eating cucumbers without permission...

Notes on literary vampires in general, and “Interview with the Vampire” in particular.

Potted History

Folkloric vampires were ugly, ghoulish things; there’s little similarity with modern vampiric figures. They were typically creatures that came out of the dark to suck blood (or eat kidneys, or whatever), but ideas of human resurrection and immortality didn’t become necessary until much later.

Long fangs didn’t become a staple until later, apparently; alas, the peasants had to make do without phallic interpretations of the vampiric act. However did they cope?

John Polidori’s Lord Ruthven, in what is seen as the first vampire novel, was based more on Byron than on bestial myth; Byron was known for his good looks and amorous escapades, and, as a vampire, cut quite the romantic figure. There’s no natural evolution from “shambling animalistic cannibal demon” to “suave Don Juan demon”.

See also “dark romanticism”.

The figure of the aristocratic vampire was adopted in the penny dreadful novels — “Varney the Vampire”, etc., and became a genre staple. The first really literarily impressive vampire was Sheridan le Fanu’s “Carmilla”, who — as the name suggests — was female. It focused on the seduction of other girls; i.e., it more than just hinted at lesbianism, nudge nudge wink wink.

(Also: Carmilla was Eastern European: can we blame le Fanu for Dracula’s accent? )

Dracula became the quintessential vampire: a powerful, darkly erotic aristocrat living in a dank European castle.

“Interview with the Vampire” was published in 1976 to moderate success. The sequel wasn’t published until 1985, and perhaps only because, by then, the original had attained cult status and become a bestseller. The sequels are arguably not worth reading anyway, or, at least, “Interview” needs to be viewed as distinct from the rest. Rice added flight, telepathy and tolerance to sunlight as abilities of powerful vampires; the magical superabundance overwhelms the balance with realism. The addition of a vampire origin story destroys much of the original’s mystique.

Rice’s vampires were almost as much a paradigm shift from Dracula as the lordly Dracula-type was from his bestial predecessors. They weren’t distant, sinister villains; they were almost human, with almost-human problems. Readers were encouraged to empathise with Louis! Perhaps most importantly, they were fairly well-integrated into human society, rather than preying on it like giant bats. Without Anne Rice, no Buffy. Arguably, Louis has challenged Dracula for the title of quintessential vampire.

No origin of vampires givin in “Interview”, providing a tremendous sense of mystery. There’s no link to the shambling, ghoulish Eastern European vampires Louis and Claudia encounter; they’re not creatures of the devil (there is no devil!); they’re just a mystery, just a natural phenomenon.

Rice removes some of Dracula’s characteristics: turning into bats, say, but most notably the traditional methods for defeating the vampire, like holy water or a stake through the heart. Her vampires are superhuman, need to sleep in coffins at night, and drink blood to live, but that’s about it.

There’s no religious influence. Crosses do nothing. Holy water does nothing. Louis enters the church, full of trepidation, and… nothing happens.

Most subsequent vampire fiction has been based on Rice, with a trend towards romanticising the vampire lifestyle. Louis was at least desperately unhappy; the vampires of “Vampire: the Masquerade” and “Underworld” are certainly not. The idea of immortality is attraction enough even without Kate Beckinsale in a leather corset…

“Buffy: the Vampire Slayer” is actually a step backwards, I think; the idea that vampires are demon-possessed corpses, made good only by giving them back a “soul”, rendered moot all of the interesting questions about their humanity or lack thereof.

OMG Sex!

Vampirism is a metaphor for sex, didn’t you know?

Take, for example, the vampire-as-seducer Don Juan analogue. Lestat in “Interview with the Vampire”, enjoying the thrill of the seduction, making the victim’s realization all the more terrible. Is the seducer condemned, or a sympathetic figure? (”Oh, what an empty life… I wish it were mine.“)

Vampire Don Juan doesn’t literally seduce his victims; it’s their blood he’s interested in suckling. It’s sexual by connotative association. Either way, it’s hard to deny the inherent eroticism in nibbling on a young woman’s neck.

