Vittorio the Vampire (New Tales of the Vampires Series #2)

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With Pandora, Anne Rice began a magnificent new series of vampire novels. Now, in the second of her New Tales of the Vampires, she tells the mesmerizing story of Vittorio, a vampire in the Italian Age of Gold.

Educated in the Florence of Cosimo de' Medici, trained in knighthood at his father's mountaintop castle, Vittorio inhabits a world of courtly splendor and country pleasures - a world suddenly threatened when his entire family is ...

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Vittorio the Vampire (New Tales of the Vampires Series #2)

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Overview

With Pandora, Anne Rice began a magnificent new series of vampire novels. Now, in the second of her New Tales of the Vampires, she tells the mesmerizing story of Vittorio, a vampire in the Italian Age of Gold.

Educated in the Florence of Cosimo de' Medici, trained in knighthood at his father's mountaintop castle, Vittorio inhabits a world of courtly splendor and country pleasures - a world suddenly threatened when his entire family is confronted by an unholy power.

Against a backdrop of the wonders - both sacred and profane - and the beauty and ferocity of Renaissance Italy, Anne Rice creates a passionate and tragic legend of doomed young love and lost innocence.

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Editorial Reviews

Tish Wells
[Rice] does a masterful job of using Christian theology, and the art of the great Renaissance painter Fra Filippo Lippi, to create a story illuminated with the metaphor of gold, drenched in hellish darkness and dripping with blood.
USA Today
Entertainment Weekly
...[A] sense of deju vu pervades...
Andrea Higbie
Another of Anne Rice's loquacious vampires, Vittorio does prattle on.
The New York Times Book Review
Publishers Weekly - Publisher's Weekly
Blood and holy water both run thick through the streets of 15th-century Florence in Rice's 21st novel of the undead, the second in a series of New Tales that leave New Orleans's cemeteries behind. While there's not much plot to this lushly described story of how Vittorio di Riniari became a vampire, there's plenty of period detail about Italy's Golden Age. With the courtly arrogance of one who's to the manor born, Renaissance man Vittorio tells of his seduction into evil immortality. As the 16-year-old scion of a wealthy home, he rubs elbows with Cosimo de Medici and is attracted to the work of Fra Filippo Lippi, whose tormented paintings of angels mirror Vittorio's own heart. In the year 1450, he witnesses the massacre of his entire family by a band of demons. Fleeing from the primal scene, he follows the fiends in search of vengeance, and instead is overcome by the devastatingly beautiful "strega," the bare-shouldered Ursula. His desire for revenge — and his desire for Ursula — propel him in a dizzy descent to religion's darkest side, especially after Ursula's vampire attentions render him able to see and converse with angels. Though the narrative is presented as a tragic tale of doomed love, we know so little of the swooning, inarticulate Ursula that there's hardly any romance or suspense. And while Vittorio's particular road to hell is a new entry in Rice's repertoire of vampirification, much of the material is familiar: the rich, brash young man transformed against his will who agonizes over his new existence. Vittorio's painstaking narration of his biography takes so long to acquire momentum that when at one point he admits, "This chapter ought to be over," even diehard readers may be tempted to agree that it's time for a new vampire for a new age.

FYI: Rice includes a bibliography of readings for greater appreciation of the time period.

