Review of Clan Novel: Gangrel

As those who've read my previous reviews of Clan Novel: Toreador and Clan Novel: Tzimisce know, White Wolf Games Studio has decided to capitalize on the generally high quality of the fiction with which they introduce each gaming supplement for Vampire: the Masquerade. As the fiction has gotten significantly better in quality over the last two or three years, the market and interest developed for a series of "clan novels," each focusing on one of the vampiric consanguinities contained in the game. CN: Toreador opened the series with a sort of "The Undead of Sweet Valley High" approach. CN: Tzimisce followed it with some startlingly better writing and some delightful imagery and portrayals, if some unconvincing storyline and disappointing portrayals of White Wolf's stock characters.

Clan Novel: Gangrel is the third in the series, and so infinitely better than the other two that I'm having trouble believing it came from the same series. Sure, it has its problems, but they're relatively few and far between.

In the first two reviews, I focused on:

• the first sentence, paragraph or page, and how indicative it was of the quality of the rest of the book,
• the tone, or overall "sound" of the novel,
• its characterization, and
• the plot.

I'll be doing the same with CN:Gangrel, with a discussion at the end of how this novel impacts the series, and starts giving form to the 13 novels as an epic tale.

As a college student, I took some classes in our university's School of Education; in one of them, we discussed various learning styles, based around the senses. Some of us, the theory goes, are visual learners (we must see it to understand it); some are aural learners (we must hear it explained); some are textual (we must read it); some are tactile (we must do it, with our own hands). When we experience some information presented in one of the "flavors" other than our natural one, we tend to convert it. Textual learners, the theory suggests, translate what they hear into text they read in their heads. Visual learners, such as me, take text and convert it into the "mental movie" I remember my 3rd grade teacher, Mrs. Thibedeau, encouraging us to make as we read.

The majority of learners has changed over time -- according to one professor, most people in the time of Shakespeare were probably aural learners, if not by nature than by habit; to the ears of the 16th and 17th century, the flowery language of Shakespeare was just well-footnoted. Another professor on the team teaching the course explained the theory that as we have moved into the latter half of the 20th century, with television and movies and now computers, Playstations, you name it, our society is making the transition from being textual learners (since the invention of the printing press) to being visual learners -- by habit if not by nature, again -- because we watch the news, we watch CNN, we watch movies, we watch weather reports, we watch/play video games, we watch computer animations, we watch, watch, watch, watch, watch. Finally, the MTV Generation, GenX, the Pac-Man kids of 1982 and the Final Fantasy VIII kids of 1999, all of us locked into a visual mode of thinking, have an excuse; we also, the theory goes, have a terrible time reading books and getting the most out of them.

Maybe there's something to this. I'm a visual learner, and an avid reader, but a book that isn't written with the visual being predominant isn't as effective for me. So hey. Whatever floats your theoretical boat, right?

The point is, the first page of CN: Gangrel had me absolutely entranced. This is a novel that built the mental movie for me with ease. As I sat and watched the description of what Zhavon -- the mortal, teenaged sort of demi-heroine of the novel -- heard as she lay in bed at night, I was sucked in. I could hear the sounds of the gunshots, the Hernandez children finally silent downstairs. I could see the drunk hooker in the alleyway, "a skinny collection of gaudy colors and harsh angles -- tits and elbows, lipstick and high heels." The best thing is, this "visuality" (for lack of a better word) is accomplished with remarkable efficiency. A few words paint the picture, and then Fleming moves on.

I knew I was going to enjoy this book.

And really, that sets the entire tone of the novel. Whether the action in question is taking place in Harlem, or upstate New York's wilds (something we never really think of when we think "New York," and a well-done and well-described setting for much of the book, so fitting for the Gangrel, who walk the line between their love of the wild and the perceived necessity for vampires to be near or in the city), this is a tale of abject horror derived from examination of the self, the unknowable ferocity of the World of Darkness, and the terror and tragedy of facing an insurmountable foe. Whereas CN:Toreador was a whining romp through high-society evil, and CN:Tzimisce was a more clinical view of how evil interacts with evil, CN:Gangrel is a fully grown-up examination of the evils within and without. It's a classy book about people -- this is an important point, it's a book about people, whether they're Kindred or Kine -- and what it's like to be one of them.

That covers the first page, and the tone of the novel. Now, characterization.

This is a novel with some fascinating characters. One of the nicest points about it, with regards to how it flows from the previous novel and into this one, is the examination of some samples from various places previously discussed in game terms by other supplements. We get to take a look inside the Chantry of the Five Burroughs, the Tremere headquarters in New York City -- including a short-lived but poignant peek at what it's like to be a neonate of the Tremere, and a lengthier examination of an absolutely fascinating elder whose understated requirements of those in his charge speak volumes about what it takes to make it in the Amway of vampire clans. We also get another Assamite, although much more briefly than in CN:Tzimisce, and much less interestingly presented. That said, however, the few pages we spend in the company of said Assamite say a huge amount about how other clans might view the Tremere; the view presented by this one particular Assamite "scales" nicely -- it's easy to extrapolate an entire worldview, and entire inter-clan rivalries and diplomacies, from it.

