When I was in high school, I was dragged to the first three Twilight movies. I cringed my way through Bella’s awkwardness, and lived to tell the tale of seeing a vampire sparkle in the sunlight. When we went to go see Eclipse, there was a group of middle aged women sitting a few rows in front of us, just as excited as the other teenage girls were, and I couldn’t decide if I was horrified or full of pity.
I say dragged like I didn’t willingly go to hang out with my best friend, but I was more observer than participant. I wasn’t a Vampire Girlie; I learned about the Edward vs. Jacob feud through (and hold onto your hats folks, this is going to date me) the Buttons feature on Facebook.1 I then Wikipediaed the novel to understand what was going on, because I thought there was some kind of Victorian dandy involved. I still maintain that the name Edward is a great one that has been ruined by Vampire proximity, but I digress.
I’m not against vampires, per se. They are a magical creature, and I am very into magic and magical creatures doing magical creature things. I just didn’t get *these* vampires. Intellectually, I got it - deep teenaged feelings, repressed longing, not knowing how to express any of it. Great, sure. This storyline?…I couldn’t connect to it. I thought all of the characters were idiots, honestly. It didn’t help that culturally, Twilight was everywhere and I was in the perfect age demographic to be marketed for it: teen girls. My inherent stubbornness refused to be swayed.
I did try reading it, once. My brother brought home a well-worn copy from a high school swim trip, having borrowed it from a classmate because he forgot to bring a book for the plane ride.2 I swiped it, opened its tattered cover to see what the fuss was about, and…I didn’t make it past the first page. The writing was awful, and I truly could not understand what was going on. So I threw it to the side and developed a dislike for any fiction popularized in the press. If it was popular, it must be Twilight quality, right?3 Mad at the cultural predominance of the Teen Vampire brigades, I swore to hate all Vampires forevermore. I will concede that the movies produced some iconic memes, though.
So this is to say, no: I haven’t fully read Twilight. I haven’t read Dracula. I got real mad when I had a good vampire dream - something that could be worked into a story - but the market was too saturated and I deemed it unusable to my chagrin.4
I also have a personal bone to pick with vampires: they’re super pale. Why is this a problem, you ask? I am super pale. I don’t tan. I look like a porcelain doll on a good day, and when I’m actually sick? I’m a step above a corpse. Every day of my childhood, my mother would tell me how pale I looked. I don’t do well at the beach, and am religious about applying sunscreen every 2 hours because I AM PALE. My poor little delicate sunflower skin will burn. I heavily take after my Slavic ancestors, and they said no soup for you in the melanin department. So I have been compared to a vampire, endlessly, since I was a kid. And because of said stubborn nature, I wanted as far away from it as humanly possible.
For all of these reasons, I’ve lurked on the edge of Vampire lore for some time now, refusing to be drawn in. Appreciating Buffy, sure, but no further than that. Until I learned about Carmilla.
Carmilla was written in 1872 by Irish author Sheridan Le Fanu, a male Irish author who I was convinced was a woman until I started writing this. Carmilla predates Dracula by 25 years, and while there were vampire stories that lived in myth and folklore beforehand, Carmilla was the first that crystallized these stories into a dedicated genre. Once you know the story of Carmilla, it’s easy to see how Bram Stoker was inspired by it - many of the same parallels and themes run throughout both novels.
I don’t exactly remember where I saw this come up, but when I saw the words ‘lesbian,’ ‘vampire,’ and ‘pre-Dracula’ all in a sentence, I was intrigued. I wasn’t into the straight vampires, clearly. But lesbian vampires? I could be into that, I reasoned. It showed up in Buffy, and as common knowledge goes, anything on Buffy is good and right and correct.
It’s a short read, and it’s very, very Gothic. Think - castle in the middle of nowhere, mysterious pale people who swoon with too much exertion, long flowing hair, mysterious letters and visitors in the night. Spoilers ahead. The crux of the whole story is the characters not realizing that - gasp!- a woman could possibly be the villain. In a surprising turn of events, there are characters who realize what’s going on, and the climax involves the men folk hunting down the evil lady vampire who is sleeping in her coffin, fangs still drenched with blood.
The lesbian undertones are strong: the main protagonist is a young woman, and the vampire in question, Carmilla, is masquerading as a poor, desperate ward just in need of some love and care! She survived a carriage accident after all! Of course the men were going to take her in. And hey! Our protagonist gets a companion. “Companion.” Wink wink, nudge nudge. The two women proceed to spend almost every waking moment together, and soon, our protagonist starts to waste away.
Part of my surprise of learning that this was written by a man was how realistically the female friendship was drawn. It wasn’t overblown or dramatic - it was a quiet portrayal of what two women would have done at the time: walked, eaten, read together. Their conversations were deep and they related to each other in a way that no one else could understand. Who wouldn’t want that? Sure, the men folk still have to say the day, but it’s 1872. What else did you expect? But the sensuality and mystique of the lady vampire continues through to present day. If you’re looking for a more researched deep-dive, YouTuber Jessica Kellgren-Fozer has a good video breakdown. My job is Book, so I shall leave the multimedia up to her.
I hadn’t intended to get a second Carmilla edition. The first is bloody beautiful enough. (Pun absolutely intended.) But a few weeks ago, I was perusing Belmont Books and stumbled upon this gorgeous graphic edition and obviously needed to acquire it. If I had been better at planning, this would have been done sometime during October and prime Spooky season. But I’m not called the Chaotic Reader for nothing.
The graphic edition of Carmilla is based off of the original story, but is set in 1990s New York City. The protagonist, Athena, is a Chinese American woman, and is in a committed relationship with her partner, Morgan. This, too, was a quick read, but what I loved about this edition was the integration of Chinese vampires into the story. Athena steals the original edition of Carmilla from the library to try to figure out who has been murdering a string of young women. The AIDS epidemic is rife, and there’s a sultry club worker named Violet who may or may not be involved. The imagery is striking, and the story echoes the original Carmilla: trying to find connection in a world that doesn’t understand you. The subject of women tossed aside and ignored by society was also a focal point.
I will say: if you’ve read the original Carmilla, I’m not sure I’d get a second edition. I basically knew what was going to happen from the get go - the graphic version is essentially a retelling. However, it ended with the introduction of Chinese vampire hunters, and that I was super thrilled by. I finished by screeching, “Where’s the sequel??” (There better be a sequel)
If you remember this, go take some Motrin for your back.
Which is why when I travel I always have at least 3 books on me, better death than to be caught in this situation.
I’m a pretentious asshole at times, and I have fully disabused myself of this notion by now.
It involved blood types and a lesbian cult and Arlington National Cemetery and the CIA. It was lit, and I still hold out hope that I can sell it as a screenplay one day.