After the turn of the century, once the Dracula craze subsided, the vampire all but disappeared from popular fiction to make way for the new, captivating genre of science-fiction. In the early decades of the twentieth-century, the most common marginalized popular fiction was detective or true crime stories and science-fiction stories. The vampire did not totally disappear, however, and can be found in the pages of detective and mystery stories, such as “Almyer Vance and the Vampire” (1914) by Alice and Claude Askew and F. Marion Crawford’s “For the Blood is the Life” (1911). Science-fiction, as we will examine here, also found ways to incorporate its fanged-tooth cousin. The upsurge of pulp magazines, or “shudder pulps,” such as Strange Tales, Weird Tales, Black Book Detective, Thrilling Mysteries, and the like provided a place for the vampire. Examples of such texts are “Shambleau” (1933) by C.L. [Catherine] Moore and Hugh B. Cave’s “Stragella” (cir. 1930s). These two stories pick up where Tieck and Brontë end with their commentary on sexuality through the female vampire. Both Moore and Cave delve into the explicit world of female sexuality—and it come up with a bloody, impudent mess.
Moore’s story first appeared in Weird Tales and is one of the first science-fiction works to deal with sexual themes and was instrumental to the genre’s maturing process (Ryan 255). Importantly, Moore employs a vampiric creature to explore and embody sexuality. Moore reinvents the vampire, taking a universal view of the vampire as a part of a larger race. Much like the science-fiction view of the universe housing other humanoid creatures, Moore provides a history in which the Earth’s vampire has ancestors.
Moore constructs the Shambleau as a female creature who is “berry brown” and “sweetly made” (Moore 256). Moore creates this creature, unlike the other vampires we have encountered, as clearly non-human. Though the Shambleau’s body has a human female shape, her eyes are the first startling indication that she is nothing close to human, “They were frankly green...with slit, feline pupils . . .” (259). This rest of her body follows the initial feline parallel: “She had three fingers and a thumb . . . tipped with round claws that sheathed back into the flesh like a cat’s . . . her little teeth were white and pointed like a kitten’s” (259). Moore takes the construction of Shambleau a step further than comparing a woman to a feline. Moore’s Shambleau is feline, which suggests that her sexual appeal is inherent. In brief summary, Northwest Smith arrives in this particular colony on Mars to meet up with Yarol, an old friend and business partner. He ventures across the Shambleau as she is being hunted by a mob of colonists: “‘She’s Shambleau, I tell you! Damn your hide, man, we never let those things live! Kick her out here!’” (258). It is most important to note, that the “typical Lakkdarol mob” is comprised entirely of men (256). As far as the reader knows, there is no other female on this planet other than the Shambleau.
Smith saves the Shambleau and takes her home with him. He comments that she is “queenly,” and remarks how like an Earth woman she is “sweet and submissive and demure.” There is something about this woman, however, that shakes Smith to his very soul: “Smith felt something deep within him shudder away—inexplicable, instinctive, revolted” (263). Moore presents her readers with a common conundrum of the person faced with the beautiful vampire, and like Daniels’ Lulu, Smith is both repelled and attracted.
Moore constructs not only hints to the true nature of the Shambleau, but has an open discussion occur between the Shambleau and Smith about vampires, just in case the reader misses Moore’s more subtle suggestions. When asked if she is hungry, the Shambleau replies, “‘I shall—eat...Before long—I shall—feed’” (267). She promises Smith that “‘Some day I —speak to you in—my own language’” and then licks her lips “‘hungrily’” (260). Moore draws a clear connection between sex and nourishment.
Finally, Smith confronts the Shambleau about her eating habits by asking, “‘What food do you eat?...Blood?’” She is disgusted, “‘You think me—vampire, eh? No—I am Shambleau!’” (268). Clearly, the Shambleau as a race, view themselves as far superior to the common vampire. Similarly, Smith does not allow her possible vampire status to diminish his attraction, “Vampire she might be . . . but desirable beyond words . . . as she sat submissive beneath his low regard . . . ” (268). By now, the appeal of the sexy female vampire, like those Moore’s readers have probably seen in Bela Lugosi’s 1931 “Dracula” or even the vamps of the silent screen, is common place. Not only common place, but the traditional female vampire is easy to kill, by film standards. Moore must make the Shambleau even more terrifying, more threatening. Instead of feeding off of a man’s blood, she consumes his very soul.
The Shambleau’s death is anti-climactical. Yarol, mimicking the Medusa myth, shoots his ray gun at her reflection in the mirror; “There was a hiss and a blaze and a high, thin scream of inhuman malice and despair . . .” (276). Not only is the Shambleau killed, she is completely erased from the story. While Yarol and Smith recuperate from their ordeal, neither one of them looks at or mentions the dead woman left lying in the corner where Yarol shot her or discusses her disposal.
