Posts Tagged ‘vampire’

Stop Thinking, Start Living (Richard A. Carlson)

This is the recent rebranding of Carlson’s first book, You Can Be Happy Again! The premise is that all you need to do to be healed of your clinical depression and anxiety is to stop remembering that you have them. Well, actually, he starts by saying that all you really need to do is have an epiphany, but you can’t force yourself to epiphanize, so everything after the first few pages is an effort to guide you into a purposefully serendipitous experience.

For ages now I’ve been going back and forth as to whether depression is something that is inborn and I just have to put up with, like coeliac disease, or whether it’s something that is done to me, like a respiratory virus. Carlson introduces a third option – it’s something I’m doing to myself. Of course I don’t like this option because it means that I have to change, and I don’t like change.

Fortunately, Carlson gives me a lot of reasons not to listen to him. First, he attacks his entire profession. If all you have to do to cure depression is quit thinking about it, then nearly all psychotherapists are selfish gold-digging charlatans. Second, he attacks his readers as well. He keeps calling us who are depressed and seeking help for it silly and ridiculous, and he blames us for all our mental problems. Third, and clearly the most important, there are no double-blind tests or any other efforts to do quality scholarly research. Nor is there any secondary research. His points are seldom backed up by any evidence, and what evidence he presents is purely anecdotal. There is no reason for anyone with a modicum of critical thinking skills to believe anything he says. Fourth, it’s so repetitive that eventually you start to believe him just because he keeps saying the same thing over and over again.

When you stick with it and get close to the end, things get better and he starts to acknowledge that there are some traumas that really do need professional attention, and maybe some people have problems that need more than purposeful ignorance. Because, you know, it’s not always the best thing to just ignore problems and hope they go away on their own while you’re waiting for your epiphany.

This came out way bitchier than I intended. Sorry about that. This is what happens when people blame me for my problems, however justified they might be.

In the Ring (James Lear)

This author usually writes his gay porn as James Lear, and he has a real name that he uses for more reputable work. And normally I don’t write here about the erotica, but the Dan Stagg series starts to drift away from the strictly porn. Lear is focusing a lot more on story in this book, and First-Person Narrator even desists from describing a couple of sex scenes because he thinks we must be bored of reading about him fucking (we’re not). This is the third in the series – in The Hardest Thing, he was hired as a bodyguard, and in Straight Up he was solving a mystery for some of his military friends. This is much more James Bond-ish, with Stagg hired by the CIA to go undercover in a boxing/organized crime thing. Yes, there’s still some graphic sex with super-muscle-y athletes and spies, but it’s seriously de-emphasized. So, more of an action novel than a gay sex romp, but still a good quick read with some scenes that make me happy.

Black Leopard, Red Wolf (Marlon James)

This book is amazing. It’s a graphically violent horror-fantasy, so a bit Tolkien and a bit Clive Barker, but instead of being based in British mythology, it’s all Africa. So there are spirits that do all sorts of mystical stuff, sometimes called demons, and there’s some vampire content, and people turning into animals. Quest narrative with a nonstandard ending, doors that appear in midair, government corruption, evil creatures who walk on the ceiling, a girl made of blue smoke, a man who becomes a leopard, and a tracker with a powerful nose and an eye that’s borrowed from a wolf (he’s the first-person narrator).

Someone has already purchased the film rights, but I wonder. One of the main thrusts of the book is to normalize QBTIPOC, and it’s hard for me to trust people. Is he planning to make a film of this, with all the gay sex between Africans who haven’t been corrupted by nonexistent Europeans, or did he buy the rights to stop anyone else from making the movie? Just to be clear, most of the main characters are gay men, but there’s a lot of homophobia too. I mean, it’s not like American homophobia, where they call us a bundle of kindling which means that the best thing to do with a gay man is light him on fire. They just call them boy-fuckers, which is at least descriptive of what they actually do. There’s also some of that internalized homophobia where tops get more respect than bottoms, but if you look at their abilities and nonsexual actions, there’s really no difference in masculinity. As he says close to the beginning, blaming a man for which way his dick points is kind of like blaming a compass for pointing north.

People who are religious are advised to turn away, because there’s a lot of profanity, and Tracker’s favorite way of swearing is to say Fuck the gods. There’s all sorts of wishing for the gods to go get fucked, which I enjoy but you might not.

Seriously. I loved this book. It’s gripping and adventurous and paranormal and awesome. It’s supposed to be first in an upcoming trilogy, so that’s going to be great. I recognize that it’s not for everyone, but it’s definitely for me.

Sacred Paths for Modern Men (Dagonet Dewr)

This is sort of like a pagan man’s Wild At Heart, the Christian book about how we should all be Braveheart. Instead of the one archetype, Dewr gives us twelve, pulling examples in a Golden Bough fashion from the classic mythologies, Greco-Roman, Egyptian, Norse, Hindu, Tolkien, and a splash of Judeo-Christian. The result is an examination of the nontoxic bits of masculinity that have always been a part of our culture but that we’ve ignored. It’s good to know that the pagan world has inspirational nonfiction, and I enjoyed this bit of it. I’m looking forward to reading more, as a sort of gearing up for the deeper study of what this community believes, searching for what I believe.

Each archetype has a couple of rituals, one for private study (often with arts and crafts projects) and one for groups. I haven’t practiced any of them yet, but it’s good to know that they’re there when I’m ready. I’m very interested in symbols, so rituals are very meaningful for me.

It’s a good book, about possibilities. The author spent a lot of time at the ManKind project, so he plugs it rather frequently. One of the things that interests me the most is that he refers to his flavor of faith as Storytelling Wicca, and that is definitely a concept I want to learn more about.

Sunshine (Robin McKinley)

I really enjoyed this book a lot. It’s a vampire novel, but instead of focusing on where vampires come from or how they die, it focuses on the fact that they are upsetting and terrifying. For me, the strongest element of the book is the examination of how we deal with trauma. Yes, there’s a little bit of sexy vampire stuff, but there’s only one good one and all the rest are represented as serial killers, which they are by necessity. I also like the fact that the old one isn’t physically stronger than everyone else, only mentally. I’ve never understood why, for vampires, age equals physical prowess.