We also, of course, get to spend more time with everyone's favorite possessed Toreador, Leopold, making another appearance after his bogged-down escapades in CN:Toreador and his thankfully brief appearance in CN:Tzimisce. Fleming's done some amazing work with Leopold, though. Leopold has ceased to be the whining Toreador -- in many ways, he's ceased to be Leopold (and this is not a bad thing). Whereas he was someone I wanted dead on general principles in the first book, and in the second I was seeing as a mere plot device, Fleming turns Leopold into someone that everyone can hate. Leopold becomes something which needs to be destroyed, for everyone's good including his own. It's a masterful transition, I think, and one of the real signs of Fleming's gift for the written word. She very nearly made me feel sorry for Leopold. This is a major accomplishment.

The real meat of the story's characterization, however, and by far the delight of the novel, is in the portrayal of the Gangrel in this book. Finally, one of the clan novels focuses on the clan in question! And my heavens, is that focus worth it. Ramona, the heroine of the book, is White Wolf's new (and, unless I'm mistaken, only) signature character for Clan Gangrel. As opposed to the usual Elder of Unstoppable Power, Ramona is a neonate. Ramona barely even knows what she is. Admittedly, she throws around a lot of apparent Disciplines that generally don't belong to her clan (some Obfuscate, some Celerity -- both of which suggest she might actually be an Anarch offsprint of a City Gangrel antitribu, one of the more interesting of the sub-bloodlines), but the fact is she's been a vampire for roughly a year. That's nothing to a vampire.

The result? Ramona is still very much a human who has to feed on other humans to live. Likewise, she's prone to care about other humans, and care she does. The feelings she has for Zhavon (the other beautifully done character of the novel), a mortal whom Ramona saves from would-be rapists, is intense, supernatural, and yet believable. The way Zhavon feels for her mother, disapproves of the drunkard downstairs, is infatuated with an abusive but charismatic drug dealer she knows; these, coupled with Ramona's feelings for her fellow childer, all of the same Sire, all on the run from the world they live in, all refugees from a West Coast city too full of Sabbat for anyone's comfort; the way Jen, another Gangrel (convinced she isn't really a vampire) is terrified of bright light, of conflict, or anything; the way Tanner expects Ramona to know respect almost instinctively (it's never stated, but it's easy to assume that he's lived in the wild so long, he believes everyone can tune into the natural pecking order at will) -- all of these are woven together to create characters that aren't interesting ideas with dialogue. These are people. Ramona reminds me of someone I knew in college. So does Tanner. Zhavon might as well be a young woman I knew in high school. Johnston reminds me of a particularly unfavorite manager from a job. We've all felt like Jacqueline. However Fleming does it, she has a gift for capturing a single soul and expressing it on the page; if she isn't a poet, she should be.

With all that out of the way, we come to the matter of what happens to these people we've come to know so well: the plot.

Finally, a plot I could understand.

The book starts off slowly, with a lengthy and understated examination of the development of what is loosely termed "interaction" between Ramona and Zhavon -- heck, they don't speak face-to-face for an easy hundred pages. Interspersed in this is a quick sort of "catch-up" designed to let the reader know some of what's been going on with other matters at hand -- namely, Leopold and the Eye of Hazimel. These sections are thankfully brief, and what of them we see describe someone who's gone completely insane due to the constant presence and influence of a force far more powerful than himself. In the meantime, the metaplot gets a boost from the scenes set in the Chantry of the Five Burroughs. As I said, the first third of the book is slow-paced and understated, painting the backdrop against which everything else will be set. But once the action starts, it starts. The nice thing is, it makes sense.

Another nice touch is the fact that one of the plot points which doesn't make sense doesn't feel like it needs to. The obviously supernatural link between Zhavon and Ramona doesn't need explanation. It just happens, and it drives an interesting part of the story, and it makes the reader feel the tragedy of the story. Whereas I demanded to know why the Sabbat managed to take the entire Southeast in the first two novels, I was left content merely to watch this story unfold. That said, however, I do have some observations:

• The gathering of the Gangrel from around upstate New York was so very nicely done. All the right mixture of humor, terror, simple nervousness, the feeling of being the outsider -- and an extremely believable way for Tanner to react to what he's seen. Ramona's interactions with the other Gangrel felt honest, as well.
• One of the nice points the story drives home, I think, that's so very central to the idea of playing an immortal character and so many Vampire games (and many supplements, historically) forget, is that a vampire needs a goal, some sort of focus onto which they can latch with all their soul, in order to pass the centuries. Bored vampires become insane vampires become torpored or dead vampires. Darnell and Jen are the sort of vampiric groupies who never find a purpose beyond survival. Ramona, on the other hand, finds Zhavon -- and her entire life changes. Finally, she's got something to live for other than hanging out with her slacker buddies and sleeping in a junkyard.

