Chels
Sheridan Le Fanu’s Carmilla (1872) is an early and hugely influential work of vampire literature, written 25 years before Dracula, and said to have partially inspired Bram Stoker’s work. The novella establishes some of the key conventions of vampire lore, as well as influencing the portrayal of lesbians in fiction. Based on its reputation, I imagined Carmilla would be an intimidating read, but I was pleasantly surprised.
Even though I knew it was a novella, I imagined Carmilla to be much longer than it was. Instead, Fanu tells the story in just 16 short chapters. I also expected, considering the other works of literature from the 19th century, that it would be particularly complex or wordy, and again, I was wrong. The writing style was remarkably simple – to the point that I worried I’d picked up a modern translation. I really loved the narration – the tone was very matter-of-fact and direct, and it really worked in characterising Laura, the narrator and victim of the tale.
Laura is a young girl who lives with her father in a castle in Styria, Austria. Her mother died when she was very young (a fact that I assumed would play a part in the plot, but doesn’t), and she makes it clear that they are not particularly wealthy or titled, but that their small income afforded them the castle, which lay miles from any significant towns. The gothic setting is quickly established – here we have a young, isolated woman, a large home in the middle of nowhere, and an early introduction to death. Our villains are quickly introduced, too, in a way that I found quite funny, although that could just be a product of the 150 years between publication and my reading. The introduction of Carmilla and her mother reads as incredibly theatrical, almost tongue in cheek, although I wonder if it was intended and received as such in the 19th century. Perhaps it was an early trope that has become cliche? I really found the early chapters of the novella to be funny in terms of their familiarity, I think the kind of tropes and plot devices used in Carmilla have become so commonplace that in modern media they almost feel like parody.
Carmilla is able to bewitch Laura very quickly, taking only a few words to manipulate the situation they find themselves in. Laura and her father agree to take care of Carmilla for three months while her mother travels, and the two girls quickly become close. In this developing relationship, we see romance and fear become intertwined. I was surprised with how explicitly sapphic Carmilla is – featuring kisses and touches between the young women. The intimacy in Carmilla is often followed by conflict, be that an argument or moment of fear for Laura. In her childhood, Laura had a nightmare in which she saw Carmilla’s face, which the girls assume to be a connection between them early on, although this becomes much more suspicious when an old portrait of a distant ancestor of Laura’s, Countess Mircalla Karnstein, is returned after restoration and looks exactly like Carmilla. Carmilla notes that she is also distantly related to the Karnstein family, which should explain the resemblance. Here we see two more staples of vampire fiction – an immortal figure, and a vampire with the title of Count or Countess.
The novella then reveals that women in the town have been dying of a mysterious illness. They claim to have nightmares, then become weaker and weaker until they pass away. Around this time, Laura’s nightmares return. In one dream, a black, catlike beast haunts her bedroom, and she feels the same feeling she did as a child – that of being bitten, just above her breast. The doctor is summoned, and he and Laura’s father talk of medicine and magic, and how the supernatural can explain what science cannot. It is the doctor who suggests that the illness plaguing the town is actually a vampire. Following this conversation, Carmilla is discovered to be missing.
Of course, Carmilla can’t be the vampire that has been plaguing the town since around the time of her arrival, as she sleeps in a completely locked and secure room. How, then, did she go missing? Eventually she is found, claiming to have been asleep in her (locked) wardrobe for the entire time. Suspicion begins to fall on Carmilla.
Laura had been expecting the arrival of a girl around her age before Carmilla’s arrival, however her uncle, the General, wrote to Laura’s father to report that Bertha had suddenly taken ill and died. The General visits their castle and tells the story of Millarca. At a masquerade ball, a mysterious woman claims to be an old friend of the General. With her is her daughter, Millarca, who becomes close with Bertha after only a few short minutes. The woman then has to leave in a hurry, and, much like the woman at the beginning of the story, leaves Millarca in the General’s care for three weeks. Bertha quickly became ill, and reported dreams of a strange black creature and Millarca in her bedroom at night before she died. From this point, the mystery is pieced together, and Carmilla ends by acknowledging earlier vampire mythos – the way to kill a vampire for good is to cut off their head, or drive a stake through their heart.
I was surprised by how much I enjoyed Carmilla. Of course, I hoped to enjoy it, but a story about a predatory, monstrous lesbian antagonist written by a man in the 19th century had the potential to disappoint. Fanu handled the subject matter well, creating a compelling victim and a compelling villain. I can see why Carmilla is so beloved in queer and horror circles, and I think it’s a Halloween must-read.
