Night Visions: In the Blood A Review



Not an Olde Booke, this is till and old book, the kind I used to buy at the drug store in my tiny home town in Massachusetts, at the drug store from one of those racks. Yet it was published in 1988, which deson’t seem that long ago to me.

This a review I did of it on Goodreads because I added it to my shelf. Its out of print, but if you can find one, its worth reading just for the stories of my favorite Gothic Diva, Tanith Lee.

Goodreads Review: Night Visions: In the Blood

I am a die hard fan of Tanith Lee’s short stories. They are food for the soul. I got this book for her stories–especially The Vampire Lover.
This story alone gets 5 stars!
Most reviewers give high praise to the works of the two men in this anthology, Charles Grant and Steve Rasnic Tem, and ignore or dismiss Lee’s stories.  For me the stories of these men, of plagues and spiders were very boring. The writing has no style and the themes are merely depressing. I hate to call it typical American pulp, but for me that’s what it is.
Lee’s work on the other hand, shines. I am surprised she is even included with these others, as her artistry is so superior, her sensibility so rich and evocative, the worlds she creates so seductive and atmospheric that I long to live within them. It amazes me that these stories are not appreciated as they should be.
I wish I could give this anthology 5 stars just for Tanith Lee. But as a whole, her luminous stories must suffer the weight of the lesser works she’s saddled with.

Excerpt from The Vampire Lover:

“It was a little beyond midnight, dark traveling towards dawn in it long, black, hourly wagon, silent as a grave. My window looked form the same stretch of wall, creeper-wrapped, as Marianne’s. Turning my head I saw how the winged shutters of her room stood wide. They ahd been fastened when I was with her. She must have risen and seen to them once I had gone away.

Something then made me rapidly draw back, pulling my own shutters almost to, but without a sound. I seemed to me, I dare not breathe, dared not glance—-but clearly i must see if something were to be visible. What did I anticipate? Only the thing I had read of in a book and did not believe.

As I kneeled to pry, so now I knelt again, and putting my face close to the slat of my shutter, stared through them. towards Marianne’s window, so open, so much an invitation…”



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