What is the best way to condemn lesbianism? Write a vampire story with such sapphic yearning that queer people will still read it centuries later.

Carmillla has lingered on my reading list for a long time. I have been aware of it, in the margins, as a story of predatory lesbianism in the guise of vampirism, I have heard it lauded as an influential work, and I’ve seen it adapted as queer media, such as the web series of the same name. I do not believe it is necessary for me to make the disclaimer that I am viewing this from a modern perspective, as I am not, with varying dismay, a time traveller. I initially wrote here contemporary perspective, but this may insinuate I indeed possess such an ability as to have been present at the time of publication, and thus the English language baffles me once more. Regardless, I cannot help but wonder how Le Fanu’s queer contemporaries felt when they read this. Did they despise it for its predatory aspect or did they set it aside and relate to the protagonist’s inner struggle? Perhaps the perception of Carmilla as a narrative of destructive sapphic lust is lessened by the prevalence of toxic romance in current literature. Or, perhaps, we are just simple people who want lesbian vampires, leave us be.

The novel itself is a fairly smooth read. Although sentences are oddly constructed at times, the language is, no doubt, beautiful. Whether it means to or not, Carmilla offers a critique of classism with its dismissal of poor victims, a subversion of gender roles with a female villain, and an exploration of female desire unusual for its time. All this with a dash of Gothic gloom and isolation and, well, vampires. Its concept of vampire also differs from modern day depictions, which has rekindled my fascination with vampiric lore, which, on second thought, has never been un-kindled. The tone of the story straddles the edge between sensual and eerie, as captivated fluster spirals into a feverish nightmare. Occasionally, the dramatic dialogue and Laura’s inner monologue, her denial especially, come across as amusing to the modern reader—with which I, indeed, mean me. Carmilla was initially a serialised publication. If I was a time traveller and had to wait for the ending, I fear I would have been disappointed. The General telling his story with no interruption from our protagonist. The short confrontation. The lacklustre wind-down. The end of sapphic yearning. With a sudden influx of characters at the end, Laura felt like a side character in her own story. Verily, I did not care for all the men there. Simply unnecessary.

Despite the intended analogy between sapphic desire and supernatural predation—a sentence I never thought I would write— I enjoyed this story. I do not presume to know how the author would feel about its popularity nowadays, if his views were more moderate than is believed, or the queer interest in his work would have him turning in his grave, the latter of which would catapult this novel into non-fiction. Regardless, one cannot deny Carmilla’s role in establishing the lesbian vampire trope, which I will gladly read more of.

The hound of Baskervilles used to scare me as a child, although it is but a vague recollection and I cannot recall which adaption I watched. Regardless, it was interesting to read the source material. The book is less frightful but does carry an eerie atmosphere which I would ascribe mainly to the isolated setting of the moors, a gothic staple truly. The story was engaging and quirkier than I thought it would be. The flow, however, was halted by its format, with the letters in the middle and the recap at the end. I do enjoy when a mystery is suffused with the unsettling suggestion of a supernatural explanation, although I felt the narrative did not lean into this much. This novel definitely has a plethora of ideological issues. I could have done without the many references to phrenology and its racist connotations, as well as the self-aggrandizing classism, and its bizarre depiction of women.

I had no idea what to expect of this book, other than some vague premise gathered from past literature classes, but it was not the telenovela of classics. I jest, of course. Minor spoilers in this.

I struggled a bit in the first chapter, but once I reached the intradiegetic narrator, Nelly, it proved to be a far smoother read. The story was wild and dramatic, the writing witty, and it managed to keep my attention fairly well. It was definitely not the most pleasant tale, rampant with anguish, violence, and death. It appeared, to me, at it’s core, a story of intergenerational trauma and flawed love, with its setting providing a further sense of isolation—and incest. The racism aimed at Heathcliff was abhorrent, and the abuse unacceptable, yet his revenge results in cruelty towards the wrong people. He perpetuates violence in his treatment of Hareton and Cathy, and even his own child. It seemed only just that he is haunted by them, and their resemblance to Catherine, towards the end. The book ends on a more hopeful note for the new generation.

Throughout the novel, I often found myself pondering the different layers of unreliable narration. Lockwood, at one point, states that this is the condensed version (!) of Nelly’s account of the events. While it is easy to condemn Nelly for her disdain towards Catherine and Heathcliff and her role in their history, it is, nonetheless, interesting to consider her position as well. She is around the same age as them, fostered in their home, and an apparent close confidante, yet she is a servant. Heathcliff was brought into the house and raised in status which likely fueled her resentment. Furthermore, she was twice placed in the role of mother without the actual power to decide the children’s fate.

Overall, I enjoyed this book, its intensity and clever writing. The unreliability of the narrators meant questioning the validity of the account. I, therefore, found myself watching the events unfold rather than getting attached to any of the characters. Although, at times, the narrative dragged a little, I generally veered between enjoying the drama and being horrified by it.