The bulk of the story is focused on how the Shambleau feeds, and most specifically, the sensations her feeding causes. Smith learns that under her tightly wound turban is a mass of “worm-like snakes” which grows to an unbelievable bulk (270). The Shambleau becomes a conglomerate of the vampire and the Medusa figure, “a deadly femme fatale” (Women 2). Smith is in “sickened fascination of that sight held him motionless, and some how there was a certain beauty. . . .” (270). The Shambleau places Smith in a horrible battle of wills, mind over body, similar to the battle faced by Daniels’ Ralfe. Somewhat different in its context, however, Smith is debating whether or not to have sex with the Shambleau while Ralfe could not deliberate as to whether or not he should consider becoming romantically involved with Sybil. Smith’s predicament is much like what plagued Tieck’s Walter, except Smith certainly thinks twice before giving into his lust.
Smith is disgusted by the visual and physical experience of coupling with the Shambleau, yet somehow, he is uncontrollably attracted to the sensation her feeding provides:
His flesh crawled to the horror of her, but it was a perverted revulsion that clasped what it loathed...a foul and dreadful wooing from which his very soul shuddered away—and yet in the innermost depths of that soul some grinning traitor shivered with delight (Moore 272).
Moore taps into a common use of the female vampire presence. At the same time he is attracted, the man is also disgusted by the vampire. Superficially, the disgust stems from the inhuman vampire, meaning the Shambleau’s clearly animal physical features, but in closer evaluation, the disgust serves as commentary against the sexually aggressive female. More interesting, however, is that the establishment of the Shambleau’s sexual appeal serves to be as much as a commentary on male sexuality as female sexuality. In other words, Moore provides comment on the nature of male sexuality by specifically stating the aspects of the Shambleau’s feeding that appeal to Smith. For the first time in this evaluation, the vampire’s male victim is a willing participant.
Yarol who ultimately saves Smith, explains the nature of the Shambleau, “‘They’re a species of vampire—or maybe the vampire is a species of—of them’” (280). Aside from their beauty, the Shambleau also are capable of mind control, “‘And just as a beast that eats the bodies of other animals acquires with each meal greater power over the bodies of the rest, so the Shambleau, stoking itself up with the life forces of men, increases its power over the minds and souls of other men’” (280). As for the process of their feeding, the Shambleau “‘key you up to the highest emotion before they—begin. That’s to work the life force up to intensity so it’ll be easier. . . . And they give, always that horrible, foul pleasure as they—feed.’” Yarol explains how the Shambleau are a further threat to mankind: “‘There are some men who, if they survive the first experience, take to it like a drug—can’t give it up—’” (278). Once Yarol has explained the nature of the Shambleau, her threat to the male species, on any planet, is clear.
Moore’s Shambleau fulfills the characteristics of the traditional female vampire in several ways. First, she is sexual and sensual: Smith is immediately attracted to her. His revulsion is secondary to his interest. Second, she is a threat to men. Yarol suggests that the Shambleau do not always take on a female form, but he indicates it is the most common. Further, when Yarol explains how the Shambleau become more powerful from each feeding, he reinforces the idea that the Shambleau feed off of men, and thus are able to know and have power over the “souls” and “minds” of men. The Shambleau are even more threatening because, as Smith notices, they appear “demure,” “submissive,” and “sweet;” therefore they are deceptive as well as powerful. Notably, their initial power originates not only from their deceptive presence, but from their sexual attractiveness.
At the same time that Moore creates the Shambleau as totally inhuman by physical appearance, her protagonist compares the Shambleau to an Earth woman. It is worth questioning, however, if Moore is serious when she writes that the Shambleau is like an Earth women in her demeanor. This perhaps is more revealing of Smith’s character than the Shambleau’s true nature. Other than the Medusa and a cat, the only other being the Shambleau is compared to is the human female. Perhaps this is Moore’s way of not only exploring general sexual themes via science-fiction, but specifically addressing female sexuality in an explicit manner, while at the same promoting the female as a powerful entity.
The Shambleau-as-vampire, then, comes to represent the most dangerous female possible. Unlike Stoker’s vampire-sisters, she is both beautiful and submissive. She offers the most amazing and taboo sexual pleasures imaginable, and because of this, she is able to control a man’s soul and mind. For this race of vampire, luckily, no staking, long recitations from the Bible, or even lopping off of the head, is needed to dispel her. Just like her human counterpart, the Shambleau dies with one shot from a well-aimed ray gun. Most importantly, Moore uses the vampire Shambleau to invoke the traditional vampire characteristics of sex, attraction, revulsion, male threat, then challenges the assumptions made about human women. Like Tieck with Brunhilda and unlike the other authors, Moore does write about Smith’s actual sexual experience with the Shambleau, not just indicating what kind of experience Smith might have were he to involve himself. What is different, however, is that revenge and religion have no part in this story. The Shambleau’s behavior is natural, as is Smith’s response to her.