Library Journal
In Rice's latest, Vittorio tells of his human life and the dramatic events that led him to join the ranks of the undead. He is 16, living the privileged life of the nobility in Renaissance Italy, when a host of vampires savagely attacks his family. His parents, brother, and sister are ruthlessly murdered, but Vittorio has caught the eye of the beautiful vampiress Ursula and is spared. Eventually, Vittorio has his revenge on the demons who have destroyed his loved ones, but he pays a terrible price — part of which is that he must become a vampire himself. In addition to Rice's trademark sensuality, a strong current of Christian philosophy drives the plot. This is the second book after Pandora (LJ 3/1/98) in Rice's "New Tales of the Vampires" series, and it is told in the rhythmic, evocative prose of her best works.
— Patricia Altner, Information Seekers, Bowie, MD
Entertainment Weekly
...[A] sense of deju vu pervades...
Andrea Higbie
Another of Anne Rice's loquacious vampires, Vittorio does prattle on.
The New York Times Book Review
Amy Waldman
...[W]ell-bathed in period atmosphere and devilish details...
People Magazine
Kirkus Reviews
The second entry in a new series of short vampire fabulisms began with Rice's well-received Pandora (1998), set in ancient Rome. Now Rice's charm-weaving about bloodsuckers moves up to Italy's Age of Gold. As ever with her historicals, including Servant of the Bones (1996), Rice seems at her most thoughtful when blending research into neatly melodic paragraphs. Here, the action debuts five hundred years ago in the Florence of the Medicis. Young Vittorio, son of an incalculably wealthy father, lives in a mountaintop castle built on formerly Etruscan land (its graves predate Christ) and is trained for the knighthood at age 13. When demons invade the castle and kill all the adults (and steal all the children), Vittorio fights the demon Ursula and cuts off her arm, which she sticks right back on, while another demon beheads Vittorio's younger brother and sister before his eyes. With no one left alive in the castle, Vittorio vows vengeance on the demons, arranges his family's bodies in a crypt, then takes all the money and jewelry he can rustle up and sets out for Florence. But as night falls, Ursula reappears and ravishes the16-year-old in his bed, insisting that she's saved his life. Soon he finds himself adrift in a town that's under a strange spell-it's a sort of Pleasantville without any known illnesses, any need for nuns, or any hospitals. Another donnybrook with demons, though, lands Vittorio in the court of the Ruby Grail, whose kitchen serves as a holding cell for all the sick people who've been missing from the village below. Vengeance redux, though his feelings for Ursula take an odd upsurge. The story then mires down joyously in the blissful vigors of demonic blood,with blood flowing everywhichway, and in the horrid hungers it brings.
From the Publisher
"Sensuous . . . Its intensity never flags."
--Los Angeles Times

"MASTERFUL . . . A STORY ILLUMINATED WITH THE METAPHOR OF GOLD, DRENCHED IN HELLISH DARKNESS AND DRIPPING WITH BLOOD."
--USA Today

"[A] LUSHLY DESCRIBED STORY OF HOW VITTORIO DI RINIARI BECAME A VAMPIRE . . . In the year 1450, he witnesses the massacre of his entire family by a band of demons. Fleeing from the primal scene, he follows the fiends in search of vengeance, and instead is overcome by the devastatingly beautiful 'strega,' the bare-shouldered Ursula. His desire for revenge--and his desire for Ursula--propels him in a dizzy descent to religion's darkest side."
--Publishers Weekly

"ANOTHER ENCHANTING PRETERNATURAL TALE . . . SUPERBLY WRITTEN AND ENGAGING."
--Associated Press

"VITTORIO is set against a magnificent backdrop of history and lore. An opulent feast for the imagination, the lust and passion of the early fourteenth century come to life in Rice's vivid prose."
--Rocky Mountain News

"A READER'S DELIGHT."
--Philadelphia Inquirer

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Product Details

  • ISBN-13: 9780375401824
  • Publisher: Random House Audio Publishing Group
  • Publication date: 3/8/1999
  • Series: New Tales of the Vampires Series , #2
  • Format: Cassette
  • Edition description: Abridged, 2 Cassettes
  • Product dimensions: 4.41 (w) x 7.02 (h) x 0.88 (d)

Meet the Author

ANNE RICE is the author of twenty-one books. She lives in New Orleans with her husband, the poet and painter Stan Rice.
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    1. Also Known As:
      A. N. Roquelaure, Anne Rampling
    2. Hometown:
      Palm Desert, California
    1. Date of Birth:
      October 4, 1941
    2. Place of Birth:
      New Orleans, Louisiana
    1. Education:
      B.A., San Francisco State University, 1964; M.A., 1971
    2. Website:

Read an Excerpt

When I was a small boy I had a terrible dream. I dreamt I held in my arms the severed heads of my younger brother and sister. They were quick still, and mute, with big fluttering eyes, and reddened cheeks, and so horrified was I that I could make no more of a sound than they could.

The dream came true.

But no one will weep for me or for them. They have been buried, nameless, beneath five centuries of time.

I am a vampire.

My name is Vittorio, and I write this now in the tallest tower of the ruined mountaintop castle in which I was born, in the northernmost part of Tuscany, that most beautiful of lands in the very center of Italy.