I also appreciate the way that the protagonist has lived so long in a post-Voodoo Wars America that she doesn’t start by explaining all the differences. Things seem normal at first, then there’s mention of a bad spot, and it’s only gradually that you figure out that magic is real and security is a big business.

 

The Bone Clocks (David Mitchell)

People have been going on about this book for a while, so I finally succumbed. What a disappointment.

Mitchell’s writing is still good, and he’s still doing multiple narrators and multiple time periods and the transmigration of souls, but the outlook has become so incredibly bleak. By ending Cloud Atlas in the nineteenth century, he found a way to leave us with a feeling of hope and opportunity, but here there is nothing but People suck and then we destroy the earth and the lucky ones die. Holly Sykes, protagonist, does not suck, but she’s surrounded by really horrible people, and even though all the other narrators are kind of in love with her, it’s not really a book about love. It’s more about death and the realization that some people would become serial killers for the sake of retaining their youth. According to the interview in the back of the book, that includes the author (if he thought it would actually work).

Fun thing that you miss if you read the e-book: There’s a circle with a radius line in the header. The radius travels around the circle to make it look like a clock. The parts are roughly equal in length, but in the first part the radius travels around the clock once, in part two it goes around twice, until in part six it is moving at breakneck speed, giving the reader the sensation that time is moving faster and faster.

This might be a horrible thing to say, but by the time I got to the climax of the book I was really bored with it. Brubeck’s section about reporting on the Iraq War was emotionally difficult for me, followed by Crispin the morally repugnant author, so by the time I got to the Horologist I was really done with writers, writing, and this book. Again, it’s not the style that bothered me; it’s the content. I really enjoyed Cloud Atlas, but the other books I’ve read of his have just not lived up to that one.

 

A Destiny of Dragons (T. J. Klune)

Sequel to The Lightning-Struck Heart. Sam of Wilds is given the task to unite the five dragons and save the kingdom from an evil wizard so powerful even Randall doesn’t like to talk about him. A good bit of the book deals with Sam figuring out how to cope with prophecy and fate, asserting his right to freedom of choice. In the second part, he goes up against a scary dragon again, only to discover (again) that the dragon is a basically good person who’s been socially conditioned to respond aggressively. This dragon is an emo teenaged snake monster, so he doesn’t join the crew permanently, but he’ll be available to Sam when he needs him.

Sam now has Kevin (from the first book) and Dark (from the second book), so I’m imagining the rest of the series as continued quests to find dragons and convince them to join Team Sam. Sam also spends a good bit of the book trying to come to terms with the fact that the man he loves as a twenty-year-old will not be his for his entire life. Wizards live for hundreds of years and age slowly, so even if Ryan Foxheart survives being a knight for the length of a normal human life span, he’s still going to die an old man while Sam looks young and cute and lives forever. It’s sad, but it’s also realistic, understanding that your first relationship isn’t going to last forever. Poor Sam, but we all go through this at some point.

All the things I loved about the first book I love about the second one as well. I needed something to relax with after the Mitchell, and this was just right.

 

I haven’t felt much like writing lately. I have a lot of anxiety and anger in my personal life right now, and I am the sort of person who enlarges his mental health symptoms instead of trying to cure them. Delaying writing about books means that it’s hard for me to recapture the feelings I had when reading, so I hope you’ll forgive me if I seem distanced from my subject matter this summer.

It is a wild adventure we are on. Here, as we are rushing along through the darkness, with the cold from the river seeming to rise up and strike us, with all the mysterious voices of the night around us, it all comes home. We seem to be drifting into unknown places and unknown ways; into a whole world of dark and dreadful things.

Please don’t judge the book by the films, or the appearance of the book’s characters in television. I haven’t seen all the adaptations, but I watched Bela Lugosi’s and Gary Oldman’s performances, and while I applaud the actors, I want to strangle the writers. A love story between Mina and Dracula? It’s stupid. Eliminating Lucy’s suitors? It’s weird. What’s wrong with Stoker’s story that no one seems capable of just showing it the way he told it?

Dracula is the most violently pro-Catholic book I’ve ever read. In most Gothic texts Catholics are the enemy, what with Lewis’s monk selling his soul to the devil, and Radcliffe’s Italians being sent to the Inquisition, and Melmoth appearing in the Spanish Inquisition. Think about how racist the British were toward the Irish and the Italians – Roman Catholicism was either feared or ridiculed (I’m thinking about Villette, where the romantic lead tries to convert the protagonist and she’s just not tempted). Dracula is an ancient evil, so he has to be defeated by an equally ancient religion, though considering European history neither the man nor the church is really that ancient. Regardless, crucifixes force him away, as does the host. The Catholic Church places a lot of emphasis on the little crackers they use in Mass, because they believe it magically becomes the literal body of Jesus when it’s been prayed over. Ten years ago (last time I checked), they refused to produce a gluten-free version of the communion wafer because apparently only wheat can transubstantiate. Catholics with coeliac disease either have to poison themselves on a regular basis or self-excommunicate. Prof van Helsing uses the wafers to control Dracula and poison the ground against him.

Let’s talk for a minute about the dirt. A lot of people say that a vampire has to rest in the dirt of his homeland, or at least he has to go underground. That’s not the issue for Stoker. Dracula has to rest in consecrated ground, cemetery dirt. But if you’re going to a Protestant country, how easy is it to find a Catholic cemetery? Remember, for religions based on a priesthood that has to be conferred from one man to another like Catholics and Mormons, Protestant ceremonies don’t count. It’s only holy if one of their own does it. So when Dracula comes to England, he ships thirty boxes of proper Catholic cemetery dirt so that he can be sure of finding a resting place. Van Helsing literally poisons his dirt by putting communion wafers in the boxes, turning something holy into something repellent. As a vampire, Dracula is all topsy-turvy with the good/evil thing.

