A Bibliophile's Reverie's "Countdown to "The Wolf Gift" Begins Tomorrow...

   On Valentine's Day, during the year of the impending 2012 apocalypse, Anne Rice plans to release a book which features werewolves for she has decided once again to move onto to a new cosmology with a new breed of enigmatic creatures. In lieu of this release and Alfred K. Knopf's recently release synopsis with new tantalizing details about the novel, I am launching four themed months that encompass all of Anne Rice's supernatural creatures as "The Wolf Gift" symbolizes Anne Rice's courageous return to the creatures of the night or the "sinful aberrations" cast out by pious society. These creatures are consciously aware that they cannot inhabit the world of daytime much like King Hamlet's ghost or the band of twisted, contradictory witches from Macbeth

  During each of these months, I will feature detailed posts about the history of each of these creatures and how Anne Rice has refashioned them to fit within her fictitious universe. Also, I'll strive to review any notable works that include different interpretations of these creatures.

As of now, the supernatural creatures/individuals being represented are...


November=Mummies
December=Vampires
January=Witches (I'm required then to review Roald Dahl's The Witches!!!!)
February= Werewolves (Review of Anne Rice's "The Wolf Gift," Posts about the philosophy of "The Wolf Gift, and hopefully an interview with Anne Rice herself)



If you haven't already, click the book cover below for "The Wolf Gift" to read the details that Alfred K. Knopf, the publishers of Anne Rice's books, have happily released about the novel itself:

Never Enough

Every occurrence of writing
Makes me feel abashed
For I have to shed some unexpressed feelings and
Weave them into a poetic tapestry that is
Both beguiling and bewildering


After my hands leave the keyboard and
The Poem lies in finished form
Before my dispirited eyes
I can only feel pain that
Now everyone can discern past the
Enticing metaphors and
See directly into my core

Writing should be a private love affair
Behind Closed doors
Where the writer consummates with their lusty muse
To conceive a written work
Filled with nuances that hint at
A deeper significance that lies beneath

Sometimes, my prose is overwrought
To the extent where it overreaches its
Intended goal
Other times, I can just imagine
The disapproval  of my disastrous work
 Laying in a pretentious heap
On the floor of the motel room
Where my muse and I
Worked tirelessly to create
Something poignant


Why do I share these precious works of mine?
What is this burdensome artistic incline
That strives to share these meaningless
Pieces of pedantic poo
Tomorrow morning, I could care less
If the maid who periodically cleans
My rented motel rooms
Discards these pieces of
Used Toilet Paper

Even as my writing leaves me unsatisfied
I still have this insatiable desire to have another
Romp with my muse-
All writers desire this cathartic release
Because we thrive off the ecstasy of
That climatic moment where our work
Beautifully comes together
Writing is our elixir, our passion
In the end, we just cannot get enough

Through the Narrow Gate

With a stuttered heart and

a careful exhalation of this fragile breath

I beheld my dead aunt with these lifeless eyes

Tears trickled down my marble cheeks

Then, I carefully sniffled

To recapture my lost breath

For, I’m not ready to lie motionless

Before so many fear stricken faces  and

Pretend that I am somewhere safe

Outside this present nightmare

Suddenly, a curmudgeonly pastor

Adorned with bleak blackness

Ascended the stage before my aunt’s

Bedraggled Body

It was a welcoming sight because-

Didn’t pastors pacify

This unsettling grief

Of course, his words were reverent

Flowery descriptions of my aunt’s empathy

Flowered the desolate wasteland of my

Deathly thoughts

Flowers overflowed in excess in this church

To ward away the melancholy that visits us

They were affixed to the windows

Acting as sentries to watch

For the malevolent forces of the outside world-
          These fiends cannot even enter through the

Small crack of these immaculate sheets of

Grime-less Glass

Eventually, the chilling air of

This cloistered church

Confined me to the coldness of my

Corrosive Mind

The seemingly warm pastor

Transfigured himself into death itself

While he invoked the indignant spirit

Of his supposed Imperturbable God

A hint of mournful surrender
Entered his voice

While he solemnly spoke about

The many people unlike my aunt

Who cannot partake in communion and exist

Beyond this temporal state of tragedy

Only we are entrusted with the secret knowledge

To pass through the narrow gate between

Death and the unknown

We that are few in number will

Bask in God’s glory

While the rest fall into a state

Of Sleep where they’ll

Never be remembered

Or have a chance to be loved

Everyone in the church produced

A facsimile of Mary’s smile

While I struggled in vain

With my resilient empathy

For all the lost sheep

Whom never found the serenity

That salvation supposedly insures

My heart tugged at my eyes and

Flooded them with waters

Which the elect like Noah

Masterfully Evaded

By receiving favor in God’s eyes-

Why didn’t he care at all for those he left behind?

Oh God, Where are my friends?