By anyone's standards, I am a remarkable vampire, most powerful, having lived five hundred years from the great days of Cosimo de' Medici, and even the angels will attest to my powers, if you can get them to speak to you. Be cautious on that point.

I have, however, nothing whatsoever to do with the "Coven of the Articulate," that band of strange romantic vampires in and from the Southern New World city of New Orleans who have regaled you already with so many chronicles and tales.

I know nothing of those heroes of macabre fact masquerading as fiction. I know nothing of their enticing paradise in the swamplands of Louisiana. You will find no new knowledge of them in these pages, not even, hereafter, a mention.

I have been challenged by them, nevertheless, to write the story of my own beginnings—the fable of my making—and to cast this fragment of my life in book form into the wide world, so to speak, where it may come into some random or destined contact with their well-published volumes.

Ihave spent my centuries of vampiric existence in clever, observant roaming and study, never provoking the slightest danger from my own kind, and never arousing their knowledge or suspicions.

But this is not to be the unfolding of my adventures.

It is, as I have said, to be the tale of my beginnings. For I believe I have revelations within me which will be wholly original to you. Perhaps when my book is finished and gone from my hands, I may take steps to become somehow a character in that grand roman-fleuve begun by other vampires in San Francisco or New Orleans. For now, I cannot know or care about it.

As I spend my tranquil nights, here, among the overgrown stones of the place where I was so happy as a child, our walls now broken and misshapen among the thorny blackberry vines and fragrant smothering forests of oak and chestnut trees, I am compelled to record what befell me, for it seems that I may have suffered a fate very unlike that of any other vampire.

I do not always hang about this place.

On the contrary, I spend most of my time in that city which for me is the queen of all cities—Florence—which I loved from the very first moment I saw it with a child's eyes in the years when Cosimo the Elder ran his powerful Medici bank with his own hand, even though he was the richest man in Europe.

In the house of Cosimo de' Medici lived the great sculptor Donatello making sculptures of marble and bronze, as well as painters and poets galore, writers on magic and makers of music. The great Brunelleschi, who had made the very dome of Florence's greatest church, was building yet another Cathedral for Cosimo in those days, and Michelozzo was rebuilding not only the monastery of San Marco but commencing the palazzo for Cosimo which would one day be known to all the world as the Palazzo Vecchio. For Cosimo, men went all over Europe seeking in dusty libraries long forgotten the classics of Greek and Rome, which Cosimo's scholars would translate into our native Italian, the language which Dante had boldly chosen many years before for his Divine Comedy.

And it was under Cosimo's roof that I saw, as a mortal boy of destiny and promise—yes, I myself saw—the great guests of the Council of Trent who had come from far Byzantium to heal the breach between the Eastern and Western church: Pope Eugenius IV of Rome, the Patriarch of Constantinople and the Emperor of the East himself, John VIII Paleologus. These great men I saw enter the city in a terrible storm of bitter rain, but nevertheless with indescribable glory, and these men I saw eat from Cosimo's table.

Enough, you might say. I agree with you. This is no history of the Medici. But let me only say that anyone who tells you that they were scoundrels, these great men, is a perfect idiot. It was the descendants of Cosimo who took care of Leonardo da Vinci, Michelangelo and artists without count. And it was all because a banker, a moneylender if you will, thought it splendid and good to give beauty and magnificence to the city of Florence.

I'll come back to Cosimo at the right point, and only for a few brief words, though I must confess I am having trouble being brief here on any score, but for now let me say that Cosimo belongs to the living.

I have been in bed with the dead since 1450.

Now to tell how it began, but allow me one more preface.

Don't look here, please, for antique language. You will not find a rigid fabricated English meant to conjure castle walls by stilted diction and constricted vocabulary.

I shall tell my tale naturally and effectively, wallowing in words, for I love them. And, being an immortal, I have devoured over four centuries of English, from the plays of Christopher Marlowe and Ben Jonson to the abrupt and harshly evocative words of a Sylvester Stallone movie.

You'll find me flexible, daring, and now and then a shock. But what can I do but draw upon the fullest descriptive power I can command, and mark that English now is no more the language of one land, or even two or three or four, but has become the language of all the modern world from the backwoods of Tennessee to the most remote Celtic isles and down under to the teeming cities of Australia and New Zealand.