Most of Dracula’s powers are as they are in other media: turning into a bat or wolf or mist, controlling animals and mental health patients, hypnotism. But he has no trouble walking around during the day; he doesn’t get all sparkly or burst into flames or anything. He is weaker during the day and so can’t change his shape, but that’s the only effect. When Dracula is away from blood, he ages, sometimes rather quickly. Drinking blood returns his youth, even making his hair darker. The thing that always confuses me about vampires in film, though, is the way they equate age with power. Surviving several hundred years could make someone more wily, better at living through whatever trials they face, but being really old doesn’t make a person physically stronger. The ability to punch people really hard isn’t the only or most important type of power, and we never see vampires in films going to the gym to bulk up. But Dracula didn’t get smarter with age. Van Helsing describes him as having a child-brain, still experimenting with his limitations after four hundred years. It might be better to describe vampires as animals with speech – Dracula is outsmarted by a group of well-meaning idiots.

And why do I call them idiots? Because of the racism and misogyny.

Ah, that wonderful Madam Mina! She has a man’s brain – a brain that a man should have were he much gifted – and a woman’s heart. The good God fashioned her for a purpose, believe me, when He made that so good combination. Friend John, up to now fortune has made that woman of help to us; after to-night she must not have to do with this so terrible affair. It is not good that she run a risk so great.

Wilhelmina Harker is amazing. She doesn’t push hard against the restrictions placed on women in her time, but works within those limits to find fulfillment and happiness. Women can’t get a job? Okay. She finds a husband with similar interests and determines to ‘help’ him with his work. She teaches herself shorthand to help him better. Just to make that clear: She learns a second language so that she can interview her husband’s clients. She may not be a lawyer in name, but I have no doubt that she’ll have a better grasp of English Law than he does, given the time to study on her own. The men’s investigation moves forward when she’s a part of it; they suffer setbacks when they leave her out. Even though women of her social standing did not travel unattended, when her Jonathan gets sick she goes to Budapest alone to take care of him. She has an independence and resolve that society didn’t claim to value in women, though the authors of the time certainly did. Her intelligence and charisma would have ensured success in any endeavor she chose, and she chose to be a wife, probably the best-paid and most secure profession for a woman in the 1890s.

Lucy Westenra is Mina’s sleepwalking best friend. She’s more into the material, boy-chasing side of life that misogynists tend to claim is natural for a teenage girl. She gets three marriage proposals in one day, and her three suitors seem to follow the Mind-Body-Soul paradigm. They’re all three friends and have gone hunting in the Americas together. Dr Seward is the mind; he runs a mental hospital, though we’d see it more as an asylum, or torture chamber for the mentally ill. Or crazy-people jail. He and Mina are probably the most prolific narrators. Quincy Morris is the body; he’s from Texas and runs the hunting expeditions. Arthur Holmwood is the soul; he’s a gentleman of no settled profession. Of course Lucy chooses the Soul Suitor. And really, why shouldn’t she love the richest man? After his father dies, he becomes Lord Godalming. Arthur and Quincy spend a lot of time together offscreen, so it’s fun to imagine that body and soul are more into each other than they are into her, but there’s no real textual evidence for that. Lucy’s suitors are paralleled by Dracula’s three brides, the female vampires who fail to seduce Jonathan (though they do get to Keanu Reeves).

Lucy dies because of male stupidity. Seward can’t figure out why she’s sick, so he brings van Helsing over from Amsterdam. Van Helsing immediately recognizes the symptoms of blood loss and arranges for multiple transfusions, but even though he knows there’s a vampire at work he won’t tell anyone. He fills Lucy’s room with garlic and crosses and tries to keep her room closed at night, but he doesn’t tell anyone why, so her mother clears all that shit out and keeps the window open. If he had just talked to people about what was going on, she could have been saved. Instead, on the night her wedding was planned, she comes to her not-yet-husband as a vampire and he stakes her. The staking releases her soul from torment and she becomes good again, just before they cut her head off and stuff the mouth with garlic. Arthur makes a comparison between the blood transfusion and sex, trying to comfort himself that at least he had that satisfaction, but he doesn’t know that she got blood from nearly every male character in the book, making her probably the most visibly promiscuous girl in Victorian literature.

Isolation is Dracula’s greatest weapon. Getting people alone gives him his best opportunity to prey on them. The female isolation in this book is just baffling. People were talking about “The Surplus Woman Problem,” because Englishmen were sent all over the world to fight in wars and extort resources from the colonies while women were expected to just stay at home. This led to an extreme gender imbalance on the English homefront, and explains why Victorian novels are full of older women who never married. They were considered surplus, extra, unnecessary and unwanted, old maids. There’s a convent in Budapest where the nuns nurse Jonathan and facilitate his marriage to Mina, there are those three vampire women who never leave Transylvania, but there are really only three female characters in the book, and Lucy’s mother is very minor. So, for about half the book, Mina is the only real female character, surrounded by seven men. It’s just not realistic.

Then again, that does leave us plenty of time to explore male homosocial bonding.

I comforted him as well as I could. In such cases men do not need much expression. A grip of the hand, the tightening of an arm over the shoulder, a sob in unison, are expressions of sympathy dear to a man’s heart.

I read a theory once that Dracula is about internalized homophobia, a representation of Stoker’s fear that he might be gay. It’s an interesting theory, but I don’t see a lot of evidence for it. Vampiric activity is highly sexualized in a we-can’t-talk-about-sex kind of way, which makes it disturbing that female vampires seem to prefer children even though they can hypnotize men and enforce their cooperation. Among adults, vampires bite people of the opposite sex; Dracula is a rapist, but he’s not a gay rapist. He plans to leave Jonathan Harker to the ladies, but he doesn’t bite the man himself. The staking is also highly sexual (curing a woman’s rape trauma by fucking her properly?), with Arthur doing Lucy and van Helsing doing all three of Dracula’s brides. When it comes to killing Dracula, Jonathan cuts his head off without staking him to the ground first; it denies him spiritual peace by not returning his soul, and it reasserts Jonathan’s heterosexuality because men don’t penetrate other men in this book.

Dracula is exciting and modern (for its time), oddly feminist if you look at it from that angle, and I love an epistolary novel with several different perspectives. This isn’t the first vampire story, but it is the most famous and influential. I strongly recommend it for anyone who likes Gothic novels or who feels vindicated when a Dutch Catholic teaches English Protestants how to destroy Slavic monsters. Can’t trust eastern European immigrants, apparently. So racist.