Have they been deemed worthy of damnation

Because their inquisitive minds

Couldn’t properly believe in you.

If this blissful eternity requires

A large number of your flock

Falling into the abyss of the Forgotten

Then, I refuse to be trapped forever in this false joy

As the funeral gathering reveled in their God-granted gladness

                                I ripped down a few flowers obscuring the windows

And peered into Perdition

Through the unfathomable depths of these shadows

Ghostly apparitions of the damned appear

They were undergoing the second death-

Signified by their tortured cries

That shook the aura of peace

Emanating within the stronghold of this church

Again, the semblance of sadness

Threatened to overfill my soul

In retaliation of this jubilant body

Which urged me onwards back into the

Pocket of endless joy

Within the church

I tore at more of the the flowers

Yet they continued to grow back

Frustrated,I screamed madly

As I forced my thoughts to deeply empathize

With the perished souls outside these windows

For one fleeting moment, they grasped for God’s

Loving  hands only to

Find themselves dissipating into the darkness

Till they were no more-

They were the unforgiven, and the forgotten

Fracturing the window

My repressed sadness was awakened-

Tears spilled from my bleary eyes

Screams issued from my unholy lips

Matching the frequency and terror of those

Left Outside

Without realizing it, I was suspended in the darkness

Floating away from the church

A number of disparate spirits

Filled my Morose gaze

They upheld me-My friends

Together, we would soon fade into the darkness

Forlornly, I looked at the church-

The Dear Departed one

That refused to Love in the name of

Selfishly seeking “salvation”

They passed over us like

Those who suffered from Leprosy

My leprosy was the infection of love

Love that refused to part

With my brother’s just so I could

Eternally indulge in the gifts of the sainted heaven

Oh friends, embrace me once more

There still lies hope

That there lies another minute crack

Along this Deceptively Dark Gate

Far beyond our earthly senses  

Link to other blog: Agnostic Inner Sanctum (Click the brilliant Rembrandt painting below!)

I'm posting this if you're interested in reading posts from my other blog:: The Agnostic Inner Sanctum. Earlier this year, I separated the more religious posts from the literary ones because some people find honest religious discussion disconcerting. My other blog is one of my most challenging blogs to post on because I'm always hindered by the "fear" of other people's reactions. Sadly, its still ingrained in me, from my Christian upbringing, that expressing doubt in Christianity is a chief evil. Now, I currently don't believe in that at all or probably never did authentically. But, its still hard for any person to work against neurotic thought processes inherited from their childhoods.

It will be offensive to some people because humanity is ironically offensive to itself. Oftentimes, people don't want to encounter people's honest views because we'd rather hide ourselves underneath those lavish masks provided at Capulet's masquerade party. Sometimes, I think that we need to reread Shakespeare,the Greek rationalists, or the Old Testament stories and see that these people are truly human and not a bunch of uncomplicated "believers" in a religion. Of course, no Christian is "uncomplicated," just like no human is. But often, I think we forget this when we're instructed from the pulpit to strive towards having unwavering belief to insure that we're going to heaven.


Karen Armstrong marvelously details the problems that plague religion presently. This is an illuminating speech and Karen Armstrong is a very bright person who really seems to understand the problems that strain religions.

Anne Rice's fans have requested me to conduct a
survey to determine which of Anne Rice's heart-throbs is their favorite. The three choices are Matt Bomer, Richard Armitage, and that damned, elusive "Scarlett Beckett!"

You can only vote once so take great care in choosing. Soon enough, the results will be sent to Anne Rice and she'll then devote her attention to one of these heart-throbs.

To vote, Click on one of the heart-throbs below!

Choice A) The Scarlet Beckett

Choice B) Richard Armitage

                          Choice C) Matt Bomer

Anne Rice's Facebook Social Club (Formerly unpublished article)

  Author's Note:  For some time, I've been hanging unto this unpublished article from my Journalism class. For some reason, many newspapers never showed any inkling of interest within this article. Since, I don't think it deserves to remain hidden after all the effort put into it; I've decided to publish it here on my blog. For people who have not visited Anne Rice's page before, click the picture of Anne Rice above to access her infamous  Facebook page!

Anne Rice’s Facebook Social Club

Authors are often depicted as disheveled hermits who are homebound and withdrawn. They are stereotypically aloof. Best-selling authors rarely converse with common people.
Anne Rice is different. The author of the legendary hit “Interview with the Vampire,” loves interacting with her legion of mere mortals who adore her work. By nature, Anne Rice is an audacious figure.

Perhaps it should be no surprise than that Anne Rice publicly criticized the casting of Tom Cruise as the vampire Lestat. When doing this, she took space out in a newspaper to describe her dislike for the casting choice. After seeing a rough cut of the film, directed by Neil Jordan, Anne Rice changed her original feelings after being “thoroughly impressed with Tom Cruise’s wonderful performance.”

