(Or, How to Bite Friends and Influence People)
If your idea of a vampire novel begins and ends with teenage angst and sparkles, then you may want to take a pass on this book. If you often find yourself salivating at the thought of a veiny, blood-soaked gore-fest, then it’s probably best if you moved right on along.
Sweet William Ambrose just isn’t that kind of vampire.
Billy’s fat. He’s unattractive. His back hurts and his knees ache when it rains. He feels every bit his age, all one hundred and eighty-seven years of it. Billy’s seen and done a lot during his time on this planet; from witnessing the hardscrabble beginnings of the American West firsthand, to the atrocities of World War II and the coke-fueled decadence of the seventies. He’s rubbed elbows with cannibals and giants, outlaws and rock stars, presidents and paupers.
For the last thirty-six years Billy has spent his time bedridden in a moldering abandoned warehouse, subsisting on a diet of pizza and stray cats procured for him by an assistant. That is until the authorities had to knock out one of the building’s exterior walls just to get him out of the building.
They say that life sucks and then you die and maybe that’s true. Well, for most of us anyway.