Tag Archives: vampire fiction

Reviews: The Red Sacrament

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The Red Sacrament,
Sara Hinkley,
Titan Books,
Paperback,
ISBN: 9781835410820

It’s Paris, 1869, an era when this most famous of cities is claiming its title as “the city of light”; the new Haussmann boulevards, enormous department stores like the famous Au Printemps dazzle with size, light and sheer range of goods, the pavement cafes bustle, the opera and theatres are busy, the many new squares and garden spaces are lined with flaneurs, and the new gas lighting illuminates everything.

This is not entirely to the taste of our main protagonist, Arnault, who runs the small Théâtre Saint-Siméon , tucked away from these elegant, wide, new streets. It is an unusual venue, where one cannot purchase a ticket – instead black tickets are distributed out among certain sections of society, free of charge, and many are keen to obtain one. How does the theatre sustains itself with no box office, you may ask? It transpires the cast has, shall we say, other methods of obtaining an income, and that income is only secondary to something else they require more urgently: blood.

Yes, this is a theatre of vampiric actors and singers and jugglers; some have only been undead a few years, others performed their stage trade at the open-air fairs of the old Paris, centuries before. Arnault himself is the oldest; a monk and scribe once upon a time, chosen by a pale nobleman to become his painter apprentice. Despite his centuries of existence, he maintains the low, careful profile for himself and his troupe, and truth be told, he takes little interest in the events of the outside world, which tend to surprise him when he notices, giving him a slightly grumpy old man aura, despite his youthful appearance, as he mutters about everything changing around him, as the Modern Era really starts to show.

(Portrait of Clémentine, Mrs Alphones, by Henri Lehmann, in the collection of the Minneapolis Institute of Art, the original artwork the book cover design is based on)

Into this fairly static existence – select pieces to perform, rehearse, put on a season on the stage, arrange the usual bribes and covering charges, putting aside takings from their victims into a pool that accrues interest for these immortals over the years – disruption is about to arrive, partly in the form of something unusual. Not just two new vampires from another country (from the New World, the islands of the Caribbean!), but a brother and sister, both vampires, both beautiful, elegant, happy in this new world of artificial lights, masked balls, operas and department stores where they can buy whatever they desire.

The other disruption bearing down on them, almost unnoticed at first – such is Arnault’s disinterest in the wider world – is history itself. As anyone familiar with European history will be aware, this is the era of the Franco-Prussian War, which the French assumed they would win easily, but in fact lead to a humiliating defeat, a long siege of Paris itself (the infamous one where the restaurants butchered the zoo animals and served them in fine sauces as food became scarcer), the surrender of territory and the establishment of what would become a united Germany (laying the groundwork for all the alliances and grievances which would lead to disaster in 1914). How do the citizens deal with the cold and hunger or a months-long siege? And how do vampires sustain themselves when their prey is harder to find at night, and what they find is mostly weak and starving?

(The Siege of Paris, 1870, by Jean-Louis Ernest Meissonier)

There are obvious nods to the queen of vampire fiction, Anne Rice – her sequel to the now iconic Interview With the Vampire, The Vampire Lestat, also boasted an exclusive theatre in Paris run by vampires, and both are clearly paying homage to the famous, or infamous, real Théâtre de Grand Guignol, which was a fixture in the city’s demi-monde for many decades. And while Rice fans (myself included) will find some familiar material here, this is, I am happy to report, its own beast, albeit one Rice fans will enjoy, I think. Sumptuous descriptions of the new, improved Paris, and especially of the styles of the period (Hinkley herself is a costume designer for film and stage) are rich, and it all comes with a nice sense of the Gothic.

Add in a witch from a backward, rural part of France (not even touched by “the iron rail”, as Arnault refers to the trains), this young, new vampire brother and sister who they know next to nothing about (exciting new friends? It has been decades since they last saw a new vampire visit the city. Or are they a threat to their comfortably carved out existence?), a potential queer romance as Arnault finds himself, despite his normal reticence to anything new, towards Victor, the visiting male vampire, who in turns seems quite taken with Arnault (unlike his sister who seems to disdain the entire group), and then the historical siege, and you have a rich, Gothic, romantic, bloody stew to enjoy, which also makes gentle commentaries on ageing, on the nature of change and moving on.