I do love the television series based on Charlaine Harris’s novels, True Blood and Midnight, Texas. So when I saw this one in a used bookshop, I grabbed it right up. It’s the first of Ms Harris’s stories I’ve read, so I didn’t know quite what to expect.

As ever, the dramatized version and the written version are quite different. The two most obvious and pervasive changes are the level of action and the level of competence among the characters. On television, each of the many characters has her own story arc and exciting moments of action. The book focuses on Bobo Winthrop’s storyline, so I’m not sure if the other narratives are in the later books of the series or if they’re inventions of the screenwriters. So, Bobo is a nice guy living in this small town in Texas, and Act I introduces us to the town and its residents through the eyes of new arrival Manfred Bernardo. Act II begins with the discovery of the body of Aubrey, Bobo’s missing girlfriend. He gradually learns that she was involved with a white supremacist terrorist group looking for a large supply of weapons and money that he supposedly inherited from his grandfather. He admits to his friends that his family was into the racist stuff but that he left them behind to get away from it. Eventually the townspeople discover the real murderer and take care of it without involving professional law enforcement. Bobo’s friend Fiji gets kidnapped, as she does on the show, but it’s by one guy who takes her back to his parents’ house, and she uses magic to freeze the family and escape (instead of being held underground by a biker gang, getting drugged with a Fentanyl patch, and nearly suffocating). So, all that stuff in the TV series about Olivia’s father, Lem’s past, Manfred’s grandmother, and the demon after Fiji are not present in this first book. Maybe that’ll come later.

Compared to the show, the characters in the book are babies. Fiji only has one or two tricks up her sleeve, the freezing spell and a healing potion. Manfred comes up with one vision of the dead, but is otherwise powerless, just an internet faker who tells people what they want to hear. None of that hanging out in an RV with his dead grandmother. And the actor who plays him is eleven years older than the character in the book. The other characters are still pretty mysterious, their natures hinted at rather than revealed. The reverend delivers a weird sermon on human/animal shape-changers in a restaurant during dinner, but we don’t see him transform, and Joe and Chuy likewise seem pretty normal for a gay couple in small-town Texas.

Speaking of ethnicity, in the book it’s easy to imagine that everyone is white, either Hispanic white or traditional white. And yes, in the United States our obsession with race means that I have to identify myself on official forms as White (non-Hispanic), because listing Hispanics as simply White would mean that they are the same as us, which erases their unique culture (offensive to them) and affords them the same privilege that I receive (offensive to white supremacists). Yet, their genetic material is frequently similar to that of other southern European groups that are simply White, like Italians. It’s a weird, convoluted situation, product of a weird, violent past. I lived in rural Texas for a year without seeing very many people of color, so Harris’s town feels pretty accurate to me. On the show, Lem has very dark skin, but in the book he looks more like Spike from Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Fiji has light brown hair, so it’s unlikely that she also has light brown skin as in the show. She is also described as being a bit out of shape and has a harder time with physical activity, so I’d guess that the television Fiji is also rather thinner than the one in the book.

As the new guy in town, Manfred seems like the obvious protagonist. He also appeared in a few of Harris’s other novels, the Harper Connolly series. But his perspective is limited, and he’s not that bright, so a good many scenes have to come from someone else’s point of view. Fiji is the other central character, and the two of them come into contact a lot, but not as peacefully as they do in the show. A woman in her late twenties who devotes her life to women’s spiritual and emotional health is not likely to be entertained by the self-centeredness of twenty-two-year-old boys.

She looked back at him, her eyes narrowed and her hands clenched. She huffed out a sound of exasperation. “Listen, Manfred, would it kill you to say the magic words? And sound like you mean them?”

Magic words? Manfred was totally at sea. “Ahhh . . .” he said. “Okay, if I knew what they were . . .”

I’m sorry,” she said. “Those are the magic words. And yet no one with a Y chromosome seems to understand that.” And off Fiji stomped, the drops from the previous evening’s shower blotching her skirt as she passed through the shrubs and flowers.

“Okay,” Manfred said to the cat. “Did you get that, Mr Snuggly?” He and the impassive cat gave each other level stares. “I bet your real name is Crusher,” Manfred muttered. Shaking his head as he crossed the road, he was relieved to get back to his house and to resume answering queries for Bernardo.

But he stored a new fact in his mental file about women. They liked it if you told them you were sorry.

And yet this stored fact doesn’t alter his behavior. In the end, he’s about as clueless as he was in the beginning.

The bookstore has a label that identifies this book as Paranormal & Steamy, but there is nothing steamy about this book. I don’t know what her other stories are like, but there are very few sexual encounters in this book, and the only one I can think of gets a parenthetical mention while the narrative is focused on something else. That parenthetical mention only says that Joe and Chuy are “fooling around” without going into what that means. I like the sexiness of the show, but it’s not here in the book. Manfred and Creek don’t get together, and neither do Bobo and Fiji. Olivia and Lem may have something going on, but we never see it, just as we rarely see them at all. Maybe that will come in the other books, but I can’t speak to that just yet.

In both the show and the book Joe and Chuy share a business as well as a home and bed, and in both Chuy’s side is a nail salon. But the show changes Joe’s antique store into a tattoo parlor, which I find strange. I’ve come up with two possible reasons for this. (1) People outside the South may not find it realistic to have both an antique store and an extensive pawnshop in the same one-stoplight town. I’ve lived down here most of my life and I can assure you, this is completely realistic. I have no idea how we keep so many antique stores open, but we do. Southerners like tradition, and that means loving old-timey stuff, even if it looks like garbage to me. (2) Portrayals of gay characters in American mainstream media have not caught up with the realities of gay life in America. There was a time when being openly gay limited one’s options to Wilting Flower or Leather-Obsessed Biker, a caricature of one gender or the other. These days, while those two stereotypes still exist, there’s a much wider range of expression for male homosexuals. Most of us are pretty normal, at least where I am now. The older crowd I ran with in Dallas relied on the polarized model of self-expression, but they came out back in that time when that was their reality. So, how do you persuade America that Joe is a masculine human being who is in love with another man? Make him “tough”, because moving furniture all day doesn’t do the trick. It’s easier to force Joe and Chuy into traditional gender roles if Joe draws pictures on people’s skin instead of selling them century-old teapots. I would like to say that the actors don’t portray them as inhabiting gender extremes; that seems to come from somewhere else.