The significance of Moore detailing Smith’s physical experience with the Shambleau operates on two levels. By exposing the Shambleau as a sexual being, exploring her sexual representation, Moore at the same time reveals Smith as a sexual being as well, and more, a willing participant. Also, by describing the simultaneous attraction and revulsion that Smith experiences with the Shambleau, Moore introduces a new vampiric terror. Like Smith who is undaunted at the thought of a sexual encounter with a vampire, simply suggesting an engagement with a vampire is no longer enough to make Moore’s readers uneasy. By making this encounter a reality instead of a threat, the author offers a more subjective interpretation on the part her reader.
Like Moore, Hugh B. Cave’s works first appeared in pulp magazines. “Stragella” (cir. 1930s) is a traditional vampire housed in an unusual setting. Here, again, the protagonist is a young man, who is confronted by not one, but three vampires. His most powerful advisory, however, takes form as the young gypsy girl, Stragella, turned vampire. Like Moore’s tale, the sexual implications are obvious if not blatant.
In brief summary, two men, Yancy and Miggs, are afloat at sea for seven days and seven nights due to the capsizing of their ship in a severe storm. Just when they are to give up hope, Yancy spies a ship just off the shore. The ship is eerie and mysterious, with large animal carcasses strewn across the bow and strange flowers growing where they shouldn’t be. Just before Yancy meets Stragella, he reads notations made by the captain about bats and crates of earth.
That Stragella is a vampire is not an obvious connection at the opening of the tale. Yancy drinks a cup of scarlet liquid that she gives him, which serves as a drug to further inhibit his own sense of will by making him feel “as if the very blood had been sucked from his veins” though Stragella has not touched him (Cave 144). It is merely her presence, coupled with the effect of the liquid she’s given him, which causes Yancy’s weakness.
Stragella first appears to Yancy as a girl who is “too beautiful” (143). She is described as “wild, almost savage” with “jet black hair” (143). She is barefoot, in a short skirt which accentuates her “slender thighs,” and her ragged shirt which reveals “the full curve of her breast” (143). Her lips are scarlet and her teeth are “marble whiteness” (143). She is Serbian, a “gipsy,” and Yancy suddenly realizes that it is “impossible to refuse her” (144).
Stragella’s creation “scene” is minuscule and seemingly has little importance to the text itself, other than to impart vampire lore for Cave’s readers. Stragella’s father, who is also residing on the ghost ship, explains how they came to be shipwrecked: “‘Once we were human, living in our pleasant little camp. . . That was in the time of Milutin, six hundred years ago. Then the vampires of the hills came for us and took us to them” (152). One thing to note in this passage is that there is not a definitive male agent which turns the young woman into a vampire. Like the Shambleau, Stragella is a vampire with little or no human history; that she exists as a vampire is simply a state of being.
Stragella’s death, like that of the Shambleau, passes with little notice, “Returning to the cabin, [Yancy] took the oil lamp and carried it to the open hold. There, sprinkling the liquid over the ancient wood, he set fire to it [...] A scream of agony, unearthly and prolonged, rose up behind him” (154). Here, the agony of the three vampires, Stragella and her parents, melds into one scream. Or perhaps the author has forgotten about the parents, and only pays testament to Stragella’s death. In either case, while this is a vampire story, ultimately, the focus does not lie with the vampire as it has with Brunhilda or several of the Thornfield scenes in which Bertha appeared. Like the Shambleau, Stragella serves as a symbolic forbidden sexual appeal. This view is supported by the attributes and the behavior that Cave bestows on his gypsy vampire.
Yancy is not alarmed when Stragella begins to touch him with sensuous caresses which are “powerful, irresistible” (144). Her smile maddens him. Her lips mock him. Moments after Stragella begins to seek his throat, Yancy realizes that he is in terrible danger: “The girl, Stragella, was not of his kind; she was a creature of the darkness, a denzien of a different, frightful world of her own!” (144-5). Yancy is not struck by this reevaluation because he sees fangs; not because Stragella bites his neck or asks for blood. He concludes his imminent danger because Stragella’s lips “wanting his flesh” are “too fervid” thus making them “inhuman” (145). Auerbach notes that a vampire who threatens men is “horrible because heterosexual, dreadful because they feast on men” (Our 41). Textually, this is Stragella’s creation scene. Like many other of the vampires that will be reviewed, Stragella’s textual creation is not the same as her creation from human to vampire for the reader.
