The Return of the Phantom

The Loyal Heart

a novel by Etienne de Mendes

Etienne Answers Your Questions

 

My friend and I have been discussing The Return of the Phantom as he is reading it. (I've already completed the book so we chat as he progresses through.) He brought something to my attention that I had completely overlooked due to being drawn into the story itself. He sent me the following message so I figured I'd go straight to the source on it!
"You know what continually drives me insane? De Mendes set this story 10 years earlier than it should have been. He keeps referring to the events of 1871, when the opera house wasn't even completed until 1875. Leroux's chandelier disaster was in 1881."
What prompted you to change the dates from Leroux's Phantom?

Excellent question. So far you are the only one who has asked it. Although I have read Leroux's novel six times now, and am familiar Garnier's building and when it was completed...I am not a Leroux purist nor a devout follower of Andrew Lloyd Webber's work. Both are classics that stand on their own merits and will through the centuries. They differ on many accounts, as do all the other books and movies about Erik. The discrepancies in these materials is so vast that I won't go into them at great length here. (Webber deliberately never says the place is the Garnier nor is his Phantom completely deformed facially. Leroux's Phantom is completely deformed facially, but he has the Daroga, etc, etc.) I work off a detailed outline, timeline, and character studies. Basically, I wanted to allow myself to read Leroux's book or watch the magic of Webber's show, enjoy either source, then pick up The Return of the Phantom and go on from there. How to reconcile the dilemma of the two major sources I identified with was troublesome, so I opted for a nondescript Paris Opera House and concerned myself more with who these people are as human beings, the intricacies of plot, and the verbiage to describe things well enough so that I felt like I was in the moment walking alongside them. Even though the abduction takes place in 1871 for my stories, events flow in organized fashion from there. Please tell your friend that it was never my purpose to drive anyone "insane", only to let Erik discover why he actually freed Christine and let a degree of love enter his life. I like Kay's Phantom right up to the time of his residence in the theater. I don't care for the ending (Erik looses yet again), and I don't believe he would ever smoke opiate. Someone who relies on their instincts to survive does not dull them, especially one as intelligent as OG.

When you go into into Erik mode do you feel his love? When his personality changes, do you also feel his hatred, anger, and revenge? How do you leave Erik and become Etienne, or are they so similar that you do not have to?

I am going to answer your question about Erik and myself with as much honesty and directness as I can. It took hours (literally) to get to Erik's thoughts, body movements, perceptions, etc. When I write about him I let my mind become him so that I can describe what he's sensing or about to say. Sometimes when I write my books, I close my eyes and just type. My mind is in the place I'm describing, my soul is literally there and I am living in the scene. The human mind is truly a wonderful instrument. I feel everything the plot is portraying. Exquisite desire, rapture, disappointment, anger, frustration, the cold-blooded need to end the life of someone who just touched Christine without her permission. Everything. That's one reason why intimate acts are very important to the plot. I tamed down the love scenes but not to the point where they made me think of cardboard puppets. Erik is a man, I don't want to bottle him up, I want to let him do what men do...and love doing. Coming back to Etienne is not difficult. It's almost a relief. Erik is very intense. He doubts, questions, probes, constantly tests things. You spoke of our thoughts being way way up in the sky. I actually understand that. There's an artist named Marc Chagall who painted couples and people floating in the air on the sheer exuberance of their feelings.

How did you get inside Christine's head? You make a fairly seamless transition to the female perspective. Was this the result of careful research, or did you have assistance?

You pay me high compliment. I was not consciously aware that I had, to any great success, gotten inside Christine's head. I wrote a character trait list for her, then as circumstances evolved and she learned through experience, I expanded it. I asked myself over and over: what does she understand at this point? I'll give you an example. Take the scene where she lays her clothes on the bed and almost worships them, (pg 10). I was worried that I was not writing about her with enough depth (I tend more to movement and action than emotion or feeling). So I asked myself, OK, now she knows he's still alive, but what does she have of him? A picture. NO. All that’s left are the remnants of his body that are still on and in her. With that realization, she hardly eats, so that she can remain the same being that he made love to, she doesn't bathe and remove him from her, she even takes the clothes and spreads them out to touch them.

Can memories be that strong a motivation?

