Ardeur - 14 Writers on the Anita Blake Vampire Slayer

by Ardeur- 14 Writers on the Anita Blake, Vampire Hunter Series (mobi)

  More to the point: At the rate Anita’s powers are growing, what will she become? Is Anita’s concern for others enough to keep her from heading down the highway to Evil Divadom? The answer is almost certainly yes, but the possibility of disaster is always provocative. After all, who could have predicted Anita’s journey thus far?

  In Death We Trust

  Anita’s necromancy is central to who and what she is from the start; for her, there never was a fully human existence. “All the monsters start out normal except me,” she ruefully observes (The Laughing Corpse). As a child, Anita’s family assumes her abilities are a precursor to evil, and that assumption has a predictable effect. Anita walls herself behind rules around her magic and her personal behavior. Those boundaries are, however. constantly renegotiated: Anita’s most significant gains are made when she invites the dead to become her ally. Through this alliance we see that Anita’s moral compass is not just a stumbling block en route to world domination. Anita treats the dead with respect. She loves and protects them. She sleeps with them. She’ll even feed them her blood to keep them vibrantly undead.

  That affinity and affection keeps Anita from succumbing to the dark side. Just as well, because there’s no escape for her, according to the Mother of All Darkness: “The dead give necromancers no peace. We pester the poor things, because they draw us like moths to the flame” (The Harlequin).

  Sharon Ashwood is a freelance journalist, novelist, desk jockey, and enthusiast for the weird and spooky. She has an English literature degree but works as a finance geek. Interests include growing her to-be-read pile and playing with the toy graveyard on her desk. As a vegetarian, she freely admits the whole vampire/werewolf lifestyle fantasy would never work out, so she writes paranormal romances instead. Sharon lives in the Pacific Northwest and is owned by the Demon Lord of Kitty Badness.

  Anita Blake worries about whether she’s a sociopath, a bad guy, from the beginning of the series. as she struggles to be honorable in a world that keeps forcing her to be ever more ruthless and deadly just to survive and protect those weaker than herself, she worries that the price she pays is her soul. In the early books she’s worried that if she becomes a vampire she’ll literally lose her immortal soul, but as the series goes on she meets too many vampires whoare less scary and less horrible than the human beings. She finds that a pair of fangs doesn’t keep you from having a heart of gold, and having a heartbeat doesn’t mean you aren’t a heartless bastard.

  When the monsters are better friends to you than the people is that a sign that the monsters aren’t bad guys or that you’ve become one of the monsters? Anita thinks about that a lot. In the recent book Skin Trade, she goes to Vegas to hunt a serial killer vampire, Vittorio. But her backup is Edward, nicknamed Death by the vampires, and Olaf, serial killer in his own right. They’ve both been backup for Anita before, and when two of the scariest human beings we’ve ever met are on our side, are we still the good guy? How can you be on the side of the angels when the devils are your right and left hand? If your closest friends are monsters and sociopaths what does that say about you as a person? When you only feel safe in relationships with people who turn furry once a month, or live on a diet of blood, what does that say about you?

  Anita is embracing herself and that self seems to be very comfortable with the others of society, the outcasts, the ones who all the good people tell us are monsters. She finds more acceptance and safety with them than with normal humans. Why? I know that part of it is that the monsters are tougher and less easy to kill, and with my early tragic losses I really value that. And since Anita shares some of my background she values it, too. But in the first book, Guilty Pleasures, she loses Phillip. She loses someone that she said she’d protect. The monsters kill him and she can’t save him and that haunts her. I promised her that I would never kill another man whom she loved, or almost loved. Sometimes I think she started to collect the men so I couldn’t kill them off.

  Or maybe I did it; maybe I wanted in my fiction a little more life and a little less death. it sounds funny in a series that is all about death, but being a vampire isn’t true death. It’s not sit-inthe-coffin-and-rot death, it’s rise up at night and be beautiful and eternal and not worry about that whole afterlife thing because you’re already living it. I believe sincerely in an afterlife, and reincarnation, but there is that part of me that was so scarred by that first death when I was only six that it still longs for an alternative, an alternative where the person you love still walks, still talks, and is still the same person you loved forever. Is it a child’s wish? Yes. But I think it’s a child’s wish that none of us really outgrow. I know I never did.

