Worried About Monsters
May. 11th, 2007 12:45 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
naomi_jayI’m worried about monsters. (I’m also worried about tapeworms, but that’s another issue entirely). I’m worried that they’re getting too friendly. I’m worried that they’re becoming a little too familiar.
Take, for example, the vampire. Back in the murky realms of folklore, variations on the vampire ranged from the headless Indian penangalan, which hunted new mothers and their babies, to the Russian pijavka, a shape-shifter who would rip out the throats of hunters on winter nights. In more recent fiction, we’re more likely to find our undead friends desperately seeking their soulmates/lifemates/breedmates/delete as appropriate and angsting over their outfits. Really, when was the last time you read about a vampire actually attacking someone and draining their blood? (And by “someone” I mean “someone other than whoever tried to kill their soulmates/lifemates/breedmates/delete as appropriate.”)
That vampirism should be something to aspire to is … interesting, to say the least.
I mean, seriously: when did anyone hold Elisabeth Bathory up as a role model? That woman had issues. Scary ones.
Look at werewolves. I feel a disclaimer is necessary here, because I love, adore and worship werewolves, and there is some excellent werewolf fiction out there – Kit Whitfield’s Bareback and Gina Farago’s Ivy Cole and the Moon to name two. But I’m worried about werewolves nonetheless. Werewolves are the ultimate symbol of Man’s struggle with Nature. They are a perfect representation of the clash between the civil and the wild. Watch Katherine Isabelle battle her growing animal urges and bloodlusts in Ginger Snaps. Watch David Naughton struggle to come to terms with the monster he is becoming in An American Werewolf in London. The futile, often tragic, tug-of-war between bestial desires and human civility is beautifully played out in the werewolf myth cycle. Werewolves remind us of what we could become – and do become sometimes. Again, look at historical examples. Jean Grenier terrorised the Gascony region of France in 1603, killing and eating small children. He claimed he’d made a pact with the devil to become a werewolf, and right up until his death, he craved human flesh.
Compare that to your average fictional werewolf nowadays. His biggest problem is likely to be that his intended soulmates/lifemates/breedmates/delete as appropriate might not like the hirsute look. Or quite possibly, she might not approve of whatever psuedo-BDSM thang he has going.
Okay, don’t get me wrong. I love urban fantasy. I love paranormal romance. But I want my monsters to be … well … monstrous. If I were cornered in a dark alley by a man who tried to drink my blood, I wouldn’t be turned on. I’d be bricking it. If I saw a man turn into a wolf before my eyes, I wouldn’t fall in love with him right away. I’d be running and screaming. I don’t want monsters who wear Armani and fret about their hair. Any ordinary man could (and does) do that. I want my monsters bloody, passionate, ferocious and scary.
(And the first person to make a comment about the eternal loneliness and tragedy of being a vampire loses. Haven’t you people seen Lost Boys? They’re having the time of their lives!)
Take, for example, the vampire. Back in the murky realms of folklore, variations on the vampire ranged from the headless Indian penangalan, which hunted new mothers and their babies, to the Russian pijavka, a shape-shifter who would rip out the throats of hunters on winter nights. In more recent fiction, we’re more likely to find our undead friends desperately seeking their soulmates/lifemates/breedmates/delete as appropriate and angsting over their outfits. Really, when was the last time you read about a vampire actually attacking someone and draining their blood? (And by “someone” I mean “someone other than whoever tried to kill their soulmates/lifemates/breedmates/delete as appropriate.”)
That vampirism should be something to aspire to is … interesting, to say the least.
I mean, seriously: when did anyone hold Elisabeth Bathory up as a role model? That woman had issues. Scary ones.
Look at werewolves. I feel a disclaimer is necessary here, because I love, adore and worship werewolves, and there is some excellent werewolf fiction out there – Kit Whitfield’s Bareback and Gina Farago’s Ivy Cole and the Moon to name two. But I’m worried about werewolves nonetheless. Werewolves are the ultimate symbol of Man’s struggle with Nature. They are a perfect representation of the clash between the civil and the wild. Watch Katherine Isabelle battle her growing animal urges and bloodlusts in Ginger Snaps. Watch David Naughton struggle to come to terms with the monster he is becoming in An American Werewolf in London. The futile, often tragic, tug-of-war between bestial desires and human civility is beautifully played out in the werewolf myth cycle. Werewolves remind us of what we could become – and do become sometimes. Again, look at historical examples. Jean Grenier terrorised the Gascony region of France in 1603, killing and eating small children. He claimed he’d made a pact with the devil to become a werewolf, and right up until his death, he craved human flesh.
Compare that to your average fictional werewolf nowadays. His biggest problem is likely to be that his intended soulmates/lifemates/breedmates/delete as appropriate might not like the hirsute look. Or quite possibly, she might not approve of whatever psuedo-BDSM thang he has going.
Okay, don’t get me wrong. I love urban fantasy. I love paranormal romance. But I want my monsters to be … well … monstrous. If I were cornered in a dark alley by a man who tried to drink my blood, I wouldn’t be turned on. I’d be bricking it. If I saw a man turn into a wolf before my eyes, I wouldn’t fall in love with him right away. I’d be running and screaming. I don’t want monsters who wear Armani and fret about their hair. Any ordinary man could (and does) do that. I want my monsters bloody, passionate, ferocious and scary.
(And the first person to make a comment about the eternal loneliness and tragedy of being a vampire loses. Haven’t you people seen Lost Boys? They’re having the time of their lives!)
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no subject
on 2007-05-11 04:06 pm (UTC)I still don't mind my paranormal romance (god, I never thought I'd type that sentence) but...well, I share your view -- I like my monsters to be monstrous. Even if it is with a paranormal romance overtone, that kinda makes the soulmate/lifemate/breedmate/delete as appropriate sticking by her man while he does go on the rampage and eating virgins across the contryside and scaring the villagers a little bit more endearing. At least then you can show that the monster has some serious problems to deal with, rather than just a blood habit, or needing a full body wax once a month.
*cough* I shall now briskly walk past LKH and my gripes against fairies not being dangerous like the old tales told us they were. Yes. *stabs with iron*
no subject
on 2007-05-14 01:01 pm (UTC)*slides away from LKH*
Cool
on 2007-05-15 02:20 pm (UTC)(Oh, and glad you like the book.)
All the best,
Kit Whitfield
(as in Bareback)
Re: Cool
on 2007-05-16 10:43 am (UTC)