In comparison to the high-fantasy adventures of Dungeons & Dragons’ Forgotten Realms, the gothic punk of Vampire the Masquerade’s World of Darkness has always been a much less accessible and often less explored setting. It is fairly simple to see why: It has all the trappings of dark fantasy and grim-dark tropes—which were never that popular to begin with—crossed with a kind of mature-rated atmosphere, which layers on top of the doom, the gloom, the eyeliner, the leather jackets, the bleakness, the sex, and the collection of Joy Division CDs a whole plethora of complex politics, intrigue, and moral dilemmas.
Most people don’t even know who they’re going to be voting for until they reach the polls, let alone internalise the web of politicians and parties that govern their day-to-day lives. In that sense, the heavily political world of Vampire the Masquerade is given immense veracity, as to how there could be a secret society of immortal vampires, fragmented into clans, hidden from human oversight, constantly bickering over who is getting what, and who is getting dead. And it’s not just any vampires, a la your 18th century Serbians you’d read about your from Austrian medical reports, your Vladimir Țepeșes or your Edward Cullens (well I suppose it’s a little bit like your Edward Cullens, but I digress), but rather a set of immortal vampires, whose lineage extends as far as the times described in the Bible. In one of the coolest fiction writing choices ever, Cain – the first murderer, is cursed by God with vampirism for the murder of Abel, and he is forced to roam the land, siring children, who are burdened with the same aversion to sunlight and magical powers that turn skeletal systems into lawn chairs. With each subsequent generation, the blood of this original progenitor becomes more and more diluted, to the point where now, much like the seed of Genghis Khan, which ravaged Europe and Asia, every vampire is some distant descendant of Cain – a mere fraction of something great and powerful.
That fact alone is enough to drive some vampires crazy. The mere knowledge that someone is a generation up from you is enough for them to dismiss your entire existence, as if you were an ant stuck to the bottom of their boot. Their blood is twice as good as yours, after all. To survive in this cut-throat world, experience, reputation, and influence are everything, and it’s exactly what you know and who you know that the currencies of this world.
This first book in the so called Clan Novel Saga, centres around one of the myriad of clans, comprising the Camarilla… the Sabbat… the Anarchs and… uh, I digress. There’s about fourteen clans you’ll eventually become obsessed over, and they’ve all got their little unique traits and compulsions to make them distinct and interesting in their own idiosyncratic ways. The titular Toreador are a clan of aesthetically obsessive divas, whores, hedonists, degenerates and artists, who are perhaps the most human-like in their appearance. This proximity to mortals allows them to keep a hand on the pulse of human society, as well as be excellent socialites. This is only helped by the fact that they are supernaturally charming and their natural beauty is enhanced to such a degree that normal people will often find themselves compelled to cater to their every whim and desire.
In reality, you are introduced to much more than the Toreador, and that is both a good and a bad thing. You get the impression that there is rarely such a thing as an isolated clan, which can live peacefully in a vacuum. There is always someone else, they are always from a different clan, and they most likely want you dead or subjugated. Hierarchy is everything, and even when it isn’t the rules and regulations established by those who are actually calling the shots are ever-present and immutable.
In a second act of brilliant fiction-writing, the titular Masquerade is one of said ever-present inconveniences. The increasingly obnoxious to type out Masquerade is the veil, the game of deception that separates vampires from mortals. It’s a kind of Prime Directive, which all vampires must strive to uphold, regardless of circumstance. Everyone must keep the existence of vampires secret, which means not being sloppy, not openly displaying your ability to turn people’s skeletons into lawn chairs, and feeding carefully. This doesn’t always happen, but that is merely just another source of conflict, which makes this setting so delectable.
Now, when it comes to the actual events of this book, this is all preamble. It’s partially what makes Vampire the Masquerade compelling and difficult as a setting. Not everyone is as fanatical about this entirely fictional caste of vampires and their parallel world history, artifacts of power, and other idiosyncrasies. The Toreador clan novel is merely an introduction to all this, and it shows.
Toreador starts off slow. It tries to ease you in to all of this, by giving you all the hot, sexy, aesthetical stuff upfront, before letting you sink your teeth in into the political scandals of The Camarilla in its latter half. A lot of the important stuff is glanced over or appears as a little bit of a non sequitur in the middle of a chapter and then is never mentioned again. At any given point you might be indulging in ecstasy, drinking blood from the exposed thigh of an attractive woman, the next you’re fending off three helicopters with surface-to-air missiles in guerilla warfare. In one moment you’re discussing the vampire myth of origin, or the works of Dante Alighieri; in the next you’re grafting evil Mesopotamian artefacts of unspeakable body horror onto our body, like it’s Goichi Suda’s シルバー事件 all over again.
To call it uneven would be a bit of an understatement. I give it some slack, because of its seemingly impossible task of introducing the World of Darkness, while also laying out the groundworks for a series of thirteen planned novels about all the various clans, whilst also being an interesting exploration of clan Toreador in and of itself. There’s simply too much to cover for what is—in my eyes—a very short book. It has the benefit of being written by one of the co-creators of the role-playing game, but even with that pedigree, it is an obscene amount of information to get through.
When it’s not trying to tell you anything about the setting, Toreador is fairly heavy on descriptors, in a way I usually find indicative of literature, which is just padding for time and word count. Every surface, every particle of dust, every twirl of the hair, every inch of skin will be described in vivid detail. Every action will take an extraordinary amount of words, often repeated over and over ad nauseam. The kind of stuff that makes you go “Yeah, I get it.” more often than you’d want to. Where it really shines, much like the system it is based on is in the dialogue between immortal all-knowing vampires. There’s always something to be gained, and someone to be gamed. Internal monologues feature dozens of delightful paragraphs of considerations as to whether someone has noticed some involuntary tick or slight misjudgement. Vampires constantly weighing how their words and actions will ultimately influence others to accomplish their goals for them. Slight manipulations and heavy-handed intervention in the natural course of events always keeps everyone on their toes, and by virtue you the reader at the edge of your seat, wondering whether it’s all going to pan out, or whether something truly unexpected will occur, because of something everyone seemed to underestimate. That is where the true appeal of Vampire the Masquerade lies, and it is what the Toreador clan novel excels at in its latter half.