Biblio File: A Vampire Book That Doesn’t Suck
This post marks the first in a new series, which will include reviews of books, music, and anything else that moves our hardened Kitschy hearts to something akin to joy.
Ah, summertime. For some of us, it means putting on our corporate clacky-heels and making intimidating faces all over Manhattan. For others, it means obsessively attending Latin dance aerobics at California Family Fitness and lying around in our backyards stuffing our faces with lime popsicles that our concerned mothers bought for us. As a member of the latter camp, I have also been afforded oodles of time to lounge about reading books about my very favourite things: vampires, parasols, and the gay.
As some of you (read: probably none) may recall from the days of yore, I have very specific feelings on literature about vampires. In sum: if you include someone with fangs (especially a tall, dark, mysterious someone) in your romance novel, there better goddamn well be some sucking, and not just of the necessary anemia-aversion kind. And if the vampire in question actually has some personality beyond lurking in doorways and pawing ineffectually at the windows of his or her loved one, all the better.
So you can imagine how delighted I was when I finally tracked down Gail Carriger’s Soulless, having been recommended it by all the trusted authorities in book critics (i.e. other English majors). Soulless takes place in an alternate universe nineteenth-century London where steam seems to be the ultimate source of power and dirigibles flounce around in the aether, ferrying be-bustled young ladies to and from engagements. Okay, so it’s a bit handwavey, but who cares? It’s steampunk! To make my literary-kink toes curl even more intensely, this London has also enforced a heavy integration policy for those of the supernatural set, meaning that the actions of the resident vampires, werewolves, and ghosts aren’t just accepted–they’re legislated.
Into this world strides Alexia Terrabotti, a half-Italian spinster with a heft to her parasol and a jut to her jaw. She’s also soulless, which gives her the ability to reduce any supernatural creature to a normal, human state by touching him or her. While hiding from a dreadfully boring ball in search of treacle tart, she is attacked by a rogue vampire (to whom she has not even been introduced, the scandal). Shenanigans ensue, culminating in one dead vampire, a lot of smelling salts, and tragically squashed pasty. Considering London’s strict supernatural regulations, rogue vampires mean trouble, and as the strange occurrences multiply, Alexia finds herself embroiled in adventures which totally satisfy her Standard Plucky Heroine’s need for adventure. Naturally, her necessary ally / emotional adversary / one-woman sexytimes fantasy object is one Connall Maccon, irascible werewolf, head of the Bureau of Unnatural Registry and all-around stereotypical Austenian anti-hero. Add in a fabulous gay vampire (with a harem of well-muscled minions, one of whom is called Biffy), satisfying but not particularly explicit love scenes, and a cameo by Queen Victoria herself, and you have one deliriously happy Anglophile.
Soulless has its issues, of course. For some reason, Carriger insists on transferring limited perspective at random, a trait which annoys me to no end. It’s not as bad as, say, Dune, but it does take a little bit of the delicious tension out of Alexia’s “unladylike damp” at Connall’s manhandling when we immediately switch to Connall’s own furry feelings of conflict. Also, if you’re not an Austen fan, tread carefully. Despite my total lack of interest at anything Elizabeth Bennett has ever done, I thought the whole thing was wonderfully tongue-in-cheek, but I could see how all the fainting and talk of necessary escorts could get old for those more accustomed to the steampunk heroines of Neal Stephenson’s ilk.
All in all, though, it’s a hilarious little book for when you’re lounging poolside waiting for your own Biffy to bring you another Jameson on the rocks. Plus, the sequel has scads of lesbian sexual tension, which just further proves that Gail Carriger is somehow tapping my calls.
Tags: book review, vampires