I am Renaissance-born. Therefore I delve in all, and blend without prejudice, and that some higher good pertains to what I do, I cannot doubt.

As for my native Italian, hear it softly when you say my name, Vittorio, and breathe it like perfume from the other names which are sprinkled throughout this text. It is, beneath all, a language so sweet as to make of the English word "stone" three syllables: pi-ea-tra. There has never been a gentler language on earth. I speak all other tongues with the Italian accent you'll hear in the streets of Florence today.

And that my English-speaking victims find my blandishments so pretty, accented as they are, and yield to my soft lustrous Italian pronunciations, is a constant source of bliss for me.

But I am not happy.

Don't think so.

I wouldn't write a book to tell you that a vampire was happy.

I have a brain as well as a heart, and there hovers about me an etheric visage of myself, created most definitely by some Higher Power, and entangled completely within the intangible weave of that etheric visage is what men call a soul. I have such. No amount of blood can drown away its life and leave me but a thriving revenant.

Okay. No problem. Yes, yes. Thank you!—as everybody in the entire world can say in English. We're ready to begin.

Except I want to give you a quote from an obscure but wonderful writer, Sheridan Le Fanu, a paragraph spoken in extreme angst by a haunted character in one of his many exquisitely written ghost stories. This author, a native of Dublin, died in 1873, but mark how fresh is this language, and how horrifying the expression of the character Captain Barton in the story called "The Familiar":


Whatever may be my uncertainty as to the authenticity of what we are taught to call revelation, of one fact I am deeply and horribly convinced, that there does exist beyond this a spiritual world—a system whose workings are generally in mercy hidden from us—a system which may be, and which is sometimes, partially and terribly revealed. I am sure—I know. . . that there is a God—a dreadful God—and that retribution follows guilt, in ways the most mysterious and stupendous—by agencies the most inexplicable and terrific;—there is a spiritual system—great God, how I have been convinced!—a system malignant, and implacable, and omnipotent, under whose persecutions I am, and have been, suffering the torments of the damned!


What do you think of that?

I am myself rather mortally struck by it. I don't think I am prepared to speak of our God as "dreadful" or our system as "malignant," but there seems an eerie inescapable ring of truth to these words, written in fiction but obviously with much emotion.

It matters to me because I suffer under a terrible curse, quite unique to me, I think, as a vampire. That is, the others don't share it. But I think we all—human, vampire, all of us who are sentient and can weep—we all suffer under a curse, the curse that we know more than we can endure, and there is nothing, absolutely nothing, we can do about the force and the lure of this knowledge.

At the end, we can take this up again. See what you make of my story.

It's early evening here. The brave remnant of my father's highest tower still rises boldly enough against the sweetly star-filled heavens for me to see from the window the moonlighted hills and valleys of Tuscany, aye, even as far as the twinkling sea below the mines of Carrara. I smell the flowering green of the steep undiscovered country round where the irises of Tuscany still break out in violent red or white in sunny beds, to be found by me in the silky night.

And so embraced and protected, I write, ready for the moment when the full yet ever obscure moon leaves me for the hideaway of clouds, to light the candles that stand ready, some six, ensconced within the thick ruggedly worked silver of the candelabra which once stood on my father's desk, in those days when he was the old-style feudal lord of this mountain and all its villages, and the firm ally in peace and war of the great city of Florence and its unofficial ruler, when we were rich, fearless, curious and wondrously contented.

Let me speak now of what has vanished.


From the Trade Paperback edition.

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Table of Contents

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First Chapter

When I was a small boy I had a terrible dream. I dreamt I held in my arms the severed heads of my younger brother and sister. They were quick still, and mute, with big fluttering eyes, and reddened cheeks, and so horrified was I that I could make no more of a sound than they could.

The dream came true.

But no one will weep for me or for them. They have been buried, nameless, beneath five centuries of time.

I am a vampire.

My name is Vittorio, and I write this now in the tallest tower of the ruined mountaintop castle in which I was born, in the northernmost part of Tuscany, that most beautiful of lands in the very center of Italy.