Recently, Anne Rice has found herself back in the media’s spot light after leaving Catholicism, her childhood religion. This news came two years after the publication of her memoir Called Out of Darkness where she sentimentally described her return to Catholicism.

Before this news reached popular news outlets, the message that announced this decision was posted as a status on her Facebook page. Anne Rice then had no idea that this Facebook status would spawn the attention it earned. Newspapers from all reaches of the globe were printing the story a little time after Anne Rice posted the status.

Her openness with fans though has been a large part of her appeal. In the nineties, it was not altogether abnormal for her to hold huge celebrations upon the release of a recent novel.

For example, when “Menmoch the Devil,” was published, Anne Rice transformed a small part of New Orleans into a mini Mardi gras celebration. She titled this celebration “Menmoch Ball,” after the demon that Lestat, the vampire, encounters within the novel.

Before Anne Rice entered the venue, she was carried in a casket and followed by a jazz band. The whole shebang celebrated the omnipresent New Orleans atmosphere of her novels and the macabre elements as well.

Now Anne Rice has grown weary of these celebrations due to diabetes. Therefore, she greatly limits her travels. Facebook though has allowed her to maintain that contact without the strain of traveling.

On Facebook, Anne Rice can easily communicate with fans without worries of travel restrictions. Easily, a person from some far-away country like Greece could interact with her in seconds.

Upon her page, fans commonly sprinkle her wall with general questions about her books, movie or novel suggestions, and interesting news articles. Anne Rice often will respond to some of these posts in a matter of minutes. Sometimes, she even shares these links or recommendations.

Mainly Anne Rice posts her thoughts or opinions on the Facebook page. Sometimes these thoughts have film or book suggestions. Or, she includes her opinion on a recent news article that particularly resonated with her.

“I’ve always been an obsessive person with a need to talk about my obsessions. I can go on my page and ask about the definition of conscience, and find myself in a fabulous discussion of what this means to others,” Rice commented

Similarly to the way Anne Rice treated her fans as friends within the past. Anne Rice identifies her Facebook fans as “people of the page.” With nearly every post, she tries to persuade all of these individuals to participate.

Within the past year, this receptiveness with her fans has caused the number of page fans to reach nearly 176,000 members. Not all of these members are fans of her novel. They are fans of both her honesty and authenticity.

“She is very honest with who she is, what she stands for, and what she will not stand for,” said Glenn Wood, a “person of the page.”

This brutal honesty may appear unexpected. But, this older Anne Rice is the same individual who had no reservations about responding to negative opinions of her book, “Blood Canticle.”

Back in 2004, Anne Rice wrote a lengthy response to fans who wrote scathing reviews of

the final installment of her series, the Vampire Chronicles. She did not necessarily respond to their dislike. Instead, she was responding to unsubstantiated opinions. In her belief, all reviews should be substantive to some extent.
Recently, these unsubstantiated remarks about her have sprung up on Facebook. Her audacity often provokes some of her critics to respond either on blogs or on her page. 

Christopher Rice, Anne Rice’s son and fellow writer, sometimes worries about his mother’s safety due to her forthrightness.  “I've always been concerned about someone unstable trying to do her harm. It's something that's pained me my entire life,” said Christopher Rice.

Even with this familial concern, Christopher Rice does believe that the atmosphere on his mother’s page is very civil.
 
Anne Rice does not feel inhibited by the presence of these negative opinions. “I’m close to 70 years old. I trust myself. Some people are much more tentative and cautious. They aren’t willing to expose themselves and perhaps they shouldn’t,” said Rice.

At this point in time, Anne Rice is busy working on a new novel about immortals who will not kill in order to survive. She hopes to involve some of her new thoughts and questions about Christianity within the novel.

As to whether the Facebook page deprives her of time to write, her son feels that his mother could become Margaret Mitchell, the author of Gone with the Wind, who never wrote another novel due to trying to answer every piece of fan mail.

Anne Rice does not feel troubled by this concern. Instead, she feels that her interaction with fans on Facebook has been very inspiring. “I can share reviews of books, good and bad, and learn from the comments. One perspective will be balanced by another,” said Rice.

Anne Rice's "Wolf Gift" is being released February 14th, 2012 just in time for the 2012 Apocalypse!!






      Whether Anne Rice is a strategist or not, she seems to be acutely aware of the waning vampire craze and the increasing popularity of werewolves. Or, she might have finally succumbed to that inner artistic desire to write a series about another supernatural creature. Either way, Anne Rice's new werewolf book is something I'm not just lightly hyping but impatiently waiting for. Certain reliable sources from her Facebook page have alluded to the fact that the book might be approximately 600 pages which is the length of one of her later Vampire Chronicle novels: Blackwood Farm.

