It’s important to read Anne Rice’s Blackwood Farm very, very quickly. Dawdle for a moment, and the ludicrousness of it might make you giggle: a bisexual bloodsucker with his very own Goblin, who serves as his best friend or sexual partner depending on his mood? A vampire hermaphrodite who was once a gladiator in ancient Rome? And let’s not even start on the flowery writing. But the thing is, in between the tittering fits, this is kind of a fabulous read. Over-the-top? Most definitely. Campy? Without a doubt. But Rice tells a mean ghost story, filled with blood, sex, and bloody sex. And who would complain about that?