By anyone's standards, I am a remarkable vampire, most powerful, having lived five hundred years from the great days of Cosimo de' Medici, and even the angels will attest to my powers, if you can get them to speak to you. Be cautious on that point.

I have, however, nothing whatsoever to do with the "Coven of the Articulate," that band of strange romantic vampires in and from the Southern New World city of New Orleans who have regaled you already with so many chronicles and tales.

I know nothing of those heroes of macabre fact masquerading as fiction. I know nothing of their enticing paradise in the swamplands of Louisiana. You will find no new knowledge of them in these pages, not even, hereafter, a mention.

I have been challenged by them, nevertheless, to write the story of my own beginnings--the fable of my making--and to cast this fragment of my life in book form into the wide world, so to speak, where it may come into some random or destined contact with their well-published volumes.

I have spent my centuries of vampiric existence in clever, observant roaming and study, never provoking the slightest danger from my own kind, and never arousing their knowledge or suspicions.

But this is not to be the unfolding of my adventures.

It is, as I have said, to be the tale of my beginnings. For I believe I have revelations within me which will be wholly original to you. Perhaps when my book is finished and gone from my hands, I may take steps to become somehow a character in that grand roman-fleuve begun by other vampires in San Francisco or New Orleans. For now, I cannot know or care about it.

As I spend my tranquil nights, here, among the overgrown stones of the place where I was so happy as a child, our walls now broken and misshapen among the thorny blackberry vines and fragrant smothering forests of oak and chestnut trees, I am compelled to record what befell me, for it seems that I may have suffered a fate very unlike that of any other vampire.

I do not always hang about this place.

On the contrary, I spend most of my time in that city which for me is the queen of all cities--Florence-- which I loved from the very first moment I saw it with a child's eyes in the years when Cosimo the Elder ran his powerful Medici bank with his own hand, even though he was the richest man in Europe.

In the house of Cosimo de' Medici lived the great sculptor Donatello making sculptures of marble and bronze, as well as painters and poets galore, writers on magic and makers of music. The great Brunelleschi, who had made the very dome of Florence's greatest church, was building yet another Cathedral for Cosimo in those days, and Michelozzo was rebuilding not only the monastery of San Marco but commencing the palazzo for Cosimo which would one day be known to all the world as the Palazzo Vecchio. For Cosimo, men went all over Europe seeking in dusty libraries long forgotten the classics of Greek and Rome, which Cosimo's scholars would translate into our native Italian, the language which Dante had boldly chosen many years before for his Divine Comedy.

And it was under Cosimo's roof that I saw, as a mortal boy of destiny and promise--yes, I myself saw--the great guests of the Council of Trent who had come from far Byzantium to heal the breach between the Eastern and Western church: Pope Eugenius IV of Rome, the Patriarch of Constantinople and the Emperor of the East himself, John VIII Paleologus. These great men I saw enter the city in a terrible storm of bitter rain, but nevertheless with indescribable glory, and these men I saw eat from Cosimo's table.

Enough, you might say. I agree with you. This is no history of the Medici. But let me only say that anyone who tells you that they were scoundrels, these great men, is a perfect idiot. It was the descendants of Cosimo who took care of Leonardo da Vinci, Michelangelo and artists without count. And it was all because a banker, a moneylender if you will, thought it splendid and good to give beauty and magnificence to the city of Florence.

I'll come back to Cosimo at the right point, and only for a few brief words, though I must confess I am having trouble being brief here on any score, but for now let me say that Cosimo belongs to the living.

I have been in bed with the dead since 1450.

Now to tell how it began, but allow me one more preface.

Don't look here, please, for antique language. You will not find a rigid fabricated English meant to conjure castle walls by stilted diction and constricted vocabulary.

I shall tell my tale naturally and effectively, wallowing in words, for I love them. And, being an immortal, I have devoured over four centuries of English, from the plays of Christopher Marlowe and Ben Jonson to the abrupt and harshly evocative words of a Sylvester Stallone movie.

You'll find me flexible, daring, and now and then a shock. But what can I do but draw upon the fullest descriptive power I can command, and mark that English now is no more the language of one land, or even two or three or four, but has become the language of all the modern world from the backwoods of Tennessee to the most remote Celtic isles and down under to the teeming cities of Australia and New Zealand.

