Immediately we were introduced to a world with style, complex characters, and first-rate dialogue. It was gritty, vulgar, and comical. Whoever butchered Rice's manuscript knew how to cut a slice of meat, and they understood something that she could never fully grasp.
Anne Rice wasn't a novelist, not in the traditional sense. Half of her material was based on describing Lestat, his personality, and his appearance. There were plot points and things that happened, but she would go thousands of words without even setting up a scene. It was all about the vampires making their mark, like the literary version of 'Lestat was here.' She was open about that.
Sometimes there was no climax or suspense. There might've been a cool scene at the end, maybe a death or an explanation, but there was no traditional plot. Instead, she made us feel like we were having a conversation and getting to know somebody, seeing the world from their perspective.
There were times when our eyes got tired. We'd skim through to find scenes, and sometimes Anne Rice would get so deep into the vampire's mind that it was like she lost her place when she was writing. We forgot where we were.
Did that mean we hated it? No, it absolutely did not. Many of us still rifle through those old tomes, marveling over those creatures. They were gods. But we missed the witty quips, the props, and the settings. Those were there, and at times they were so engrossing we couldn't help but fall into them. They just weren't the focus,
The series changed all of that. They gave us dialogue that we could take a bite out of. There was a comical exchange with a prostitute who beat up her trick. The way that Louis spoke to his brother Paul was tense and scathing. We felt that. We didn't experience that in the novels.
We had trouble connecting with Louis in the book. His original backstory was lost to memory. We'll often see fans who get things mixed up, convinced her grew up in Europe or that his entire family died, or that he killed his wife. Some would say he killed his brother.
It's because Anne Rice didn't set the scene properly. She had an interviewer that kept interrupting Louis' story. Louis would tell us about his plantation, and the interviewer would ask him something. He'd go on, and the interviewer would interrupt again.
The details were general and vague. Louis didn't mention his brother's name. He rarely referred to his mother and sister. It seemed as though Anne Rice wanted us to be more concerned with his life as an immortal, so she skipped over the details, but those details made him who he was.
The series didn't make that mistake. They understood that we wanted something immersive. We had to get to know Louis before we delved in. So they took their time painting the full picture, and this time it was mostly free of the distractions we were so used to in the novels.
The writers were top-notch. They showed us Louis' brother in stark detail. He was a gentle schizophrenic who committed suicide. In the book, he took up all of four lines, and his illness wasn't specifically identified. He just had 'visions.'
This was somebody who was integral to Louis' struggle, and we didn't even know his name. The man was responsible for Louis' characteristic guilt. His memory stuck with Louis for centuries. We deserved to know him.
Even with Louis' changed appearance, it was like we were getting to know the same man. Yes, he lived in a different time period. Yes, he was a different race, and his struggle was tied to his race. But he was more real than the Louis Anne Rice created, and his story was even more compelling.
In the novel, Louis' brother fell down a set of steps after imploring Louis to sell their plantation for the good of the Church. He had been spending all of his time in the rectory that Louis had built for him, and he was starting to show signs that he was going mad. Louis yelled at him, essentially calling him crazy, and he fell down, killing himself in the process.
Louis' family blamed him for that. They thought that he had said something or done something to make Paul fall, but that wasn't true. He internalized that guilt, and it festered inside of him. This part of the novel was framed as a conversation, not a scene. The interviewer kept interrupting over and over. It was hard to get lost in it. This is a mistake that all writers are told to avoid.
The series rubbed our noses in it. They had Paul and Louis share a moment together on the roof after Louis' sister's wedding. It was sweet, and then all of a sudden Paul jumped. We felt that, and we felt Lous' pain when his mother accused him of pushing Paul off. It was because we could see all of it happening. We saw the mother's face. We saw Paul just suddenly walk off the roof. We saw Louis' expression. That is why writers create scenes for pivotal moments in their character's development. Modern publishers and writing teachers would have said the same thing. Anne Rice had a habit of shirking the rules, and sometimes her work suffered for it.
After his brother's death, the book simply told us that Louis was grieving. It talked about his suicidal ideation, his unwillingness to stay at home, and how he sought out death. We saw it on Brad Pitt's face in the film when he cheated at a game of cards in a tavern. But it wasn't enough. This was a defining moment for Louis, and all we got was a facial expression and a few lines.
The series changed all of that. They had him shrieking in a confessional, telling us who he really was, how he targeted young girls, and how he'd been with a man. We were confronted with an explosive burst of emotion. Then that confessional was ripped out of the ground, and he was offered the dark gift. That was drama. It was real guilt. There was no denying that the series did it better.