I can see memories running through Christine’s mind as she walks around the chateau, this sad vacant being so full of empty feelings without this man who taught her the essence of music and the joy of sensuosity. She was alive with him and dulled to the world without him. She thinks, “I might as well be dead I'm already half-way there, except that death would end the memory. As painful as it is, it's all that's left me." Two years wondering where is he. What torment! And for him, thinking he is so unworthy, watching her from a distance. Not knowing if one touch of her hand might be accomplished to ease him if he maneuvered things just right so that she accidentally brushed against him. But he can't risk it. He gave his living bride away, how can he take her back?

Why does Erik reveal himself to Christine after two years?

He spent those two very traumatic years trying to recover from sending Christine away and is now mentally on the mend. In the prologue I paint a foreshadowing of what Erik is about to do to Christine and Raoul. The backdrop on the stage where storm clouds (like a warring clan of gypsies) are about to descend upon the harbor is very symbolic. Christine is the village and Raoul the boat. At the same time Meg has just had a baby. Erik wonders why Christine hasn’t had an infant and why is she growing so thin? I don't think he spoke to anyone that day, just stayed focused on showing her he was indeed still alive. And what happens when he stands there in the fog? It's unbelievable. He sees her want to run to him...she wants to bolt like a horse kept too long inside the barn...too confined. Who is trapped by love? Left defiled and empty without it? Christine or Erik? He tells himself to restrain his emotions, bottle them up, but then in the tomb she says she wants to die...needs to die...prays for death. That her heart is black and cold...there is no light save what illumination he can give. And she knows, oh she knows that tiny shreds are better than endless minutes without his love. Lost, so lost. She thinks, “Just stand there...let me know you live, that you haven't forgotten the girl who caught your eye. See me! See my love!” And Erik stands in the shadowed corner aching, silently screaming, “Don't see me. Don't see my love, it's seeping out all over the place, running out the tiny cracks at the sides of my mouth, the corners of my eyes, my skin is crawling because you are so close and I should not sate this urge to taste of you. Christine! Don't raise your hand! Don't offer what I should not take.” And what does the love of his life do? She takes off her damn glove. She might as well have undone her bodice, or lifted her skirt and shown him her leg. He is after all just a man, a flesh and bone man. Her palm opens to him and she does not retract it. She stays there...waiting, hoping...willing! This is the last straw! The brick wall crumbles; the curtain is rent in two. What that first touch must have felt like for both of them. Sometimes I wonder how either had the presence of mind to part that day. Nothing was the same ever again.

And how about getting into Erik’s head? You seem to do it so perfectly.

Transitioning from the male to female perspective and back is accomplished by thinking, probing, asking, picturing the sequence of events, and staying true to the character’s outlined traits. Freeze-framing and stepping into the scene, helps. It was not always easy to get into Erik. There was a day that I sat here in the office meditating on his world, his thoughts. I went so deeply that I felt the torment, the anger, the needs, and the absolute desolation. I was actually nauseous and realized that I can write about this man. He's not gay; he would want a female, pulse optional. That was the day I wrote the first draft of chap 14: A Conversation In a Box. (Which another email writer says is her favorite chapter. Who knew?) I really never thought much about why I personally might be able to understand Erik. Professionally, yes. It's my business to comprehend. Males can be very sensitive, full of emotion. Erik has a damaged heart – of that I am sure. He’s an individual with an incredible singing voice and extraordinary talents. But most of all, he is – above all things – sincere. I believe he’s sincere to an infinite degree. Yet he is so twisted and deformed. I don't pity him or envy him. I acknowledge his total uniqueness...he gets to be dark and mysterious anytime he desires it. I mean honestly, he is the most individualistic person (living or fictional) I've ever encountered. And I've come across some very unusual characters. I won't go so far as to say I understand Erik perfectly. He is a lot of things, one of which is very unpredictable. What I will say is that many an author who writes about him likes to weaken him: get him shot, beaten to a pulp, worse yet, royally hen pecked, etc. Certainly they are entitled to their interpretations. I wanted to envision a stronger more adept Erik, give him hope. I do, however, think Erik is capable of doing wrong and making errors. He manages to blunder into a few in The Season of the Witch. And remember...he is quite capable of murder.

You say you’ve had experience with Raoul’s tendencies. From a man’s point of view, wouldn’t that have been a little problematic?