  —Laurell

  Death’s Got Your Back

  When Edward and the

  Big Bad Heavies Are on Your Team

  by Vera Nazarian

  Olaf: I’ll take the head.

  Anita: I’ll take the heart.

  —Obsidian Butterfly

  When you’re Anita Blake, U.S. Marshal and legally sanctioned Vampire Hunter, you have one hell of a complicated relationship with everyone else in your world. There’s rarely any time to get to know the other, so you shoot first and ask questions later.

  You have regular run-of-the-mill enemies, really serious enemies, and super-badass enemies. And when the monsters themselves call you “The Executioner”—stressing “The” and adding capitalized emphasis—it’s not even a matter of an inability to have friends, it’s simply that for everyone’s sake you can’t afford to have any. Besides, all the men you get intimate with are not always easily definable as friends or lovers, and you prefer things to remain vague that way.

  But work still needs to get done. And in your lonely, friendless line of work … well, that’s when you have to take unsavory sides, make alliances. You agree to temporary personal ceasefires with people (okay, not always people) you wouldn’t normally trust to be in the same room with you without a loaded gun… . And such dangerous compromise not only sucks O-Neg but blows undead chunks.

  But it makes for great story.

  When Laurell K. Hamilton started writing the now wildly popular Anita Blake books, beginning with Guilty Pleasures, she brought to life an amazing and fascinating character and arguably created a previously unseen archetype, that of a hardboiled law-woman with a ruthless attitude and supernatural abilities. These days, pale Anita knockoffs are a dime a dozen, and indeed a whole new “urban paranormal” genre has sprung up and flourished like spilled zombie guts.

  But there’s only one Anita Blake. The one, the original. And what makes her unique is her complex and conflicted personality—a combination of a deeply hidden, vulnerable and sensitive “juicy liquid” interior (which is the true source of her personal and necromancer powers), and the hard-as-diamond, cold, rock-candy-shell exterior. Granted, a crusty shell is not as uncommon in male noir detectives, or even in tough dames, but few can claim to be so ruthless on the outside as Anita. This outer mask is almost masculine, in the traditional hardboiled genre sense, and made up of standoffish, aggressive, attack-dog anger. Throw in a good measure of brutal honesty and a faithful heart, and make her a control freak and an occasional bitch with the best intentions. What an explosive powerhouse!

  We’ve already mentioned that, except for Edward, Anita has no real friends. (Ronnie Sims doesn’t count; she was the “girly” normal friend and workout partner in the earlier books, making fewer and fewer appearances as time went on. But we all know how little Anita really shared with her, even in that initial need to keep up appearances of personal and social normalcy, which she basically gave up as her story progressed, together with friends, youthful illusions, and those stuffed penguins—whatever happened to the penguin collection? Does Nathaniel get to dust off the penguins when it’s his turn for house chores?) However, she does have a large number of sweeties (Micah, Nathaniel, and Jean-Claude probably being the most “normal” friend/lover-level intimates), and a whole extended solar system of various sex-partner
“satellites” and succubus-food (pomme de sang volunteers; to be blunt, fuck buddies) that her ardeur has condemned her to collect, often against her will, until she learned to get a grip on it (more or less). None of the guys can be regarded as friends in the traditional reciprocal relationship sense. Mostly they’re supernatural or otherwise non-human creatures who can take care of themselves (so no easy vulnerability that an enemy can use against Anita) and are neither official life partners nor colleagues—Anita does not like to label her relationships, and that way keeps things safely undefined.

  But Anita’s romantic relationships are not under discussion here because, let’s face it, they’re pretty simple—simply impossible, that is. Keeping all your significant others in a chronic state of confused uncertainty, and frequently rejecting them after intimacy? Making them get in line, or adding them to rotation lists, for nookie? Impossible relationships indeed, on every level. Anita tends to make them so, desperately afraid to lose control and let go all the way, then letting go all the way (at which point huge, power-surge magic usually happens and bad guys take a hit together with the sweeties), then again holding back, then … well it’s an emotional yo-yo.