The Red Sacrament was published by Titan in July; this review was originally penned for The Shoreline of Infinity

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Reviews: The Vourdalak

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The Vourdalak,
Directed by Adrien Beau,
Starring Kacey Mottet Klein, Ariane Labed, Grégoire Colin, Vassili Schneider, Gabriel Pava, Claire Duburcq

It’s the traditional dark and stormy night, as the foppish Marquis Jacques Antoine Saturnin d’Urfé, an aristocratic envoy of the king of France (complete with powdered wig and painted face) batters on a formidable door, seeking aid. His escort has been slaughtered by bandits, his baggage and horses stolen. The man within only peers out through a slatted grille – he informs the Marquis that he opens this door for no-one after dark (shades of classic Hammer films, the villagers locked up at night, terrified), but he does at least advise him to travel on (without stopping) through the night to the home of the venerable Gorcha, who will assist him.

Left with no choice, the Marquis (Kacey Mottet Klein, playing him just like the fish out of water that he is, more suited to the meaningless rituals of court life than traversing the wilds) does as instructed. As the new day breaks he comes across a couple of figures as he wanders through the forest, a mysterious, beautiful woman, Sdenka(Ariane Labed), and then Piotr (Vassili Schneider), who turn out to be the daughter and son of Gorcha’s household. In reaching their home, the oldest brother, a gruff man called Jegor (Grégoire Colin), hears his pleas, and despite not being the friendliest, agrees to assist him, but he will have to wait a day for a horse.

This is a household with a missing patriarch, however – Gorcha himself is absent, and Jegor, the oldest son, is trying to fill in as best he can, although his younger sibling are clearly chafing at his attempts to be as tough and hard-line as their venerable father. Gorcha has left to hunt down Turkish bandits, but left an ominous warning to his family: he would return inside six days. If he returned even an hour after those six days, then it is not him, but a Vourdalak that returns, and on no account should they give it admittance to the home, no matter how much it may sound like him, or what it says.

While Piotr, Sdenka and Jegor’s wife Anja (Claire Duburcq) seem to believe in this warning, Jegor is scornful of such superstitions, asking the Marquis, as an educated man, how anyone can believe such nonsense. As they eat at an outdoor table, they spot a fallen, emaciated body by the edge of the woods, which turns out to be their father. The others are all apprehensive – it is just past the six day deadline, but Jegor tells them off for their concerns, and angrily demands how long could their poor father have lain there without them noticing?

Of course he is brought to the table then into the home – after all, if the warnings had been followed, there wouldn’t be much of a story, would there?? And despite looking very much like a barely animated cadaver, Gorcha still commands obedience – this is a very patriarchal society, and he is in charge, and that’s it – despite all their fears the others all fall into line, setting up the events of the second half of the film.

I’ve been looking forward to seeing this since first hearing of some excited reviews from the film festival circuit, and, being an old Gothic Fiend, I have long been familiar with the short 1839 story by Aleksey Tolstoy which inspired it. Predating Stoker’s Dracula by half a century, this draws far more on the then-common legends of vampiric-type creatures, which were often little more than revenants, reanimated corpses which usually rose at night to feed on their families and neighbours, miles away from the debonair, castle-dwelling, Satanic lord of the Dracula model (inspired by Byron, and Polidori’s “The Vampyre”), which is more common in cinema.

This has a much more folk-horror feel to it, appropriately, given the source material draws on those eastern European myths of vampires that so fascinated the salons of early 19th century Europe (then as now, our culture seems very drawn to these nocturnal blood-drinkers, and cinema has been in love with them almost from its beginnings). The low budget is no bar here – a nice, remote, rural location and small but effective cast is made to work well on that wee budget, while the use of Super 16MM film adds to the stylish look.

And then there is the Vourdalak itself – no CGI, no actor in make-up here, instead the undead Gorcha (voiced by director Beau himself) is a puppet, a marionette. And an incredibly effective device this proves to be – I mean, sure, there are a couple of scenes where it looks odd, but that adds to the charm of this piece, beside which, given it is portraying a supernatural creature, that oddness actually works in its favour, I think. Most of the time though I found using the puppet approach worked brilliantly (it also clearly gives the actors something to react to, enhancing their performances).

This is both innovative and unusual, while also paying homage to classic horrors (not least Hammer), and working in folk-horror into its stylish, intriguing mix. A fabulous new entry into the vampire film genre for fans to sink their fangs into – best watched after dark, with just a few candles on!

The Vourdalak is released on digital platforms from September 16th.