In my books I want to explore issues people are reluctant to address. Novels present an excellent media for voicing one's opinion. Marital rape is one of them. Someone very close to me had a husband who abused her. During their divorce I tried to help her cope with the damage done by her years of silence and his unwavering domination. It was a life-changing experience. To write on the website, "I experienced this second hand." seemed diluted when the purpose was to say, "I truly understand something of this." And believe me, I do. Her recuperation took months. Consensual sex is one thing (lovely no matter what the style), but nonconsensual...die blackheart! I think she lasted so long in that marriage out of sheer ego to make it a success. I worked the ER of a French hospital for a while and am fully aware of how some French males think. Too many just take what they want. Erik's hand was forced by Raoul's courtship of his precious protégé, but even he just took her in the abduction.


In Return of the Phantom, Christine is less the empty-headed ingénue as famously portrayed in Webber and somewhat in Leroux's work. She’s more a knowing woman. Is this because she is forced to grow up after marrying Raoul? Perhaps as a result of her contact with Erik?

Yes, to both those questions. She needed to evolve. In life we all do. Over and over, I asked myself: why doesn't she just leave Raoul? And the answer always came back to her ingrained trait of obedience. She obeys her father, her ballet mistress, her angelic mentor, her husband...and finally the man (think real flesh here) whom she loves. That doesn't mean she won’t rebel inwardly...as the book progresses she develops the strength to disobey and change allegiance. Now for a special treat, because you ask such excellent questions, there is a lot of symbolism in my book, done deliberately. The dragon represents the male hormonal drive to mate and cause change...even if he has to be destructive to do it. In Christine’s dream the dragon is a phallic symbol driving straight toward her boat and knocking her back into the oblivion of arduous decision-making. (Really, now that I think about it...how obvious could I get?) In the chapter where the house burns down, the dragon shows Erik how strong he is...he's the boss...he can be decisive for everyone (which is of course BS, but there you have it.)

The "cutting" scene, while graphically written and perfect for what you achieved between the characters, had me asking a few questions. You seem to slip back into Christine's almost child-like qualities. Was this intentional, as she was desperate, or perhaps she was reverting to how Erik first knew her as a child? Sometimes I think that, even though Erik loves her totally and with every fiber of his being, he still sees her as a child. I know she's desperate to be with him, despite Raoul and his control issues, but a part of her seems to think that she really is in the presence of her father's angel (Oedipus-like thought for the pair, no?).

Ah, the cutting scene! She is under a great deal of stress (cutters always are). She’s had that very confusing dream with the dragon (chap 9) where she surfaces from the water in the mask. And decides she will adopt Erik's pain and rejection as punishment for herself. Who better to administer the punishment than Erik, whom she trusts with all her heart? (She does want to keep her eye still functioning). If she can't be with him, she can at least feel something of what he's feeling. Besides, she really wants to stick something in Raoul's face that will make him back off, and remind him every day that he dragged her from the underground while she screamed for Erik (chap 25). In the cutting scene she is very childish, stubborn, almost tantrum-like, but seductive. She ardently believes that Erik is the angel sent by her father. Even if he can't see it, she does. The Oedipus issue is definitely there, and I address it more deeply in the next book…and not in a re-hash either. I like action, the plot must move forward, ever forward.

Don’t cutters hide their wounds?

You are correct; cutters do hide their marks, as did Christine. Only Erik saw them. I believe she identified herself with him. She wants to crawl into him, become a part of him that he cannot simply put aside at whim. This love story of theirs goes on through all three novels. Christine is a constant Erik cannot do without for long.

Is Erik seeking to redeem himself?

Please don't get me going on Erik's non-existent need to redeem himself. I don't believe he gives a flying rat’s whisker about redeeming himself. He lets Christine go to Raoul because he is absolutely amazed to discover that he truly loves her. He wants her safe and in a normal environment out of a feeling very few of us ever genuinely experience – unselfishness. As you said, my version of Erik shows him a little more in control of his mind (most of the time), but to be honest, I think he’s hanging on with his fingernails. This much I am absolutely certain of: he had her, really had her, and on his terms (Leroux hints at it all over the place) and he set her free. The remarkable thing, the miracle, is that once she was free...she wanted him back. So very female, n’est pas il ainsi (isn’t it so)?

I think the mask and his voice are Erik’s most magnetic draws. Do you agree?

Yes, the mask is especially alluring and confusing. But I think of the two, Erik’s voice is the most compelling. Leroux wrote about the voice and it's power. I've only heard one or two voices in my lifetime that I had to stop because I craved listening to them, and for the life of me I can't remember whose voice did that. But there are some voices that are so rich and melodious, they catch one's attention and you wish they'd just go on and on…especially in song. Did you know that people release their souls when they sing? Something opens and a look into the truth is revealed.