I am Renaissance-born. Therefore I delve in all, and blend without prejudice, and that some higher good pertains to what I do, I cannot doubt.

As for my native Italian, hear it softly when you say my name, Vittorio, and breathe it like perfume from the other names which are sprinkled throughout this text. It is, beneath all, a language so sweet as to make of the English word "stone" three syllables: pi-ea-tra. There has never been a gentler language on earth. I speak all other tongues with the Italian accent you'll hear in the streets of Florence today.

And that my English-speaking victims find my blandishments so pretty, accented as they are, and yield to my soft lustrous Italian pronunciations, is a constant source of bliss for me.

But I am not happy.

Don't think so.

I wouldn't write a book to tell you that a vampire was happy.

I have a brain as well as a heart, and there hovers about me an etheric visage of myself, created most definitely by some Higher Power, and entangled completely within the intangible weave of that etheric visage is what men call a soul. I have such. No amount of blood can drown away its life and leave me but a thriving revenant.

Okay. No problem. Yes, yes. Thank you!--as everybody in the entire world can say in English. We're ready to begin.

Except I want to give you a quote from an obscure but wonderful writer, Sheridan Le Fanu, a paragraph spoken in extreme angst by a haunted character in one of his many exquisitely written ghost stories. This author, a native of Dublin, died in 1873, but mark how fresh is this language, and how horrifying the expression of the character Captain Barton in the story called "The Familiar":


Whatever may be my uncertainty as to the authenticity of what we are taught to call revelation, of one fact I am deeply and horribly convinced, that there does exist beyond this a spiritual world--a system whose workings are generally in mercy hidden from us--a system which may be, and which is sometimes, partially and terribly revealed. I am sure--I know. . . that there is a God--a dreadful God--and that retribution follows guilt, in ways the most mysterious and stupendous--by agencies the most inexplicable and terrific; --there is a spiritual system--great God, how I have been convinced!--a system malignant, and implacable, and omnipotent, under whose persecutions I am, and have been, suffering the torments of the damned!


What do you think of that?

I am myself rather mortally struck by it. I don't think I am prepared to speak of our God as "dreadful" or our system as "malignant," but there seems an eerie inescapable ring of truth to these words, written in fiction but obviously with much emotion.

It matters to me because I suffer under a terrible curse, quite unique to me, I think, as a vampire. That is, the others don't share it. But I think we all--human, vampire, all of us who are sentient and can weep--we all suffer under a curse, the curse that we know more than we can endure, and there is nothing, absolutely nothing, we can do about the force and the lure of this knowledge.

At the end, we can take this up again. See what you make of my story.

It's early evening here. The brave remnant of my father's highest tower still rises boldly enough against the sweetly star-filled heavens for me to see from the window the moonlighted hills and valleys of Tuscany, aye, even as far as the twinkling sea below the mines of Carrara. I smell the flowering green of the steep undiscovered country round where the irises of Tuscany still break out in violent red or white in sunny beds, to be found by me in the silky night.

And so embraced and protected, I write, ready for the moment when the full yet ever obscure moon leaves me for the hideaway of clouds, to light the candles that stand ready, some six, ensconced within the thick ruggedly worked silver of the candelabra which once stood on my father's desk, in those days when he was the old-style feudal lord of this mountain and all its villages, and the firm ally in peace and war of the great city of Florence and its unofficial ruler, when we were rich, fearless, curious and wondrously contented.

Let me speak now of what has vanished.
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Customer Reviews

Average Rating 4
( 122 )
Rating Distribution

5 Star

(47)

4 Star

(32)

3 Star

(31)

2 Star

(9)

1 Star

(3)

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See All Sort by: Showing 1 – 20 of 122 Customer Reviews
  • Anonymous

    Posted February 18, 2003

    Okay but not the best..

    I read the first book in the New Tales Of The Vampire series,Pandora,and I really enjoyed that storyline(it included of course the references to Lestat throughout the book).I decided to go and pick up Vittorio to see how that was and I have to say I was a little disappointed. I usually enjoy Anne Rice's novels and can read them in just a few days.They are usually gripping and extremely entertaining but this book wasn't that gripping and was very tiresome to read.I could put the book down and go on with other things and not worry about reading what happens next because it would take to long to get to the point. Usually Mrs.Rice does a great job with her novels but this one just wasn't that great.Now don't get me wrong,it had it's moments and that's why I am giving it a recommendation and it had a lot of history so if you are into reading a history book then you'll love this book.