    Knowing Anne Rice's tendency to involve philosophical and psychological concepts in her novel, I'm sure "Wolf Gift" won't merely be an artless bloodbath. Speculation aside as to the format or content of the book, I'm sure that whatever type of story we get will be something worthwhile and provocative.

    Due to the upcoming release, I'll be continuing my "Memnoch the Devil" discussion posts and also beginning a discussion series on both "The Vampire Lestat" and "Queen of the Damned," as well. With college, the posts won't nearly be as numerous as during summer break.

    When February truly comes upon us, be on the lookout for many surprises on this blog that are relevant to the "Wolf's Gift." If anyone is willing to share their expertise on werewolf lore and would love to contribute a guest post related with Anne Rice's universe, please contact me at narniafanatic(at)gmail(dot)com.

Geek: Event Coverage - MTV Games - Full Episodes

Unorthodox Fairy Tale:

Note: During the progress of writing this poem, I kept applying the wrong gender pronouns to each character. Thus, if there is a mistake, it is completely unintentional. 

Once upon a time

Within an idyllic kingdom

That bordered the other Kingdoms

That suffered from the plague of serfdom

Lived the least masculine prince ever:

Prince Danielle

Within one of the corruptive kingdoms,

An abrasive princess neither slept eternally

Nor accepted dowries

With the dreaded bonus of

An aged, royal bedmate

Her name had a bold masculine ring to it

She was the deceptively dainty princess

Named Dan

On one of Danielle’s excursion’s to buy some books,

A Vicar passed with his refined religious robes

To comment upon Danielle’s grave transgressions:

“Danielle, Do you not know that the Lord

Requires you to take up arms

For fight in the defense of his name and his devotees?

Also, you might want to respectfully alter your name, so

The Lord can remember that you are of the superior gender.”

Danielle weakly answered

“I profusely apologize for my transgression, Vicar.

But, I have not picked my name.

My dear mother who was burned at the stake

For having a heathen beard

Granted me this accursed feminine name.

Now, I am burdened with emotions and

A Pacifistic resignation from

The deadly art of war.”

The Vicar looked indignantly at the prince

Then he rebuked him:

“Well, you better find someone to marry sometime soon

Since, that is your requirement for living

If you refuse to behave in a way

More fitting to your gender.”

Danielle felt weary suddenly and rode off

Back to the castle

Once there, Danielle fitted himself with

His sinful hot pink night gown

Then, he resorted to closing his radiant rose drapes

So that the world could not see him outfitted

With such a tight-fitting night gown

Meanwhile, Dan brusquely commanded her troops to

March towards the kingdom where Danielle dwelled

She coveted other soldiers in other legions

For they had mightier swords than her

But no other man could compare

With her military prowess

For, she was one of the most formidable fighters

Within the realm

Danielle continued to restfully sleep

His snored sounded like a soprano vibrato

That beautifully echoed throughout his decorous bedroom

He dreamt of the day that a princess

Would venture to save him from

Some Dastardly foe who might

Threaten his life

While Danielle persistently slept,

The Vicar walked through the threshold of Danielle’s

Private Room quietly, but repulsively

The sinfulness of Danielle’s inner sanctum

Disturbed the vicar’s pious thoughts

As he crept closer to the slumbering Danielle

With the draught of death in hand

To subdue the existence

Of such a defiant creature of God

Dan instinctively knew that Danielle was in danger

So, she climbed the rose vines of Danielle’s rugged tower

Coming upon a small circular window,

She forcefully struck it with the sword

Tensely grasped in her right hand

The crashing sound of glass

Along with Danielle’s surprised shrieks

Indicated that she had successfully breached the area

Face-first, she plummeted into Danielle’s room

Where the vicar was caught Uncorking

The bottle of his toxic death draught

Made specifically for sinful aberrations

 The vicar hoarsely yelled

“You’ll both burn in the fiery pits of hell

For not acting in accordance with the Lord’s commandments…”

Intervention of an ungodly source stopped the vicar short

As, Dan stabbed the vicar through the heart and

Watched the vicar’s red blood Permeate the room

She felt both relieved and gratified

Danielle trembled and walked over to his

Newfound hero Dan

He bemusedly appraised her muscular body, steely blue eyes, and

Cropped brown hair

He felt Danielle stiffen as he softly caressed

Her brawny shoulders

Finally, he had found his strapping princess

Outfitted in a sexy suit of armor

On the other hand, Dan felt her

Heart rate beat rapidly against her

Rough suit of armor

While glancing at Danielle’s long blonde hair, and

Radiant Green Eyes

She carefully reaffixed her sword into the sheath

Strapped to her hip

As they kissed, they had completely

Forgotten about their royal titles

Was Dan a courageous prince?

Or a subservient princess?

Who was Danielle then?

While they continued to kiss,

Both of them had accidentally discarded their worldly garments

At this point, who were they but two people who were

Acutely aware that they were content