Why do you give Erik a surname?

I don’t. I never guess at Erik's name. Leroux says "Erik" is a first name he adopted quite by accident. The pen name, D’Angelus, is just something he uses to sell his finished musicals and skits. In the second book he tells Michael their real surname, but the reader never hears it. He is simply who he is...no one…yet someone very unique, very special. Erik’s anonymity is something I will respect through all three books in the trilogy.

Why does Erik make love to Christine so soon in the story? Is this a result of being apart for so long or something else? I understand Erik's desire, but if he has such mastery why does he choose to make love in the crypt?

Making love in the crypt happened the first time for several reasons. She chose the spot and offered herself. Since, he wasn't sure if she would continue with him or reject him again, he seized the opportunity. Also, the crypt is a very comfortable environment for him. He's been there many times on his own. Erik starts out honestly believing that he deserves only the scraps of love she will allow him to have, so he seizes the opportunity. And finally, making love over the dead is Erik "laughing at death", something every culture in the world does with some sort of holiday. In the States we do it with Halloween. The feat of sneering at death is a very important component of society. Otherwise we'd all go nuts wondering what the point of life might be if we have to work so hard, then give it all up by laying down to die someday.

In the tomb why does Erik restrain his passion and test her?

Erik wants to control the situation, but she upsets the cart by asking that he remove the mask before making love to her. This is certainly not the first time she has seen his face, but is she really committed to accepting him? He has doubts. He wants to present himself in some fashion that will allow him the grace of recovery should she do what 99% of humanity does, namely recoil. He needs desperately to ease the experience for the both of them, especially because he cares for her. So, he angles his head away and watches. Oh, he will kiss her palm and a lot more if she will let him, but will she continue to let him?

Why did Christine name the first baby Michael? Why not Erik or Gustave, after her father?

If you've read Leroux you know that Raoul understands that the Phantom goes by the name Erik, both Christine and the Daroga tell him. Naming the baby Erik might make Raoul suspicious and allow him to guess at the truth of the affair. She chose to name the baby Michael because she symbolically wanted to guard the path to Heaven, the path to Erik…very mystical. Also, the name literally means, "Who is like God?" Remember, she is convinced (rightly or wrongly) that Erik is an angel, a gift to her and she is supposed to help him on his quest. They are not aware that Raoul is already suspicious and doesn't want to face his doubts because of the lie he is perpetrating on Christine. She doesn't name the baby Gustave, because her father was the first to abandon her.

A physical relationship with Louisa? Please comment.

The second book deals more with Louisa's physical bonding with Erik and her acceptance of his fascination with Christine. Louisa wants to protect this magnificent creature from the world and from himself. That's why she teaches him about physical love. In my mind she is a truly remarkable woman. When Erik sees the pure and innocent Christine, Louisa respects his choices and maintains their friendship (even at the cost of having to start a new life when things explode out of control at the Opera House). I have a friend like this and know for a fact these relationships exist. None of those loyal to him considers Erik a burden. They value him as a gifted talented person and deem themselves blessed to know him. Even Thomas Edwards comes around. Leroux gives clues in abundance to Louisa's true devotions…and this is how I interpret Leroux’s words.

Does Erik think of himself as a father figure for Christine?

I think Erik always wanted Christine as a mate (not a daughter) and was willing to take years to groom her into accepting him. Cajoling her into believing he was sent by her father gained him access to establish a relationship, begin holding discussions through the walls and mirror. It was Raoul's courtship that forced his hand. Imagine, he spends years watching over her, and here comes this nobleman who in one fell swoop turns her pretty little head. Erik goes nuts. In Leroux's book, he says to her over and over, "You must love me, Christine...you must."

Christine spent two years in absolute misery yet she seems to have just shrugged it off. How?

She doesn’t just shrug it off. Once she has him back in her life, she spends almost every waking moment trying to figure out how to get him permanently and full time. How is that shrugging their separation off? She’s as tense and wired as a cat. She wants to really touch him and be touched in return.

Your work is surprising, would you classify it as horror or erotica?

