Round 1: Anne Rice vs Stephenie Meyer

Anne Rice

Special attack: Charming readers with seductively elaborate prose


  • Creator of the hugely popular vampire Lestat
  • Collection of creepy Victorian dolls
  • Many fans


  • Characters easily distracted by beautiful objects

Stephenie Meyer

Special attack: Internal monologue


  • Author of one of the best-selling series of all time
  • Legion of Twihards to rush to her aid


  • Widely parodied
  • Creator of creepy relationship between a teenager and a centenarian


How we think it’d play out…

It was the night of the annual Vampire Lestat Reunion Ball and hundreds of guests swarmed excitedly in the Gothic foyer of Anne Rice’s home. Anne made her way through the crowd, adjusting the collar of her black velvet cape – she liked to ham it up for the fans – as she headed towards her special guest. She felt it was the right thing to do, inviting the heir apparent of blood-guzzler appreciation, Stephenie Meyer, to her party.

As the pair debated vampire traits (Anne managed to suppress her expletive-ridden views on glittery-skinned immortals) the room fell silent, followed by the sound of a dozen sighs and fainting bodies thudding to the floor. Standing in the doorway was the unmistakable Edward Cullen – he of the golden eyes, supermodel cheekbones and aforementioned disco-ball skin. All eyes were on the vampire, but Anne was distracted by the miserable, palpably awkward creature shuffling along behind him.

“Who’s that behind Edward?” whispered Anne.

“That’s Bella – the most beloved literary heroine of our time,” replied Stephenie, somewhat smugly.

At that moment there was an almighty crash as Bella tripped over nothing at all, somehow managing to knock over every moveable object in the room.

“Bella! Stand up!” hissed Stephenie as she ran over to help up her cringing heroine. “At least try to make people like you!” Achingly humiliated and seething with teenage angst, Bella quickly retreated to the space behind Edward and resumed her signature lip-biting and blushing.

“How pathetic,” muttered Anne. She hadn’t read any of the Twilight books, but surely this was no heroine?

Stephenie Meyer rounded on her. “What did you just say? Everyone loves Bella and my books. You wouldn’t know anything about it because you’re just a… a has-been!”

The crowd around them gasped but Anne just smiled. “Oh really? Let’s see about that. May I introduce you to the seventh son of the marquis d’Auvergne, Lestat de Lioncourt.”

Into the room walked a tall blonde vampire, wearing breeches, stockings and an elaborately embroidered overcoat. He paused on his way over to the group to admire himself in a mirror and give the crowd an opportunity to take in his expertly coordinated attire.

Lestat walked over to Edward and the crowd moved back to form a circle around the two vampires. They stared into each other’s eyes – violet-grey and gold – while the party-goers waited for something to happen. After an hour or so, the guests started to get bored and some coughed and tapped their feet to try to get the attention of the two brooding vampires.

“What – what’s happening?” Stammered Bella, creeping out from behind Edward.

“They’re both telepaths so they can’t fight each other; they can both read the other’s next move, so they are at an impasse,” explained Anne.

The crowd began to dissipate as the guests realised they were not likely to witness anything more exciting than a staring contest. However, Stephenie had an idea that would get things moving. She pulled out a high-powered torch (which for some reason she always carried with her) and pointed it towards Edward. Edward’s skin lit up, sending sparkling rays of light around the room.

“My eyes!” screamed Lestat, “He’s just… too… sparkly!”

Meyer cackled as Edward dazzled the cowering vampire.

“Perhaps I can’t kill you, Edward Cullen,” screamed Lestat “but I can kill your creator!” and with that he ran across the room towards Meyer, sinking his teeth into her neck.

Edward fell to the ground and howled in pain, before kneeling beside the corpse of the author in silent horror.

Lestat and Anne Rice high-fived their success, while the now thoroughly entertained party guests raised their glasses and gave three cheers.

But just as the festive and merry mood was returning to the room, a sound from the corner caught everyone’s attention.

It was Stephenie Meyer, looking more beautiful than ever with glittering skin and shampoo-advert hair.

“I’m back,” she said, rising from the floor, “and you know what that means, don’t you?”

Anne Rice nodded, her face ashen.

“I can write sequels for the rest of eternity!”



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