When I told my sister that I was going to be reading The Feast of All Saints while on vacation she was excited and said that The Feast of All Saints was Anne Rice’s masterpiece. I was taken aback. I had decided years ago that The Witching Hour held that title. But she told me to draw a conclusion after I read The Feast of All Saints. And so I did. I had only two book written by Anne Rice, writing as Anne Rice, only two, left to read before I could say unequivocally that The Witching Hour was the best, Anne Rice’s masterpiece. But I was shocked.
Almost a year ago, at the urging of a friend, I decided to embark on a journey to read all of Anne Rice’s books. I was not new to her fiction, having read The Witching Hour when it first arrived at my house from The Book of the Month Club in the 1990s. But I had never read any of her vampire books, never had a desire to, and I hadn’t read any of the “stand alone” books she had written. As I made my way through first the vampires and then the others, re-reading books I had already read and reading books I never thought I would ever read, I soon began to expect the lush, detail-ridden description of rooms and clothes, the complex characters, and the layers upon layers of back story. Being retired I could read for hours at a time, sometimes starting early in the morning, turning off the reading lamp as the sun began to stream in through the windows only to turn it back later after the sun set, until my eyes could no longer focus. I would finish a book and shelve it next to The Witching Hour and say, “better than,” only to go back an hour, a day, later and move it saying, “not really.” I was in search of the one that was not just “as good as” but “better than” The Witching Hour. I was in for a rude awakening.
In this book we find Shakespeare’s Juliet telling Capulet “I will not.” We also find Collete's Gigi standing up to Gaston and Grandmama saying “I do not want to.” We find Lady Jane Grey. We find every young heroine who said “no”. I won’t spoil it by saying what it is that this young heroine would not do.
This book is a history lesson. It taught me about a chapter in American History I had no clue about, something people never talked about where I grew up, in the North. When we think of African Americans in the antebellum South we think of them dressed in rags working in the fields, doing the heavy work the white man felt he was too good to do. Or maybe in a servant’s uniform, uneducated, docile, submissive. But Anne Rice’s antebellum African Americans are impeccably and stylishly dressed, educated, property and business owners, and even plantation owners with slaves of their own. But this culture is not of her invention, it was a way of life for the gens de couleur libre in antebellum New Orleans. After reading it I cranked up the computer and did my own research to learn as much as I could about these people, wishing I were still teaching so I could share this fascinating piece of Americana with my students. The hours of research Ms. Rice must have put before writing is worthy of kudos alone.
The story begins with a boy, 15 years old, running in the streets. Why is he running? Is he trying to elude the police who are trying to catch “the little thief"? No. Is he trying to get away from his Mamma who wants him to clean the chicken coop, or some other undesirable chore? No. Is he running to catch up with friends to go fishing? No. Is he scared? No, he is excited. His favorite author is returning home to open a school! And he wanted so very much to go to that school. The book is a coming of age story about this boy, Marcel, who by the end of the book knows what he wants to do with his life, even though his world is on the brink of falling apart. He has made his mistakes but has come to terms with them.
It also has political, social, and philosophical overtones. It is a story of a people, who, as adults are freemen, propertied, educated, who pay their taxes, but cannot vote. A common understanding seems to be that whatever you do reflects back on your family, your people. So be careful about what you say and do. And for them “family” was not always about blood. It explores the issue of freedom, true freedom, and what it means not just for the black man but for the white men as well.
It has been three days and two nights since I closed the book, The Feast of All Saints, and shelved it saying “better than,” and I have not gone back and moved it saying, “not really.” I don’t think I ever will. My sister is correct. A masterpiece, indeed.