I know I haven't written about anything new to humanity. As a species we are capable of soaring greatness and horrific selfishness. The question I've asked myself a hundred times as I've written is: How would Erik react to this? Not me...him. Like you, in a way I'm amazed that I have put some of this down in words that might be read around the world. I tried to be honest and write what my mind pictured - sometimes it was pretty ghastly. I have softened some love scenes from their original drafts. These chapters are my interpretations of how these people feel, their passions…especially Erik’s. What keeps him edgy, so determined to have her? When I’m in a quandary, I tend to curtail the scene. Take the necrophilia. Erik did not commit it, but he did consider it. I think, given his position, that he was just desperate to have a sexual awakening. He was prepared for the worst, (much like sleeping in a coffin to prepare him for death). Some people think that making love in a crypt or sleeping in a coffin, fingering a corpse is rather horrific. There are a few scenes in The Season of the Witch that make me cringe, and I wrote them. Horror is what we define it to be. Have we become so inured to true horror that we (as Americans) no longer recognize it? A wife getting beaten by an egotistical patriarchal male should set all ours hairs on end. Such a life is le morte vivant (the living death). I have never thought that mutual consenting intimacy was dreadful. What is dreadful is stereotyping slurs, war mongering, cold-blooded murder, abuse, teenagers attempting suicide, etc. Those are the bloodcurdling events we hear about everyday that should send us wailing into the streets. Coming from a medical background very graphic descriptions do not bother me, so I'm sometimes at a loss about where to go with them. I advise any reader who is grossed-out to close the book.

Answer another question please, why did you take Abraham out of the story? I couldn't help but feel like you were saying, “My work is done, Erik. It's time for you to go on by yourself.” Am I right?

My sister cried when Abraham died. She choked up and cried for Erik’s loss. You are certainly free to make your own interpretations, but Abraham's work wasn't finished. It was just his time. That's how life goes sometimes. I think it was kind not to let Abraham learn about Erik's mother. Abraham and Benjamin are in the next book, but the story is basically about Erik. The real message (if there is one) is a question. What good is any faith if it offers no comfort to others and builds walls among us? That is basically my philosophy. Walking past boundaries is important, seeing things from the other side matters. Christians say that even God did it through the birth of Jesus. I like a belief that the Lakota Sioux and the Jewish Orthodox hold to: everywhere we stand is sacred, everywhere.

What do you think about negative reviews to your books?

I appreciate criticisms that tell me constructively what would make me a better writer. But let’s not forget that authors should write about what moves them the most. If they don’t, the words lack the luster of life. It's like chewing cardboard. Not too worry, my goal is not to gross out the populace. I’ve spent a great deal of time doing research and thinking about who Erik is and how he reacts to his surroundings. I don’t regret a moment I’ve spent getting there. I’ve learned, and am continuing to learn, that it takes courage to write honestly about his kind of passionate torment. I salute my fellow authors who’ve also written about the Phantom of the Opera.

Did you write your book with New Age concepts in mind?

Will you please tell us something about Etienne de Mendes?

De Mendes is French-Portuguese, but I am an American citizen, born and raised in the eastern United States. My background is in medicine and teaching. I have been a phan of the Phantom of the Opera since I was a kid and managed to see the 1962 movie version with Herbert Lom in the lead role. I believe that life is messy and often disappointing. In my writing I have tried to place the grotesque right beside what is considered beautiful, in order that people might observe the contrast and draw whatever conclusions they may. My characters make both good and bad decisions. I try to show that there are consequences for both, and that those consequences alter their lives. I am presently working on the completion of “The Season of the Witch”, and have the general scope of my third book down on paper. My writing is geared toward the adult reader, and contains metaphysical references because Gaston Leroux used them in his works. I would classify my novels as Gothic-Horror-Romance. Hopefully my stories are gritty and surprising. I invite you to read "The Return of the Phantom" and candidly hope you enjoy the ride!

The name DeVille is so much like "Devil". Did you choose that name on purpose?

There is no intent to associate DeVille with anything demonic. DeVille in French means "from the town or village". I wanted the doctor closely associated with the "common folk"... a man who could emphasize with the pain inside others. However, many of the names that I chose are deliberate. For example, Rue du Renard means "way of the fox".

Why is the title of chapter 33 a jumble of Roman numerals?

(And I doubted I’d enjoy answering these questions.) It is not a jumble of Roman numerals. Lixivium is a solution containing alkaline salts obtained by leaching wood ashes with water = lye. In the literary sense I meant for the chapter title to say I was leeching out the last of the plot for this book.

Was the spelling of ‘couer’ for ‘heart’ in the title an oversight?