  I liked the way that point was so subtly brought home for the majority of the book, and the fact that Darnell and Jen have finally found a purpose by the end lends them a depth they just don't have prior to their arrival in upstate New York.

• Despite how much fun it is to watch all these things unfold, the way in which Leopold and Ramona's storylines cross paths seems...forced. You get the idea that Fleming wrote a beautiful novel about the tragedy of a human being slowly becoming something else entirely, and the chilly warmth when it happens and one finds a peer group who have seen it all before and experienced the same thing (the conversations between Ratface and Ramona are another poignant moment of contrast between two very different lives and people who, nevertheless, find what they have in common and bond because of it). Then, White Wolf told her, "Oh, and stick in Leopold and the Eye, and make it all intersect somehow." So, she did, but hurriedly. I know this isn't the case, but that's how it feels sometimes. There were honestly moments when I thought, "Okay, there is just no explanation for this. There just isn't any way to rationalize what's happening." That's a disappointment, particularly when it's a glaring blemish in the middle of an otherwise almost faultless presentation of the one clan which most precariously approaches the issue of retaining one's own humanity -- the clan that perpetually walks the tightrope of the human mind stretched taut over the yawning pit of the Beast.

As a side note, there's a lovely tie-in between this novel and one of the major canon meta-plot changes to the V:tM game, presented earlier this year in their Guide to the Camarilla. You'll recognize it when you see it, I think. It's pretty neat. In fact, it's almost amusing.

A surprising change in this novel was the absolute abandonment of those last two pages which hint at some over-arching metaplot in the first two novels. That's probably for the best. On the other hand, there's a lot that happens in this book which alludes to my personal theory of what those four total pages from CN:Toreador and CN:Tzimisce mean, and because of that, I'm inserting a warning: do not read this series with pre-suppositions regarding the meta-plot about the Eye. I've already caught myself finding fault with some plot-points that conflict with my personal theory -- and not included them here, for the simple fact that I might be wrong. So, in turn, might we all be. Just keep that in mind. The plot of this book largely follows an understandable, if not logical -- and it shouldn't be logical, because it's so emotionally driven -- path. Sit back and enjoy it. Don't take it all just at face value, but don't overanalyze -- for now. It's too refreshingly enjoyable of a change from the previous two to ruin it by asking too many questions.

When I was done with the book, my thoughts went like this:

1. Well, that was a heck of a lot better than the other two.
2. The last third was sort of depressing. But effective.
3. Wow, that lady knows how to write.

In other words, it did its job. I very much enjoyed it. The first page was right.

And now, how this affects the series as a whole.

I think I've started to understand a part of the point of this series, and in its own way, it's a very bright idea. CN:Toreador was very different from CN:Tzimisce. It, in turn, was a very different book from CN:Gangrel. I imagine the next, CN:Setite will be taken in yet a fourth direction from the whole. Is this a bad thing? No. Something White Wolf acknowledges in each and every supplement is the Golden Rule: Do What Thou Wilt, Because It's Thy Bloody Game For Pete's Sake. There's got to be a fourteen year old somewhere who thinks CN:Toreador is high art (I sincerely hope he looks into reading Brahm Stoker's original soon, though, for an artistic examination of a monster in human form). Someone somewhere is fascinated by the tactics discussed in CN:Tzimisce. Likewise, someone whose characters in their Vampire games tend to focus on the tragic nature of losing Humanity and becoming more and more the monster is going to love CN:Gangrel. If I'm any good at guessing, fans of espionage, trickery and the exploration of one's own dark side will be the biggest aficionados of CN:Setite. In other words, it's an epic series which has something for everyone. Because it's our bloody game, for pete's sake.

The problem that may arise by the end of the series, and may cause book sales to plummet by that point as compared to the feeding frenzy to get hands on CN:Toreador when it came out, is that it is our bloody game -- or so we're fond of reminding ourselves. When semi-canon fiction doesn't mesh with the Toreador we've created, or the Sasha Vykos we've StoryTold as an NPC, or what have you, enough times, people will start dropping the series and losing interest. Thirteen months is a long time to wait to see the end of the story, and thirteen different perspectives on the World of Darkness, while providing a diverse tapestry of ideas, is going to leave everyone satisfied and dissatisfied. No, I don't think it'll put White Wolf under; I just like making the point that they're taking a might big gample. If many more Clan Novel: Toreador-style bodice-rippers get thrown into the mix, or hard-to-believe books like CN:Tzimisce that leave gaping plot holes and disappoint the reader with the portrayal of otherwise familiar faces from White Wolf sourcebooks, then I wonder, when we reach the end and I'm looking at Clan Novel: Nosferatu on my gaming store shelves next May, will I care?

If the books to come look more like Clan Novel: Gangrel, it's a definite yes.

Style: 4 (Classy and well done)
Substance: 4 (Meaty)