This review was originally penned for Live For Films

Reviews: lush, erotic, Gothic fantasy in A Dowry of Blood

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A Dowry of Blood,
S.T. Gibson,
Orbit Books,
Hardback,
Published October 2022

My in-built book radar started pinging as soon as I was offered a sniff at this book, and I am happy to report that instinct is still steering me to books I find I absolutely love. Fair disclaimer at the start: a lifelong Gothic fiend, I am a sucker for a good vampire tale, although to be fair, that also means having read a lot of them, I can also be quite critical – as with, say, fantasy, it can be too easy for new novels to simply trade on well-worn generic tropes. Which makes me all the more delighted when I find one which is taking a fresh angle (while still maintaining a number of the elements you would expect), and, even better, that approach also has a lot of socio-cultural relevance to debates in our own contemporary society.

Constanta is a simple peasant girl in Eastern Europe; her family and village are all but wiped out in an attack, while she is abused and left for dead – until he shows up, like carrion, attracted to the leftovers of the slaughter field. This darkly handsome, powerful nobleman offers her a choice – she has to ask him, he will not compel her (shades of Louis and Lestat) – an offer of a new life of power and privilege, or to slip away into the darkness, just another anonymous victim of another small battle, which history is sadly replete with.

It isn’t much of a choice, and unsurprisingly Constanta chooses life – in her case immortal life – and her battered, abused body heals itself, raising her from certain death, and, satisfyingly, allowing this previously powerless peasant woman the overwhelming strength to take revenge on those who harmed her and cut down all those she knew and loved, while at the same time quenching her new-born thirst for human blood.

In the following chapters we see Constanta settle into her new life – her noble husband, centuries old (a serious spin on the older man / younger woman dynamic!) seems so sophisticated to her, wise, well-read, intellectually curious, so keen to look after her and make her happy. We see, from Constanta’s perspective, the passing of years and centuries, of the two settling into a life together, both domestic and, of course, vampiric, the home scenes contrasting with the depictions of the pair hunting and feeding on humans across various European centuries

Cracks start to appear in her husband’s mask though – his temper, a callous, arrogant streak he tries to keep hidden beneath his cultivated persona. She slowly, across time, comes to realise he used his greater age, experience, power and wealth to impress her when she was most vulnerable and impressionable. Like many in such relationships, she often convinces herself this is all in her mind, or if something offends him, it must be her fault (and he is an expert in ensuring she does – this man could use the entire North Sea supply for his gaslighting).

Across the decades, then centuries she starts to see him more for what he is, as their family grows – a second ‘wife’ with the strong-willed Spanish noblewoman, Magdalena, who challenges him intellectually as well as physically, and much later, Alexi, a young Russian. They become, in effect, his harem, there to satisfy him, and god forbid they act outside his precious rules and wants. This creates an interesting dynamic, not just between the lord and his harem, but between the three of them, Alexi, Magdalena and Constanta.

As the ‘original’ (she finds that there were in fact some before her, who have vanished) Constanta feels, understandably slighted by these later additions, but at the same time, she also feels a kinship – I found this far more realistic and satisfying emotionally, more like real groups of friends and families, the push and pull of love and jealously, possessing but also wanting to be possessed, while other times desiring freedom. And then there’s the sex, centuries of sex; male, female, bi, in a group or pairs, wonderfully lush and erotic – even in later years as Constanta questions everything in their lives, the sex and the hunting as shared and enjoyed and binds them together. The eroticism hinted at in the likes of Interview With the Vampire is out here in full, earthy form.

The story is written from Constanta’s perspective, as if she is writing a series of letters to her husband, who is never named, a deliberate choice, I am sure, and a part of her, now older, wiser, more assured, coming into her own power and realising she doesn’t have to be what he wants, that she can be herself, make her own choices. Dowry drips in deliciously decadent High Gothic, sensual, erotic, dark; it doesn’t shy from serious subjects like spousal abuse and male abuse of privilege either, all areas we’ve all been increasingly aware of in recent years (as we should be), or why some remain so long in such relationships, and I think this very much added to the novel’s power and in drawing the reader into it emotionally.

A deliciously decadent, erotic romp in some places, a darkly, deeply emotional tale in other places, as much a tale of a survivor of abuse as it is vampiric novel, nodding its head to Bluebeard or the 1970s films like The Velvet Vampire, as much as the influential Anne Rice Vampire Chronicles. Perfect reading for the dark autumn and winter nights.

This review was originally penned for Shoreline of Infinity