There’s a thing here that bothers me, so I’d like to mention it briefly. Fiji and Creek go to Aubrey’s funeral, but they get there early and don’t know anyone else there, so they sit in the car for half an hour playing around on their phones. I realize that they are in a church parking lot in broad daylight, but I still worry about this being unsafe behavior. Hanging out in cars is a way that women become targets of violence. Most of the violence prevention programs I’ve been a part of reference this habit specifically. When you get to where you’re going, get out of the car and go into the building immediately. When you finish your business inside, get into your car and leave immediately. Many women who loiter in their automobiles become victims; I’m not blaming them for that, but it worries me when people I care about (real or fictional) engage in behaviors that I perceive to be unsafe. I also know that I do this myself, and there are times when I even go to sleep in my car, but I’m a white man and the ability to sleep in my car in a partially darkened gas station parking lot is part of my white male privilege. I also drive a twenty-year-old car with paint beginning to chip, which lets potential thieves and murderers know that I have nothing worth taking.

In the book, life in Midnight is dramatically more peaceful and normal than it is in the television series. The book is a nice comfortable little Southern murder mystery with an honest look at social problems and just a hint of the supernatural element. I really enjoyed it, and I’ve already started looking for the others in the series. And if I want more after that, Harris has a ton of publications, so I should be well satisfied for quite a while.

If you’d asked me a week ago, I would have told you that the best cupcakes  were dark chocolate with chocolate cream cheese icing, that dancing in a crowd of magic wielders – the Adept – was better than sex, and that my life was peaceful and uneventful. Just the way I liked it. That’s what twenty-three years in the magical backwater of Vancouver will get you – a completely skewed sense of reality. Because when the dead werewolves started showing up, it all unraveled … except for the cupcake part. That’s a universal truth.

Sometimes you just need something fluffy and sweet to counteract all the stress in your life. I’ve been going through an emotionally complex time, and this novel is a big fat marshmallow. And by marshmallow I mean paranormal murder mystery with a headstrong heroine. The vampires and werewolves make me think of True Blood, as does their tendency to ask the protagonist, “What are you?” I’ve never read the Sookie Stackhouse books, so I can’t speak to similarities in style, but I can attest to the obvious similarities in subject matter.

In an answer to the question, the protagonist is a small business owner in Vancouver, the big city in BC and not the tiny one in WA. She runs a bakery that specializes in cupcakes, and though business stuff doesn’t seem a big part of her personality, baking things is. She is a compulsive maker, so she collects odds and ends and makes them into jewelry, and she bakes to calm down. Thinking back to Fromm and productive work, this is what makes her feel the most herself. Her mother was a witch, so she has some magical abilities, primarily the ability to see the magic of others. At least, that’s the magic she practices. There are several allusions to abilities that are not being explained yet, but this is the first in a series, so I imagine that will come in later installments. She calls her jewelry trinkets, which is a word that minimizes their importance to herself and others, but they’re actually fairly significant. I share this tendency to treat my own needs as frivolous – one of the reasons I identify with the protagonist. I have a hard time calling her Jade because the name doesn’t seem to match her personality. She should be called something warmer, softer.

Another thing I share with the protagonist:

No, I chided myself – scary monster men are not sexy.

A thing for evil. And I’m not talking about your garden-variety serial killer here: I get turned on by supervillains and actual monsters, like the guy in Misfits who turns into an ape. Even as a child, I thought that Princes Phillip, Eric, and Charming were vacuous, but I was enrapt with Jafar and Maleficent. And much as I identify with Belle, Rapunzel, and Princess Anna, Jafar is still my favorite Disney character. He’s almost as great as Megamind. When I’m watching a show, I have to keep reminding myself of the ways that the male characters limit women’s ability to choose, even when it comes to their own bodies (thinking of Bitten), because I guess I find emotional abuse all wrapped up in muscles an irresistible combination.

The other day I was trying to work through why I’m afraid of moving back to North Carolina, and one of those voices said, “Are you done punishing yourself?” “For what?” “For your . . . imaginary crimes!” And the answer was, “No . . . .” So I guess that’s what I’m doing here in the Midwest, accepting scraps and crumbs of happiness instead of insisting on my place at the table. Harking back to Perks of Being a Wallflower, I’m accepting the love I think I deserve. I even bought him flowers yesterday, even though I’ve got one mental foot out the door. I’ve got to do something about this, but it’s hard to keep myself motivated enough to make any changes because I think I deserve this grey, windy, life without mountains.

Doidge tells a cute story, full of cupcakes and monsters and murder. The tendency to split infinitives unnecessarily (i.e. to unnecessarily split infinitives) really gets to me, though – I gave up on Patrick Rothfuss because he does the same thing, to excess. I’ll probably keep reading the series, especially when I’m in the mood for something light and fluffy. It’s like when I got obsessed with reading all the Anne George mysteries, but instead of old ladies in the South, it’s witches in the Northwest. And witches are good. We like witches.

It’s hard to know what to say about You Suck that I didn’t already say about Bloodsucking Fiends. A lot of it is very similar, just as a sequel should be. One of the most important differences is the difference between 1995 and 2007. When BF was written, HIV was a huge cultural issue, particularly in San Francisco, but by the time of YS we had collectively calmed down about it. The people who got HIV in the 1980s had either died of AIDS or figured out how to manage the condition, so even though YS begins at the exact second that BF ends, it’s a different world. No one’s talking about AIDS, everyone has cell phones (this happened somewhat miraculously while I was gone to Brazil, 1999-2001 ish), and Tommy’s grunge look (T-shirt and flannel) can no longer pass without remark. This means that there’s less drama and even more comedy.

