I heard she had gone back to the Church, but I thought it was just a publicity stunt to sell her "Christ the Lord" books until I saw it in this old rag.
All along, it was for Jesus.
(SHE IS LOOKING AT JESUS. JESUS IS LOOKING AT HER CLEAVAGE. IT IS A MOMENT.)
Imagine, if you will, your local priest, curled up in his robe and slippers -- a mug of hot apple cider at his elbow -- reading about vampires ripping the faces off of pale, trembling humans or about immortal little girls seducing wealthy victims in order to eat them. To drink their blood, to rend their flesh, and to consume their souls.
"Father Thomas, an admirer of Rice's vampire novels, also has enjoyed her first two "Christ the Lord" books and said they have "wonderful insights into what may have been the environ that Christ, as a young man, was exposed to."
He also said there is nothing counter to church teaching in her fictional characterization of Christ."
"Oh bother," said Father Thomas, putting aside "The Vampire Lestat" and checking his solid gold wristwatch. "It is time to say mass AGAIN."
Someday, I am going to teach a college lit class called "Catholic Writers Beat the Demon." It will be ALLLLLLL about our grand and grisly religion, and it will use a composite of the most horrible things ever penned by man or womankind. The fun part will be that it will only draw upon the demented works of authors buried in consecrated ground.
We will delve deep into human misery and perversity, and we shall come out blessed in the blood of the Lamb. HONORS credit.
I'll tell my students:
"See? See where they went? Stop goddamn worrying if you are a good person, assholes, and just write your dreams. Figure out how it is holy later."
"...she was filled with guilt that was reflected in her characters. The vampires were a metaphor for the "souls who are away from the light of Christ and live in the darkness of the night," she said."
Ya'll don't think my curriculum will be deep enough?
Consider these famous evil faces who died Catholic, and who I expect to be waiting there for me when it is my turn to fucking kick it:
-- Oscar Wilde: After pissing off pretty much everyone in all of Victorian England by flaunting his gay and inverted aesthetic and condemning the whole world to Hell for their unpretty, unlovely, inhuman ways in "De Profundis," Wilde recanted on his deathbed and died with a smile on his face, lifted up by the angels back to Goddamned God.
-- F. Scott Fitzgerald: When he wasn't writing novels about psychiatrists seducing their incest-molested patients, he was drinking himself into a mighty stupor, borrowing money, and comparing his penis size with some of literature's other noteworthy moderns. He is buried in consecrated ground. No one knows if he ever did any miracles, but sometimes I pray to him. I'll let you know.
-- Ernest Hemingway: Died Catholic. Who knew? I wonder if "Hills Like White Elephants" gets passed around at right-to-life rallies. A new fad maybe?
-- Anthony Burgess: You like "A Clockwork Orange?" Hey, me too. Ultraviolence! Ultracatholic!
-- Flannery O'Connor, J.R.R Tolkien, Evelyn Waugh, and Graham Greene: You want blood? You want blood? You want SWORDS? You got it baby. You also got one-legged ladies stranded in the hayloft, wondering what happened to that nice stranger -- that nice stranger who was gonna be our husband.
And it looks like the next pack of crazy people are also crazy in the Spirit. Elmore Leonard, Gene Wolfe, and Dean Koontz are all gonna die Catholic, too.
What a religion! Write whatever the hell you want, everybody. Just keep a Jesuit on speed-dial.
Posted by miracle on Tue, 06 May 2008 17:47:04 -0400 -- permanent link