No, it’s done intentionally. In French the letters oe are often combined into a single symbol called a digraph. The French recommend that we Americans carry a dictionary when trying to determine how to pronounce their words containing oe because there are so many exceptions to the pronunciations. ‘Couer’ is an Anglicization (English equivalent) done deliberately. I cannot claim to be its originator. If you search the word on the internet you’ll see it. Someone suggested I use ‘Coor’ like the beer, I opted for the more common Anglicization. Why? Becuase I have two relatives who fought against the Axis in WWII, neither came back the same. Our European neighbor seems to conveniently forget how many American soldiers are actually buried in their soil. Leroux put the original story in France. It would not have been my choice for a setting, but I am a Phantom Phan.

Why does Erik reveal himself to Christine after two years?

I know that other authors have Erik pursuing relationships with a variety of other women. I’ve read many of them. My instincts told me that his loyalties run much deeper. In ‘The Return’ he watches her from a distance…just to see her, and to ascertain Raoul is caring for her. Erik perceives her becoming frail and thin. Initially he wants only to make contact, he hadn’t thought through his actions other than to find out what was wrong. He needed to know. Christine doesn’t hesitate to make him quickly aware that in the vacuum created by his absence, she has grown emotionally destitute, marasmic. Possessions, titles…have lost all meaning. What matters to her now is that she continues to have contact with him. The crux of their saga is not whether Christine is capable of loving a genius miscreant, she is. Even Leroux writes of its dawning. No, the problem…like a swirling bed of twisting asps…is whether Erik is capable of opening a space within his own defensive ideation to let love in. In my book, this progressively evolving woman bravely shows him the way…even though the pain for both of them is great.

Any hints about the acrostics?

There are two…look to first letters.

Will you please continue this story?

Yes, I’m already in the process of doing that. This is the first book of a trilogy – sensuosity, murder, characters making good and bad choices, insights as to why and what are the consequences. I’m not writing children’s books. These characters are adults, and act as such, driven by deeply seated passions they can barely comprehend, much less cope with. “The Season of the Witch” is next.

Why did you write about a cutter?

This wasn’t the most difficult aspect to write about. Getting into Erik’s head, even with my background in psychiatry was the most difficult. People have been cutting themselves for centuries – marks of tribal rank, body decoration. People who cut to injure themselves are expressing severe emotional tension. Cutting is a release, a way of gaining control. Christine suffers depression, an eating disorder, obsessive thinking. Her decision to cut is a way of telling Erik that she feels anger, shame and frustration at her rejection of him and her subsequent alienation from him. The loss of their relationship will be symbolized in a scar in her living flesh. She is so sincere about this adamant desire that initially she wants the cut across her face. Although cutting does provide a form of relief, a venue for gaining control over a situation, it is self-destructive. If you are a cutter and you are reading this, please know that there are caring professionals in the world who want to listen and be of help. They exist.

Can a husband really rape his wife?

Yes, I wish no one ever had to experience it, but that doesn’t preclude me writing about it if it fits the plot. In ‘The Return’ Raoul cannot be for Christine what she has come to need with almost every breath. This torments him, revolts him. He owns her yet does not own her, and his pride will not let him suffer the circumstance. He ends up reacting with an all too typical response for an aristocratic, male dominated society. Unfortunately, I know of this first hand.

Who did you picture as the Phantom while you wrote?

If I needed to picture anyone for a particular scene it was Clive Owen…not Gerard Butler. Too many Butler fans have the poor man locked and boxed into his film role as The Phantom. Andrew Weber’s music is beautiful, but there can be so much more to this story. Just ask all the authors writing sequels. None of us are standing still – why some Butler fans refuse to let the story evolve (and embrace any number of avenues) is something I don’t want to waste time trying to understand. The Phantom I pictured was darker, grittier, definitely more alive…if anything he’s someone closer to the complexity of Leroux’s Phantom. Who by the way, has a great time playing pranks and is capable of laughing, although I grant you, probably not enough.

Why is Erik’s face in your book only partially deformed?

I wanted him to be able to sing with the mask on. Singing as beautifully as Leroux describes is near impossible with a full-face mask. In the original work, Raoul is so taken with ‘the voice’ that he is near mesmerized. I wanted to write about the beauty and terror of that experience.

Is Christine having visions?

I think so, my sister thinks Erik is causing them. I find that intriguing and plausible. Now there’s a twist on the author.

Is your second book about the Phantom?

Yes, it picks up right where the first one left off.

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Gaston Leroux