    2 out of 2 people found this review helpful.

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  • Posted January 2, 2010

    more from this reviewer

    I Also Recommend:

    Vittorio, New Tales of the Vampires series, Book 2

    Coming soon.

    1 out of 2 people found this review helpful.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted July 1, 2014

    Vittorio

    Five stars

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted June 17, 2014

    LOVE!

    Among many others from Anne Rice, this one is one of my faves

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted May 9, 2014

    Anne Rice

    I like her books!

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Posted June 19, 2012

    .

    .

    0 out of 2 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted June 2, 2012

    This was the book that introduced me to Anne Rice's work, the wa

    This was the book that introduced me to Anne Rice's work, the way she decribes the environment and characters is very amazing

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Posted April 13, 2012

    more from this reviewer

    Good book

    Good book

    0 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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  • Posted October 14, 2011

    Must read.

    I'm soo glad Ann Rice started wrighting the Vampire Series again. The books are great and I'm waiting on the next installment.

    0 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted October 7, 2008

    Best of the Vampire Chronicles

    I have read each of the Anne Rice Vampire Chronicles but this, in my opinion, was the best. My sister gave me the book as a Christmas gift and when I got home, I made myself a cup of coffee and starting reading it. I couldn't stop and ended up reading all through the night, finishing the next morning. I've never done that with a book before or since, but with Vittorio, I just didn't want to stop.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted December 29, 2005

    SPECTACULAR

    Let me start by saying that I am an avid fan of Anne Rice's, and I must say after reading mostly all of the Vampire Chronicles this one is by far the BEST BEST BEST!!!!!!!!! Such a pleasure to take a turn from the modern New Orleans and venture into the lush and beautiful Florence. Great reading I would defiantely recommend this book TOUCHE' Ms Rice you have truley out did yourself on this one

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted September 22, 2005

    The Best Rice novel period

    I am a fan of Anne Rice but after Armand I grew tired of her Vampire books..then came Vittorio. By far the best book she has ever written, let me say that again. The BEST book she has EVER written.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted July 14, 2005

    A True Work Of Art.

    This was a fabulous story from beginning to the end. The further I gotten into the story it felt like I was in a trance. I enjoyed the history of it so much. The characters were great too. I'd recommend anyone to read Vittorio because it is a masterpiece. Anne Rice has touched gold with this tale.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted September 19, 2005

    Superb!

    I was blown out of this world by this book. It was the first work I'd read of Anne Rice's and by far one of the best!

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted July 9, 2004

    Intriguing

    I first bought this book at a book store I stopped at for a break from driving on I-75. It was on-sale for three dollars and I thought 'why not?'. After I started reading this book I could not wait to pick it up again. I haven't read anything this good since the Da Vinci Code. I strongly recommend picking this one up.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted April 27, 2004

    One of Anne Rice's Finest

    This was the first book i read by Anne Rice even though I've heard of her since I was little-who hasn't?-but this book was so good.It was absolutly specatacular.I actually cried when it ended.I wanted the book to go on forever.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted May 13, 2004

    Good

    I liked this book it was well written, like all Mrs. Rice's books, and had a lovely ending. I'd recomend it anyone.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted November 23, 2003

    my review :)

    It was a great book,it was one of those books that you can't put down.Its about this guy named vittorio and how he becomes a vampire.Anne Rice explains everything with great detail and I can't wait to read more!

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  • Anonymous

    Posted January 13, 2004

    BEAUTIFUL BOOK

    THIS IS THE FIRST BOOK I READ OF ANNE RICE. NOW I AM HOOKED BUT THIS HAS TO BE THE BEST OF ALL

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted January 12, 2004

    Not your usual Anne Rice Vampire novel

    Good book and an easy read (short and very intereting, you will sometimes find yourself not wanting to put it down). Rice takes a breather from the usual characters of vampires and pleases us with a new vampiric story unlike the rest.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
See All Sort by: Showing 1 – 20 of 122 Customer Reviews

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