All of the characters who didn’t die in BF are back, which is almost all of them, actually. The Animals are a little more clearly defined, Steve has a slightly larger part, and Tommy’s a vampire in this one. The real news is the new characters: Blue, Jared, and Abby. The Animals went to Las Vegas and blew all their money hiring a blue prostitute. They drive her back to San Francisco in a rented limo and try to talk Tommy into “boning a Smurf.” She’s more than they bargained for – finally someone has the predatory instincts that the old vampire has been searching for, only she doesn’t have the training or good sense that he does. Jared is a gay Goth teenager who doesn’t fit with his weirdly suburban family, and Abby is his best friend. We met her briefly in A Dirty Job, written between BF and YS but covering a wider time frame and including the detectives and The Emperor. Abby becomes Jody and Tommy’s minion and a part-time first-person narrator, where she absolutely shines.

So I got Chet out of the stairway of the old loft and was carrying him kid-style when I saw the two cops from before – the ones the Countess said helped blow up Elijah – so I went up to the Hispano-cop and I was all, “So, what’s up, cop?”

And he was all, “You need to get home, and you have no business out at this hour, and we should take you to the station and call your parents and blah, blah, blah, threat, threat, disapproval, and fascist dogma all up in your darkly delicious grille.” (I’m paraphrasing. Although I do have a delicious grille as I had to wear braces for three years when I was a kid, and now my teeth are like my most acceptable feature. I hope my fangs come in straight.)

And the big gay cop was all, “What are you doing here?”

And I was all, “I live here, bone-smoker, what are you doing here? Aren’t you guys homicide cops?”

And he was all, “Let’s see some ID blah, blah, bluster, bluster, Oh My God I am so full of shit.”

And I was like, “I guess you wouldn’t have to deal with this shit if you had properly blowed up that old vampyre when you stole his art collection.”

So all of a sudden the Hispano-cop and his big gay partner were all, “Whaaa – ?”

And I’m like, “Just so we know where we stand. How long you bitches going to be here?”

And they were like, “Just a half hour or so longer, miss. We need to interview some witnesses and go clean out our boxers where we have just completely shit ourselves. Do you need a ride somewhere?” (Again paraphrasing.)

Yeah, she’s a perky teenaged Goth, so she’s into Hello Kitty and Anne Rice. She tries to crush her perkiness to fit the Goth stereotypes better, but you can’t keep a good optimist down, and it is the internal conflict between the Gothiness and the perkiness that makes her so very delightful.

Here’s one of my favorite funny bits:

“Hi,” Jared’s father said.

Tommy had expected a bit of a monster based on Jared’s description of his father. Instead what he saw was a bit of an accountant. He was about forty-five, in pretty good shape, holding a little girl on his lap who was coloring a picture of a pony. Another little girl, who looked about the same age, was coloring on the floor at his feet.

“Hi,” Tommy said.

“You must be the vampire Flood,” Jared’s dad said, with a bit of a knowing smile.

“Uh. Well. Kinda.” It showed. He could no longer hide among the humans. It must be because it had been so long since he had fed.

“Sort of a weak ensemble, don’t you think?” Jared’s dad said.

“Weak,” repeated the little girl without looking up from her pony.

“Huh?” Tommy inquired.

“For a vampire. Jeans, sneakers, and flannel?”

Tommy looked at his clothes. “Black jeans,” he pointed out. Shouldn’t this guy be cowering in fear, maybe begging Tommy not to put his little daughter in a sack for his vampire brides?

“Okay, I suppose times change. You know that Jared and his girlfriend went up to Tulley’s on Market to meet Abby, right?”

“His girlfriend, Jody?”

“Right,” said Dad. “Cute girl. Not as many piercings as I expected, but we’re just happy she’s a girl.”

An attractive blond woman in her late twenties came into the room carrying a tray with carrot and celery sticks on it. “Oh hi,” she said, dazzling a smile at Tommy. “You must be the vampire Flood. Hi, I’m Emily. Would you like some crudités? You’re welcome to stay for dinner. We’re having mac and cheese, it was the girls’ night to pick.”

I should drink her blood and put her kids in a sack, Tommy thought. But his vicious predator nature was overcome by his Midwestern upbringing, so instead he said, “Thank you very much, Emily, but I really should be going if I’m going to catch up to Jared and Jody.”

“Well, okay then,” said the woman. “Girls, say good-bye to the vampire Flood.”

“Good-bye, the vampire Flood,” the girls sang in chorus.

“Uh, bye.” Tommy bolted out of the room, then back in again. “Where’s the door?”

Everyone pointed through the kitchen, whence Jared’s stepmonster had just come.

He ran through the kitchen and out the door, then stood with his back against the minivan in the drive, trying to catch his breath. “That was fucked up,” he gasped, then realized that he wasn’t out of breath from exertion at all. He was having an anxiety attack. “That was really, really fucked up.”

The love story in this installment is less rom-com than it was in BF. It’s more like Act II of The Fantasticks, when things that were magical are revealed to be cheap tricks and the childlike lovers have to face real life. It may seem logical that to assume that after Jody turns Tommy into a vampire, their relationship struggles are a lot simpler. After all, that was the problem, that Tommy couldn’t understand or even relate to what she was going through. But Tommy’s experience as a vampire is as different from Jody’s as were their experiences of being human. As a petite redhead in a big city, Jody felt like she was always in danger. Considering the statistics for rape and domestic violence, she probably was. As a vampire, she feels powerful and unafraid for the first time. For her, vampirism is about new senses, new abilities, and new strength. Becoming a vampire gives her the freedom to be herself for the first time. Tommy’s a teenaged writer from the Midwest; he sees the world as a safe place where people will take care of him. It makes him a little naïve and gullible, but he has never experienced the type of fear that has defined Jody’s existence. When he becomes a vampire, he doesn’t see himself as stronger; he sees himself as weaker. His hunger has become the most important aspect of his personality. He doesn’t read novels or write stories any more. Jody lost her internal obstacles, but Tommy loses his internal supports. Even though they care deeply about each other, they want different things from life and from their relationship. There’s a breakup looming in their future.