  And with such a predictable back-and-forth on Anita’s self-control, it becomes kind of more interesting to see Anita handle the other kind of relationships—the antagonistic ones, where control need never be voluntarily relinquished.

  Indeed, some of the most interesting and unpredictable tension in the Anita Blake series occurs in the interactions Anita has with her most dangerous allies, and in the moments of crossing the line to work together with her enemies.

  So we come to Edward, the scary, almost inhuman friend, who understands Anita unlike anyone else without being romantically involved with her. He’s Death who’s got her back.

  And now let’s take it further and bring in the serial killer, Olaf. And why stop there? Let’s pull in Belle Morte. And finally, the big bad Mother of All Darkness, Marmee Noir.

  Because Anita Blake has, at one point or another, teamed up and worked alongside each one of them against a common other enemy, as much as she has struggled against them previously.

  Unbelievable? Not if we take a closer look at Anita’s fears and motivations.

  Anita has three issues: trust, commitment, and control. Call them a trinity of symptoms of the same affliction, or three different kinds of fruity swirl in the same flavor of ice cream—either way, it can all result in serious brain freeze. Because Anita is incapable of opening herself all the way to anyone, incapable of letting go all the way, and afraid to show her true vulnerability, she has to be always on an edge of some kind. Granted, she is always pushing the edge, going further every time, but it’s still not all the way with no reservations, and she can live with that—her comfort level.

  In the best The X-Files sense, Anita trusts no one; she knows better, because she’s got the instincts of both Mulder and Scully. As for commitment, Anita has more sweeties than a harem, and thus allows herself the luxury of juggling people—needing and caring for each one of them in their own special one-on-one way (and, okay, sometimes several at a time; blame the ardeur), but never on an exclusive basis. Remember how we thought the choice would come down to Richard versus Jean-Claude? Ha! We laugh now, thinking back, given all the boys currently in the mix.

  And control? Why, that’s at the heart of it all. Because control is what lets Anita function in her human-monster world, and that’s why she holds on to it so fiercely. Control is the gatekeeper of the psyche, mostly keeping everyone out, and just occasionally giving someone a temporary backstage pass. Once they get “in,” it’s only to experience the blasted emotional yo-yo that is Anita Blake.

  Holding people at arm’s length is tricky at best, and even painfully insulting to the other, if you are dealing with sweeties and housemates who expect a modicum of emotional intimacy. But it works great when relationships are undefined, vague, and unspecific. As in: enemy, non-friend, non-lover. You can always reel them in and then bounce them away again, like that yo-yo, with no need for an explanation, without emotional complications. (Not to mention, so many of these guys tend to disappear or “lie low,” without repercussions, and with remarkably unhurt feelings, for books at a time. Makes you wonder if they get to wait in that pile with the stuffed penguins for Anita’s attention.)

  Enemies are excellent for holding at arm’s length. Never get too close, but lunge and feint emotionally, psychologically. Do the Safety Dance.

  And yet, despite everything—despite herself, it might seem—Anita seems secretly to be looking for consistency, for someone to trust. She cannot allow herself to open up completely to any of her formal sweeties, because that would be too scary emotionally. Which means that enemies are fair game.

  And of all the people in her life, Edward comes closest to being that strange rock of reliability in times of combat and danger.

  He’s cold, perfectly controlled, ruthless. Steely gaze, empty expressionless eyes. Sociopathic lack of apparent emotion. Whiplash reactions and hardcore weapons expertise. Chameleon-like ability to switch character, as needed, including morphing into his more friendly alias, that of U.S. Marshal Ted Forrester, regular friendly good ol‘ boy.

  He’s also former dark ops, silent killer, bounty hunter, assassin, hit man. His only weakness? A fiancée and family who know only a fraction of the depth of his darkness.

  And Edward’s possibly the only real friend Anita Blake has.

