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The
Book of Common Dread |
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“I’ve
never read anything so clever and yet so real. The Book of Common Dread
is one of those rarer novels you actually believe could be true.”
Thomas Monteleone, author of The Blood of the Lamb |
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[American
Paperback Cover] |
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This
book came about because I just can’t buy the vampire myth as it
exists. Clearly, the vampire has much going for it psychologically (immortality,
mind control, sexuality, dangers of trading bodily fluids, and on and
on) so that it will never die as a fictional creature. However, I cannot
believe any human would want to go on forever, trapped in a coffin all
day, only to suck blood at night and perhaps have a little ice-cold
sex. So I reinvented the legend. My vampires are Fausts, who pay on
a day-to-day basis for hyper-extended life. They have much more latitude
in their behavior and can even choose to age. They must retard the advancement
of mankind by killing the few special ones in exchange for a powder
they drink. Combined with human blood, it greatly retards aging. The
eighteen living vampires are directed by dark angel agents of Lucifer.
Their drinking of blood is a direct perversion of the blood of the covenant
God made with Moses and with Jesus offering his blood for eternal life.
Naturally, a set of ancient scrolls exists that give away this demonic
plot, along with an apocalyptic prophesy. The book versions have been
ruthlessly hunted down, but an original scroll pops up in the Princeton
University rare book collection, awaiting translation. Vampire Vincent
DeVilbiss, former priest, is sent to destroy it, but he finds the place
a fortress. He seeks to use a beautiful, mysterious, and troubled young
female librarian and the male librarian who loves her from afar to get
to the scrolls. “Book of Common Dread A vampire at Princeton! Do you long for a horror novel full of bookish but lively, intelligent people (no thuggish middlebrows!), and a piano-playing, 500-year-old vampire whose great earthly love is for Bach and a classically beautiful (let's say ideally erotic) woman--a vampire who is himself only semi-mortal (a once-a-week bloodsucker who nonetheless fearlessly wolfs down richly marbled cheeseburgers with deep-fat fried potatoes drowned in ketchup while pitying the early death of others seated about him in an arterially disastrous restaurant), yes, a gent with a gusto for dead languages whose great herbal remedies knock out flu viruses and open your nasal passages so you can float into a good night's sleep and who doesn't believe in talking with the dead, though he fakes it expertly for a living, and so on? Well, after a slippery, slightly banal opening, Monahan (DeathBite, 1979--not reviewed) finds his footing and goes the distance like a seasoned aerialist. Enrapting!” – Kirkus Reviews
The original cover that was used: |
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