Rated 4/5
Finding a copy of the first book in Chelsea Quinn Yarbro's Saint-Germain series that wasn't extravagantly priced or only available as an import took me an age, but I finally managed to swap for a paperback edition. The only trouble is that my vampire fetish seems to be on the wane now, so I wasn't particularly enthused, however, I do like Miss Yarbro's writing style - very Victorian, and with nary an anachronism - and the vampire himself, Saint-Germain, is wickedly debonair and heroic. I found him to be very much in imitation of Stoker's Dracula, but in the best possible way - a way with words (and the ladies), very learned and cynical, as befits a man who has lived for thousands of years, and a suitably macabre dress sense (Saint-Germain dresses all in black, bar a ruby pin at his throat). Also, he is ambidextrous and can dash off two letters at the same time, which makes him possibly the first photocopier too.The first novel - and the sequels are actually more a series of stand-alone stories, I think, so there was really no need to hunt down the titles in order - is set in eighteenth century Paris, which also piqued my interest. Saint-Germain buys a hotel in the city and converts the building into a sort of pleasure palace, but his real motive lies in the ancient chapels and tunnels below. He also meets Madeleine, the beautiful and spirited daughter of a man who was once involved with a devil-worshipping cult of ridiculous noblemen, lead by Saint-Sebastien. As with Dracula and Lucy Westenra in Stoker's novel, Saint-Germain is drawn to Madeleine, only their union is slightly more consensual. The two Saints - the similar names can get very confusing - do battle for possession of Madeleine's body and soul, while the heroine is relegated to a Victorian damsel in distress. I don't normally complain about passive women in historical fiction, but Madeleine is fairly hopeless, I must confess. For all the laughable melodrama of the villain and the climax, I did enjoy the formal language and beautiful descriptions of dress and decor. Saint-Germain might prefer basic black, but the other men strut their stuff in jewelled pastel silks like foppish peacocks, and Miss Yarbro does not neglect a single ensemble when painting a picture for the reader. I shall definitely hunt down more of these novels, when I am in a more suitable mood to enjoy the theme.