  Did I mention his nickname is Death?

  In many ways Edward is really a strange beast, an enemy-friend hybrid. The definition of enemy is “someone who works against you,” and yet, isn’t there some kind of health warning about fraternizing with sociopaths? The evolution of Edward’s character is unlike any of the other dangerous big bad heavies in the series. From the start he is a dangerous mentor and ally, always working on Anita’s side of the fence, but potentially liable to go off like a big bad firecracker if Anita lights his fuse the wrong way. So far that hasn’t happened. And as the storyline has developed over many volumes, it seems that it is less likely to. Even if Anita tests him to the limit, my bet is on Edward staying loyal on a personal level.

  Ah, Edward, how I loved you! All throughout the series, from the very first book when you came onstage as a mysterious, dispassionate stranger, powerful, dangerous, deadly, and able to turn on Anita at the drop of a hat or the tiniest change in the wind… . Oh, yes, how I loved you. Because unlike the others, amazingly, startlingly, you were not a vampire, not a werewolf, not an undead supernatural being of some sort, but an ordinary human. And what a human!

  When the story began, Anita was afraid of Edward, and the reader picked it up, a thrilling, creepy, unknown fear thing mixed up with respect, the kind that raises hairs on your scalp and sends shivers down your back—in a terrifying yet sexy way. Back then, Edward was mostly an unknown factor, and as such, he was the third potential romantic object. While Jean-Claude sashayed in vintage silk, dropping “ma petite”s, and Richard raved with wolf spittle flying, a number of us Edward fans hoped that a spark might grow between him—Mr. Deadly Cool—and Anita.

  And now, looking back, I am so glad it has not. Edward is perfect as he’s written; he is the one person who is Anita’s anchor of sanity, her onetime skilled combat teacher and master, and now equal. He fills the gap between intimate lover and foe. He is the human wall between the inside and the outside of Anita’s hard shell.

  Edward is the personification of Anita’s control.

  And yet, he’s Death. And death’s this necromancer girl’s best friend.

  She knows they are potential enemies even when she knows he’s her friend. Granted, their relationship is always evolving, and anything can still happen. Edward once admitted to Anita that he’d turned down a hit job where she herself was the target, and instead came down to warn her and offer his protection. He’s her brother, her weapon, her sparring partner, and even her confessor. Just as Joss Whedon’s Buffy could
open up and talk to Spike and tell him her darkness in season 6 of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Anita can tell Edward—the face of her personal demon—the whole terrible truth, always, and expect not intimacy, not love, but perfect understanding. Edward’s the cool and reliable mirror of herself. Of all the men in her life, he is probably the most dominant—just as she is. Anita knows this, and it’s why she can trust him enough to turn her back on him. Death has always served Anita well; it is the one thing she knows, and the necromancer in her depths knows it profoundly on the metaphysical level.

  The extreme opposite of the reliable danger in the person of Edward is the unpredictable danger of the serial killer and convicted rapist Olaf, a.k.a. Otto Jefferies. Of German decent (Hapsburg), bald, super tall, with silent sleek motions and imposing muscles, Olaf first came on the scene as Edward’s hired backup in Obsidian Butterfly, then showed up again briefly in The Harlequin and more extensively in the most recent Skin Trade, in both cases working with Edward and Anita to solve extremely dangerous cases. Between the former and the latter books, Olaf underwent a near-impossible (and immensely entertaining) transformation in his attitude toward Anita Blake.

  At first, misogynist Olaf ignored Anita completely as a mere woman, and in the scene of their first meeting, he refused to even respond to her greeting or look at her. Anita of course had to taunt him in her own special way, and they ended up with weapons drawn until Edward came, like Big Bad Dad, to separate them (Obsidian Butterfly). The rest of the book is a dissonant dance of uneasy truce and tension, with Anita and Olaf basically always on opposite sides of pieces of furniture, keeping pace and taking out targets—on the same team and yet never getting too close to one another. To make matters worse, Anita discovered that physically she fits Olaf’s exact favorite victim profile; truly a girl of his serial killer dreams.