** spoiler alert ** Kindled for £4.67. Amazing book. The age, the minds and the personalities of all of the characters are among the best thought out I've ever read of. And there is definitely something compelling and likeable, even fascinating about each of them. Sadly though, there are some problems the vampires frequently get completely distracted, and even faint from the power of their own thoughts all the time, and they are all as queasy and fashion conscious as Victorians. Also either Anne Rice's own logic is childish, or all her characters are as easily bedazzled by pretty arguments and sparkly things as Greeks. Witness their complete acceptance of the misandric queen's argument that, essentially, the world would be a better place with no men. Two quotes...

(Meeting of the undead)
“How many?” … Armand again had the lost expression, the expression that belonged to deep concentration, as if what he saw before him meant nothing at all. “Thirty perhaps,” he whispered in Daniel’s ear, “no more than that, and one or two so old they could destroy the rest of us in an instant.”
…
The name had done it, as names so often do. The creature had felt himself known, recognized. And Khayman had recognized the name at once, connecting it with the Mael of Lestat’s pages. Undoubtedly they were one and the same—this was the Druid priest who had lured Marius into the sacred grove where the blood god had made him one of its own, and sent him off to Egypt to find the Mother and the Father. Yes, this was the same Mael. And the creature felt himself recognized and hated it. After the initial spasm of rage, all thought and emotion vanished. A rather dizzying display of strength, Khayman conceded. He relaxed in the chair. But the creature couldn’t find him. Two dozen other white faces he picked out of the crowd, but not Khayman.
…
Khayman spied another intriguing figure, much younger, yet almost as powerful in his own fashion as the Gaul, Mael. Khayman sought for the name, but the creature’s mind was a perfect blank; not so much as a glimmer of personality escaped from it. A boy he’d been when he died, with straight dark auburn hair, and eyes a little too big for his face. But it was easy, suddenly to filch the being’s name from his newborn fledgling who stood beside him. Armand… And this meant the he was no more than five hundred years old, yet he veiled himself completely. Shrewd, cold he seemed, yet without flair—a stance that required no room in which to display itself. And now, sensing infallibly that he was watched, he turned his large soft brown eyes upward and fixed instantly upon the remote figure of Khayman.

(About the Talamasca)
“Talamasca.” The word struck Daniel suddenly as beautiful. Talamasca. He broke it down from the Latin, understood its parts. Somewhere out of his memory bank it came: animal mask. Old word for witch or shaman.
…
there were museums beneath the building, rooms crammed with mysterious objects connected with paranormal occurrences. There were vaults to which no one was admitted except the senior members of the order. Delicious, the prospect of secrets revealed only over a period of time.
…
the dignified furnishings, the stone fireplaces, the gleaming oak floors. Even the quiet civil members of the order appealed to her, as they greeted her cheerfully, then returned to their discussions or the reading of the evening papers, as they sat about the vast, warmly lighted public rooms. The sheer wealth of the place was startling. It lent substance to Lightner’s claims. And the place felt good. Psychically good. People here were what they said they were.
…
Then the history of the Talamasca itself proved powerfully attractive. Was this man telling the truth? A secret order, which traced its existence back to the year 758, an order with records of witches, sorcerers, mediums, and seers of spirits going back to that remote period?
…
“That painting of yours, The Temptation of Amadeo, the one in the Talamasca crypt...” “Yes?” “Wouldn’t you like to have it back?” “Ye gods, no. It’s a dreary thing, really. My black period, you might say. But I do wish they’d take it out of the damned cellar. You know, hang it in the front hall? Some decent place.” I laughed. Suddenly he became serious. Suspicious. “Lestat!” he said sharply. “Yes, Marius.” “You leave the Talamasca alone!”


(Sadly none of Anne Rice’s characters are yet old or wise enough to argue against her own biases.)
“What if the women divide along principles of masculine/feminine, the way men so often divide if there are no females there?” “You know that’s a foolish objection. Such distinctions are never more than superficial. Women are women! Can you conceive of war made by women? Truly, answer me. Can you? Can you conceive of bands of roving women intent only on destruction? Or rape? Such a thing is preposterous. For the aberrant few justice will be immediate. But overall, something utterly unforeseen will take place. Don’t you see? The possibility of peace on earth has always existed, and there have always been people who could realize it, and preserve it, and those people are women. If one takes away the men.”