mind of his maker, because a vampire cannot read his maker's mind, any more than the maker can read the mind of the fledgling. And there we stood divided, laden with preternatural gifts, both fit and rather full of emotion, and unable to communicate except in the simplest and best way, perhaps--with words. "My first question," I began to explain, to answer, "was simply going to be: Where have you been, and have you found the others, and did they try to hurt you? All that rot, you know--how I broke the rules when I made you, et cetera." "All that rot," he mocked me, the French accent I still possessed, now couple with something definitely American. "What rot." "Come on," I said. "Let's go into the bar there and talk. Obviously no one has done anything to you. I didn't' think they could or they would, or that they'd dare. I wouldn't have let you slip off into the world if I'd thought you were in danger." He smiled, his brown eyes full of gold light for just an instant. "Didn't you tell me this twenty-five times, more or less, before we parted company?" We found a small table, cleaving to the wall. The place was half crowded the perfect proportion exactly. What did we look like? A couple of young men on the make for mortal men or women? I don't care. "No one has harmed me," he said, "and no one has shown the slightest interest in it." Someone was playing a piano, very tenderly for a hotel bar, I thought. And it was something by Erik Satie. What luck. "The tie," he said, leaning forward, white teeth flashing, fangs completely hidden, of course. "This, this big mass of silk around your neck! This is not Brooks Brothers!" He gave a soft teasing laugh. "Look at you, and the wing-tip shoes! My, my. What's going on in your mind? And what is this all about?" The bartender threw a hefty shadow over the small table, and murmured predictable phrases that were lost to me in my excitement and in the noise. "Something hot," David said. It didn't surprise me. "You know, rum punch or some such, whatever you can heat up." I nodded and made a little gesture to the indifferent fellow that I would take the same thing. Vampires always ordered hot drinks. They aren't going to drink them; but they can feel the warmth and smell them if they're hot, and that is so good. David looked at me again. Or rather this familiar body with David inside looked at me. Because for me, David would always be the elderly human I'd known and treasured, as well as this magnificent burnished shell of stolen flesh that was slowly being shaped by his expressions and manner and mood. Dear Reader, he switched human bodies before I made him a vampire, worry no more. It has nothing to do with this story. "Something's following you again?" he asked. "This is what Armand told me. So did Jesse." "Where did you see them?" "Armand?" he asked. "A complete accident. In Paris. He was just walking on the street. He was the first one I saw." "He didn't make any move to hurt you?" "Why would he? Why were you calling to me? Who's stalking you? What is all this? Excerpted from Memnoch the Devil by Anne Rice All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.

Reviews provided by Syndetics

Library Journal Review

In this fifth book in the series, Rice brings the Vampire Lestat face to face with both God and the Devil. What can she possibly do for an encore? Rice is usually published in the fall to coincide with Halloween, but the publisher has just bumped this title to July in order to tap the huge summer reading crowd. (c) Copyright 2010. Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.

Publishers Weekly Review

Rice has made a career out of humanizing creatures of supernatural horror, and in this fifth book of her Vampire Chronicles she requests sympathy for the Devil. Having survived his near-fatal reacquaintance with human mortality in The Tale of the Body Thief (1992), the world-weary vampire Lestat is recruited by the biblical Devil, Memnoch, to help fight a cruel and negligent God. The bulk of the novel is a retelling of the Creation story from the point of view of the fallen angel, who blames his damnation on his refusal to accept human suffering as part of God's divine plan. Rice grapples valiantly with weighty questions regarding the justification of God's ways to man, but their vast scope overwhelms the novel's human dimensions. God and the Devil periodically put on the flesh of mortals, and too often end up sounding like arguing philosophy majors. Meanwhile, the ever-fascinating Lestat, whose poignant personal crisis of faith is mirrored in Memnoch's travails, becomes a passive observer, dragged along on trips to Heaven and Hell before being returned to Earth to relate what he has witnessed. Though Rice boldly probes the significance of death, belief in the afterlife and other spiritual matters, one wishes that she had found a way to address them through the experiences of human and near-human characters, as she has done so brilliantly in the past. One million first printing; BOMC and QPB main selections. (July) (c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved

Booklist Review

Any book by Rice is a hot commodity, especially in the wake of the movie version of Interview with the Vampire, but even so, a million copy print run for her latest, the fifth in the cultishly beloved Vampire Chronicle series, seems extreme. Rice has brought her suave and deadly hero, the vampire Lestat de Lioncourt, back to center stage at a tricky conjuncture in his long, monstrous life: the murderously powerful and seductive immortal is being stalked by some terrifying force he can't identify. This is interfering with his plans to kill Roger, a handsome drug dealer whose passion for religious art is only exceeded by his love for his daughter Dora, a lithesome televangalist. As Lestat spies on Roger, falls in love with Dora, and tries to figure out who or what is after him, he finds himself in the grip of a spiritual crisis. Yes, this dandyish bloodsucker wants desperately to discover the meaning of life, and, lo and behold, his stalker, Memnoch, the Devil himself, is just the creature to guide him. Memnoch claims that God is merciless and he is compassionate, and he needs Lestat to help him rescue humanity from this vale of tears. Rice routinely fills her novels with tedious pseudotheology, but she really goes overboard here. Not only does Memnoch take Lestat to Heaven where he talks with God, he even takes him back in time to the Crucifixion where the vampire drinks Christ's blood. This clumsily told tale manages to be both ludicrous and offensive. Surely only die-hard Vampire Chronicle fans will be able to stand it, but they, like Rice's monsters, seem to be rampant. (Reviewed June 1 & 15, 1995)0679441018Donna Seaman

Kirkus Book Review

The fifth volume in the Vampire Lestat chronicles (The Tale of the Body Thief, etc.) finds Lestat pitted against the greatest adversaries of his bloody life: God and the Devil. Rice's richly descriptive latestand best plotted of the seriesis less horror novel than a knockoff of Dostoevsky's theological battles. Lestat is obsessed by Roger Flynn, a handsome billionaire cocaine smuggler whom he stalks for months and at last kills and dismembers. Then surprise: Roger's ghost turns up drinking Southern Comfort on a Manhattan barstool beside Lestat. All Roger wants is for Lestat to deliver some laundered cash and a trove of religious relics to his daughter, Dora, a New Orleans televangelist. The relics include a fake Veronica's Veil, perhaps 400 years old. Lestat flies Dora by batpower to Manhattan, shows her the apartment full of Roger's fabulous relics and cash. But Lestat hears the Hound of Heaven chasing him, which is also Memnoch the Devil (Satan), who takes Lestat to Limbo, engages him in cosmic chat about evil, and tries to get him to join him as co-ruler in Hell. Memnoch, a fantastic altruist, fights God for the betterment of mankind, especially for souls in Hell who someday deserve to go upstairs to Heaven. Then, after a huge chat with God, who tries to sign Lestat up for His team, the immortal vampire joins Jesus on the way to Calvary, is given the true Veronica's Veil after Christ imprints his bloody face on it, and has a horrific tour of Hell, full of souls trying to wash away their sins. Will Lestat choose Heaven or Hell? And will he get the real Veronica's Veil back to Dora? Not Christ and the Grand Inquisitor, but a vastly daring change of pace for the atheist Lestat, a tormented Ivan Karamazov tied into spiritual knots and left disbelieving his own senses. (First printing of 1,000,000; Book-of-the-Month Club/Quality Paperback Book Club main selections)