I’ve run into something sort of similar here in my real life. I moved to a new town two months ago, and I met someone. We’ve gone out a few times, but things are cooling off. Physically, we work together very well, but emotionally, we’re never going to be in love with each other. He needs someone who can keep up the other end of the conversation better than I can; I need someone who finds my silence restful, and can share in it. He needs someone who will join him in the closet when out in public; I need never to be in the closet again. I can respect his decision intellectually, but pragmatically, I’m going to forget. When I want to kiss a guy, I don’t stop to check whether anyone is looking or not; I just do it. I need someone who is out all the time, not just to himself and a select few friends.

Speaking of the select few friends, there’s a small circle of gay men here who seem to have pretty fucked-up relationships. They’re hung up on guys who aren’t hung up on them, and when I explain the details to myself it seems like high school drama and not a group of grown men ranging in age from early 30s to mid 50s. There’s a refusal to face reality that can be hard for me to comprehend. To elucidate: There are a couple of guys in the last few months that I have had feelings for, but I know that they only want to be friends. We’re not going to live happily ever after, ever. So I accept their friendship, that being what they have to offer, and I don’t try to force them to feel what I do. If I do sleep with one of them, I’m not going to interpret that action as proof that my seeds of love are beginning to bear fruit; I’m going to think that we’re both lonely people who need to be physically touched and can tolerate each other’s company for an evening. And as I change my thinking about them, my feelings will eventually change to fit, I hope. For one of them, they already are. But I know that not every feeling is worth pursuing, and that it is sometimes kinder to conceal romantic feelings for someone who can’t return them. I believe that one day I will find a romantic relationship with someone who loves me intensely and whom I love in return; I’ll get what experience I can until that happens, but I’m not going to put a lot of emotional work into someone who will not return the investment. That’s just preparing myself for a big disappointment.

Jody and Tommy know that this relationship is not going to work out. At least, she does, and maybe she’s convinced him. But the key to novel-writing is successfully delaying what the reader knows is going to happen, and Abby is so determined to keep them together that they don’t manage to break up by the end of this book. It’s okay; there’s a third.

O M G. Of all the books in the Simon & Schuster catalog, why, why would you put a reading group guide in the back of this one? It is, first and foremost, a comic novel. We read it because it’s funny, not because it’s thought-provoking. Christopher Moore is my favourite bit of fluff, but then, since I read Thomas Hardy and Virginia Woolf for fun, I may have skewed definitions. Also, you’d think a house like S&S would be more careful about typos. This one is full of them.

I first read one of Moore’s vampire books around the time that I first read The Waves, so it’s feeling a bit like Old Home Week around here. I kind of need that because I’m in such an upheaval. Two weeks ago I was looking for work, and now I’ve moved halfway across the country and just finished my first week at my new job. I’m going to look at apartments this afternoon, and if that turns out well, I’ll move in on Monday or Tuesday. I’ve also registered on a dating site for the first time in my life, and it’s convinced me that I’m much more attractive than I had ever thought. Not that men are seeking me out, but I’ve seen some of their pictures. I am just not that inbred.

So, the book.

They might have been the Magnificent Seven or The Seven Samurai. If each of them had been a trained professional, a gunfighter with a character flaw, or a broken warrior with a past – or if each had a secret reason for joining a suicide mission, an antihero’s sense of justice, and a burning desire to put things right – they might have become an elite fighting unit whose resourcefulness and courage would lead them to victory over those who would oppose or oppress. But the fact was, they were a disorganized bunch of perpetual adolescents, untrained and unprepared for anything but throwing stock and having fun: the Animals.

We begin by meeting the Emperor of San Francisco, a homeless senior citizen with two dogs. He’s loved and considered crazy by all. He sees a vampire and spends the rest of the book wandering through the city, helping people and hunting evil. He’s based on a real person; there was a homeless man who proclaimed himself Emperor of San Francisco, I think in the late nineteenth century. He even sent diplomatic letters to the heads of actual states. When he died, his funeral was one of the largest the city had ever seen. Moore imagines him forward into the mid-1990s, but I don’t think the Emperor would mind. Despite the fact that we see him pissing in alleys and sleeping on benches, dumpster-diving for dinner, he’s always portrayed as having this incredible sense of dignity and self-worth. He may need to bathe more frequently, but that doesn’t change the fact that he is the only royalty this city will ever have.

And then Jody gets turned into a vampire. She’s a petite redhead with a soulless job at Transamerica who lives with a too-good-for-all-this boyfriend named Kurt. He’s not important. She’s rather attractive but still has low self-esteem. Becoming a vampire is actually really good for her, because it helps her get past a number of mental blocks that had been preventing her from living her life.

Not long ago she would have been terrified if she’d found herself in the Tenderloin at night. She couldn’t even remember coming down here during the day. Where had that fear gone? What had happened to her that she could face off with a vampire, bite off his fingers, and carry a dead body up a flight of stairs and shove it under the bed without even a flinch? Where was the fear and loathing? She didn’t miss it, she just wondered what had happened to it.

It wasn’t as if she were without fear. She was afraid of daylight, afraid of the police discovering her, and of Tommy rejecting her and leaving her alone. New fears and familiar fears, but there was nothing in the dark that frightened her, not the future, not even the old vampire – and she knew now, having tasted his blood, that he was old, very old. She saw him as an enemy, and her mind casted for strategies to defeat him, but she was not really afraid of him anymore: curious, but not afraid.

In some ways, turning into a vampire for her is like getting divorced was for me. Once the worst thing you can imagine happens to you, you’ve nothing left to be frightened of. I’m not afraid of being alone, or of being really really poor, or of being hungry for a few months. I didn’t transition as quickly as she does, but the end result is similar.

And so we meet Tommy. He’s a sweet kid from the Midwest, probably not far from where I’ve just moved to, who wants to become a writer.

Finally Harley said, “Well, if you’re going to be a writer, you can’t stay here.”

“Pardon?” Tommy said.

“You got to go to a city and starve. I don’t know a Kafka from a nuance, but I know that if you’re going to be a writer, you got to starve. You won’t be any damn good if you don’t starve.”

