Phantom

Fiendish fans of the Phantom may froth and foam, believing that no additions to Gaston Leroux's clanky classic The Phantom of the Opera need be. But this lively invention from Kay (Legacy, 1986) should turn foe into friend. Kay's style never rises above the dreadful dreck of her original, with every character operatically two-dimensional at his most full-blown, but even the most unwilling reader will find his defenses pulped and sucked into the flow. This is the chronicle of Erik the Opera Ghost from his birth in 1831, in a small village outside Rouen, through his long wanderings about Europe, Russia and the Middle East, until his arrival in Paris in 1856 and final great days with Christine Daae in 1881. Erik's mother is revolted by the little lipless, clear-skinned, orbitally mismatched monster she gives birth to and becomes a peevish, abusive parent. Even so, Erik out-Mozarts Mozart as a child genius of music and architectural drawing. His voice alone, when singing masses, shocks his mother nearly to orgasm, and his later organ-playing under the Opera House drives Christine to her first masturbation. As Erik puts it: "My mind has touched the farthest horizons of mortal imagination and reaches ever outward to embrace infinity. There is no knowledge beyond my comprehension, no art or skill upon this entire planet that lies beyond the mastery of my hand. And yet, like Faust, I look in vain, I learn in vain. . .For as long as I live, no woman will ever look on me in love." At nine, Erik runs away from home. Among the gypsies he learns to lie, steal and murder; in Italy, he masters actually working in stone; in Russia, he gains magical powers; in Persia, he builds a shah's palace while stealing his jewels. In Paris, this wealth is put to use as he underwrites the nominal architect of the Paris Opera House and actually builds it himself. The last chapters weave into Leroux, with a much, much sexier, happier ending. Sappy but compelling. (Kirkus Reviews)