I'm currently on a mission to read Anne Rice's entire body of work, and I've been doing so for a couple months. I worked through the Vampire books first, then the Mayfair witches, and moved on to her erotic novels (the Sleeping Beauty books, Exit to Eden). After that came the singletons: Cry to Heaven, Servant of the Bones, Ramses the Damned, etc. I'm sure there's more, this is just off the top of my head. The last ones I read were the two books written in first person about the life of Jesus Christ, and the Angel books (whose names escape me at the moment).
I love to devour everything an author has written, and decipher their belief system and particular passions through reoccuring themes in their novels. And there is a lot to mine in Anne Rice's novels. I'm going to write a blog post about it when I'm actually finished (I think I missed one or two when I was collecting the eBooks, so I'm not quite done yet!).
The Violin received largely TERRIBLE reviews. As usual, I hopped online immediately after reading the novel to see what others had thought of the book. I was actually rather astonished at the vitriol. Perhaps it was my state of mind that predisposed me to a rather intimate understanding of this book and its main character.
I am familiar with guilt, that special guilt that can only be born in the crucible of a highly religious childhood. I LOVED my childhood, but I was very sheltered, and was brought up in a very specific belief system. Not Catholic, but I don't think that matters particularly.
Unlike the main character, I'm not in love with death, but I'm also not afraid of it. And I have an extremely finely tuned sense of guilt, which I prefer to call responsibility. And I have a tendency to take responsibility for things that are largely outside of my control, simply because I can see the cause and affect so clearly, and am able very easily to see where I could have done better, reacted better, been more accessible, been more loving...
The reviews largely slammed the book as self-indulgent twaffle. Perhaps. Or perhaps it's a book that Anne Rice needed to write for HERSELF. Because writing, in its purest form, is absolute catharsis. I know that when I write, I am able to purge myself of my excess of emotions and come out the other side feeling cleansed and happy.
Music has never been my language, but while I will never be a great composer or a violin player, I understand that desire to BE the best at something that you know you never will be. And I understand guilt. Intimately. So I understood the heroine. I understood her, and I understood all of the anguish and the love that went into the writing of this novel.
I cried, at the end.
It didn't matter to me that it was a ghost story. Anne Rice writes about the supernatural, but that's largely been a vehicle by which she is able to explore these themes that have followed her throughout her life and been threaded deftly through all of her novels. Her search for meaning in a world where the presence of God often doesn't seem to make sense. Her identification with the loners, the strugglers after truth, her knowledge of passion and love and loss.
And it seems to me that you can't write a character like the heroine in the Violin without having experienced that level and kind of emotion yourself. You simply cannot.
So for me, this book gets five stars. And I could care less that most people don't understand it, or find it self-indulgent. Not every book is written for others. Some are just written because they NEED to be written. And for me, I needed to read it. It's definitely not for everyone, however. And there's nothing wrong with that, either. I don't suppose that I would WISH the ability to understand this book on everyone. They're probably happier NOT understanding, really.
But I read it, I loved it, it made me feel that there are others in this world for whom guilt cuts like a knife and caresses like a lover. And it made me cry (not sad cry, happy cry, there at the end). So there's that. It's messy, ugly, real and beautiful. I won't be reading it again any time soon, but I WILL read it again. And it will be perfect for me again when I do.