Vampire fangs can be interpreted as phallic, I suppose, but it’s a stretch. Better to say that the power-relation connotations of the sexual act (e.g., that the male is less vulnerable — that penetration is, perhaps, invasion) carry over to the vampiric act. It’s about power more than sex, but that view sees sex as more about power.

It’s important that this sexuality is transgressive, as in most gothic literature. Sapphic Carmilla was shocking then, but now? Vampiric sexuality transcends gender boundaries, and homosexuality is mainstream. It’s no longer transgressive, so they need to dig deeper. “Interview with the Vampire” introduces pederastic overtones (Louis ♥ Claudia); “Buffy the Vampire Slayer” touches on the wrongness of a pairing between ancient vampire Angel and young vampire-slayer Buffy. Laurell K. Hamilton adds orgies, bondage, domination, furry fetishism and more.

It’s possible that transgressive literature of this sort serves a vital function: moral boundaries are fictionally tested so the reader doesn’t feel the urge to act out in reality. Ultimately, moral boundaries are cemented. Of course, it’s impossible to say whether or not vicarious transgression promotes it in real life; it’s equally possible that it’s damaging and immoral.

At any rate, the reader is supposed to feel disturbed. If the relationships seem fine and dandy, it hasn’t done its job.

Qualitative difference between drinking animal blood and drinking human blood highlights importance of transgression. We don’t care how many fuzzy kittens Louis eats, but Eating People Is Wrong. For the story to work, Louis must be forced to abandon humanity.

There are other ways of reading it, of course.

Almost Darwinistic association of eroticism and reproductive power with eternal life. The erotic connotates sexual reproduction, and the vampire’s ability to “turn” others with a bite is a potent form of reproduction itself.

Blood equals power? By taking blood, the vampire takes life and power for itself.

Can use as metaphor for money, as with Marx’s comments on capital. It works surprisingly well when extended to the rest of the vampire folklore. Those whose lifeblood is taken out by capitalist forces become bloodsuckers themselves (the free market analogy); Christian charity (the cross, holy water) coexists uneasily with the capitalist philosophy; and, I don’t know, I’m sure you can come up with something to explain the coffin and the bat…

Humanist

Popularity of vampire novels partly because of the spiritual signification. One aspect of modernity is a struggle between a new scientific rationalism and an antiquated spiritual past. Vampires recoil from crosses and are burned by holy water — they signify Satanism, so their very existence affirms the Christian religion. They’re holy by inversion.

It’s about spiritual yearning in a materialistic age.

This is another area where “Interview with the Vampire” was a departure from its predecessors, in that there’s no religious aspect at all. Crosses have no effect. Nothing happens when Louis goes into the church.

“God did not live in this church; these statues gave an image to nothingness. I was the supernatural in this cathedral. I was the only supermortal thing that stood conscious under this roof! Loneliness. Loneliness to the point of madness. The cathedral crumbled in my vision; the saints listed and fell. Rats ate the Holy Eucharist and nested on the sills. A solitary rat with an enormous tail stood tugging and gnawing at the rotted altar cloth until the candlesticks fell and rolled on the slime-covered stones. And I remained standing. Untouched.”

Vampires aren’t demonic, they’re… natural. Granted, sleeping in coffins and drinking blood is odd, but there’s no religious aspect to it.

Despite Lestat talking about differences between vampire nature and human nature, the characters are recognizably human. More human than not, at any rate. The philosophy is an existentialist one: vampires are, like humans, unexplained and unexplainable.

Family

The domestic trio of Louis, Lestat and Claudia are a twisted play on normal conceptions of family. They’re the Addams Family. They cohere by a shared sense of social rejection.

Lestat turns Claudia to ensure Louis’ commitment to their union — familiar marital situation? It’s often enough that couples stay together only for the sake of the child(ren).