“I don’t know, Harley,” Tom Senior said, not sure that he liked the idea of his skinny son starving.

“Who bowled a three hundred last Wednesday, Tom?”

“You did.”

“And I say the boy’s got to go to the city and starve.”

Tom Flood looked at Tommy as if the boy were standing on the trapdoor of the gallows. “You sure about this writer thing, son?”

Tommy nodded.

“Can I make you a sandwich?”

So, while visions of Kerouac dance in his head, Tommy drives to San Francisco to starve. He ends up sharing a room with five illegal immigrants from China who start leaving him gifts in the hope that he’ll marry them and they can get a green card. He gets a job supervising the night crew at the local Safeway, and meets Jody. She needs someone to handle daytime business transactions, like picking up her last paycheck and finding a new apartment, and he needs someone to rescue him from The Five Wongs. It’s a match made in . . . well, not heaven, but they could each do a lot worse (Kurt, one of the Wongs).

Tommy’s vampire bible is The Vampire Lestat, and apparently there are more subtle references to Anne Rice, including a chapter titled A Nod to The Queen of the Damned, but I’ve never read any of her books so I can’t comment. I haven’t seen any of the movies either. I once read the first chapter of The Witching Hour, but I was still caught up in being the perfect Christian husband and father, and I could tell that if I kept reading this book it’d take over my life and I’d be sucked into the world of horror fiction. I’ve got space in my life now; I suppose I could give her a try. The thing with a character in a book using another book as his vampire bible is that every author changes the rules. Count Dracula could go outside during the day; he was just weakened at sunrise and sunset. True Blood vampires can stay awake, but they start bleeding inconveniently and burst into flame in the sun. Jody burns in the sun, but she dies suddenly whenever the sun rises, and pops awake just as suddenly when it sets. She misses the speech about how to be a vampire, primarily because Elijah isn’t all protective of his progeny like the True Blood guys. He’s intensely lonely, so every now and again he turns someone into a vampire and watches her suffer and die over the first few days or weeks. Jody has to prove that she’s going to survive before he’ll teach her anything. Instead, he keeps leaving dead homeless people outside her apartment.

The murders, of course, lead to the police. Rivera and Cavuto are two of my favourite fictional detectives. Rivera is a little Latin guy, smart, good at his job. Cavuto is big, Italian, and gay; he overcompensates for that last one by being really aggressive. That whole hypermacho closeted thing. They do their job, making trouble for Tommy and Jody, then eventually helping.

The Animals are the stocking crew at Safeway. Most of them are not fully realized as characters – just a quick detail about skin colour or type of hair and a single personality quirk – but that’s what sequels are for. Their leader is Simon Wheeler, a loud cowboy type who can’t read, so probably isn’t qualified for any other sort of work. Simon is kind of like Tommy’s dad’s friend Harley, the Alpha who needs a Beta sidekick. Moore explores the psychology of the Beta male more explicitly in A Dirty Job, but you can see the traces of it in most of his books. Another sterling beta example is the protagonist of Isaac Asimov’s The End of Eternity. By the end of the book, though, Tommy doesn’t need Simon’s protection or guidance. He’s still a nineteen-year-old idiot (sorry, folks, it comes with the age. I was one too), but he can stand on his own feet.

It can be easy to disregard subtitles, but I think this one is important. This is a comic novel, yes, the cover art tells us that much. It’s also a vampire story, with some of those tropes thrown in. But the important thing here is that this is a love story. It’s about Tommy and Jody meeting and falling in love. They have some issues that make it complicated, but this is essentially a romantic comedy.

Jody thought, I guess not everything changed when I changed. Without realizing how she got there, Jody found herself at Macy’s in Union Square. It was as if some instinctual navigator, activated by conflict with men, had guided her there. A dozen times in the past she had found herself here, arriving with a purse full of tear-smeared Kleenex and a handful of credit cards tilted toward their limit. It was a common, and very human, response. She spotted other women doing the same thing: flipping through racks, testing fabrics, checking prices, fighting back tears and anger, and actually believing salespeople who told them that they looked stunning.

Jody wondered if department stores knew what percentage of their profits came from domestic unrest. As she passed a display of indecently expensive cosmetics, she spotted a sign that read: “Mélange Youth Cream – Because he’ll never understand why you’re worth it.” Yep, they knew. The righteous and the wronged shall find solace in a sale at Macy’s.

One other important thing to mention, though. We’re in San Francisco in the mid-90s. There are gay men everywhere, selling makeup, waiting tables, and dying of AIDS. It’s just that most of them are not main characters. And one of them proves that Moore, as well as making me laugh all the way through the book, can also bring me to tears.

His name was Philip. His friends called him Philly. He was twenty-three. He had grown up in Georgia and had run away to the City when he was sixteen so he wouldn’t have to pretend to be something he was not. He had run away to the City to find love. After the one-night stands with rich older men, after the bars and the bathhouses, after finding out that he wasn’t a freak, that there were other people just like him, after the last of the confusion and shame had settled like red Georgia dust, he’d found love.

He’d lived with his lover in a studio in the Castro discrict. And in that studio, sitting on the edge of a rented hospital bed, he had filled a syringe with morphine and injected it into his lover and held his hand while he died. Later, he cleared away the bed pans and the IV stand and the machine that he used to suck the fluid out of his lover’s lungs and he threw them in the trash. The doctor said to hold on to them – that he would need them.

They buried Philly’s lover in the morning and they took the embroidered square of fabric that was draped on the casket and folded it and handed it to him like the flag to a war widow. He got to keep it for a while before it was added to the quilt. He had it in his pocket now.

His hair was gone from the chemotherapy. His lungs hurt, and his feet hurt; the sarcomas that spotted his body were worst on his feet and his face. His joints ached and he couldn’t keep his food down, but he could still walk. So he walked.

He walked up Polk Street, head down, at four in the morning, because he could. He could still walk.

When he reached the doorway of a Russian restaurant, Jody stepped out in front of him and he stopped and looked at her.

Somewhere, way down deep, he found that there was a smile left. “Are you the Angel of Death?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said.

“It’s good to see you,” Philly said.

She held her arms out to him.