As soon as Yancy realizes that Stragella’s lips are “inhuman,” her lips change from “warm, passionate, deliriously pleasant” to “diabolical. . . beautiful but bestial. . .” (Cave 144, 145). Suddenly, it is not the liquid from the silver cup which diminishes his will, but her lips “moving in pantomime” forming soundless words as she “commands him to rise” (145). Luckily for Yancy, he is too weak to obey her commands. Why the reader should be relieved for Yancy’s immobility is uncertain. Superficially, Stragella threatens to drain his blood and kill him, but the more serious threat is having sex with a sexually aggressive young girl who promises to be beautiful, yet bestial. Yancy cannot stomach the offer that Northwest Smith took. The obvious references to sexual interactions can be read in Yancy’s continual focus on Stragella’s lips. These images, while initially serving to show Yancy’s seduction, finally invoke images of a hungry female genitalia. By the author then shifting focus from Yancy’s inability to “rise,” the connection between female sexual aggression and male impotency is direct.
Instead of a sex act between the human and the vampire, the reader witnesses “an orgy of the undead” occurring aboard ship (145). What Cave deems as an “orgy,” initially conjuring up group sex, is nothing more than a battle between man and beast. Cave deliberately substitutes violence for sex. Suddenly, the scene shifts from the battle crew and animals, to Stragella darting here and there among the fighting knots of men and beasts, “[h]er charm, her beauty, gave her a hold on the men. They were in love with her. She made them love her, madly and without reason” (146). The reader must pause to ponder the absurd image Cave now presents of a young girl darting around a raging battle, somehow distracting the men from preserving their own lives. This scene serves to discuss Stragella’s nature as a vampire more than to explain to the reader and Yancy how the ship was wrecked. Just as Daniels’ seemingly out-of-place scene between Sybil and Lulu serves to place emphasis on the homosocial, often erotic sphere, Cave’s absurd scene reveals his main concern for the real focus of the story: a woman who can make men love her despite their will. Like Sybil, Stragella is a vamp as much as she is a vampire.
Stragella’s first threat to the men of the world is that she makes them love her for no reason. As Yancy discovered, Stragella is able to control a man’s will, as well as his body. Not only does she have power over men, but she leaves them impotent: “And as she stepped away from each man, he went limp, faint, while she laughed terribly and passed to the next” (146). As Yancy witnesses this scene his last point of focus is Stragella’s lips, “Her lips were parted. She licked them hungrily—licked the blood from them with a sharp crimson, tongue” (146).
In this sentence the author hints that Stragella is indeed a vampire. It is not until this moment that the reader sees actual blood in association with Stragella. When Stragella makes men love her, makes them impotent, and then goes on to the next man, the reader knows that Stragella is, indeed, a vampire. Once the affects of her sexual appetite are established, the author can lead up to blood on Stragella’s lips. That Stragella drinks blood is only secondary to her effect on men to prove her as vampire. Her effect on men, her power over them, and ultimately, her ability to incapacitate them is what makes her a vampire and thus a threat to the dominant power.
Unlike Stoker’s hunting party who only come close to being kissed by a vampire, Yancy comes frighteningly close to a sexual union with one. What saves him it the giant crucifix tattooed over his chest. Whether a commentary on the life saving ability of faith or simply an interesting plot twist, Cave, like Moore, brings his protagonist dangerously close to death. Also like Moore’s Smith, Yancy responds to Stragella, returns her kisses. Yancy sees a beautiful, sexy woman and responds to her, unlike Stoker’s hunting party who, when they see the beautiful Lucy, hate her and strike her dead. Like all the vampires discussed so far, Stragella is a woman who symbolizes sex. Like Bertha, Brunhilda, and Sybil, her capacity for violence is thrown in for good measure. Stragella is not a vampire because drinks blood, but because of the sexual effect she has on men. It is not only her sexual aggression that makes Stragella a threat, but her power to emasculate men.
In these two samplings of vampire literature in the earlier part of the twentieth-century, the female vampire is less human than those of the nineteenth and turn-of-the-century. She is certainly a less sympathetic character and has become synonymous with violence and sex. As most apparent in Stoker’s and Daniels’ vampires, the concern for gender roles and women’s place in the domestic sphere has disappeared. No longer are readers asked to interpret the meaning of a homosocial woman. World War I has forced women into careers, women have the vote, and as part of the Roaring Twenties, women are often openly sexual. The taboos and social concerns that were explored by the earlier vampires are now irrelevant.
Instead, the reader is given vampires who only participate in heterosexual contact. Attention is now focused on the outcome of that heterosexual interaction between vampire and victim. The role of the vampire as sexual aggressor and fatal threat seems to have become intrinsic to the character of the female vampire. These vampires have no redeeming qualities. Though Moore seems to create her vampire as a way of exploring female sexuality in terms of the pleasure it provides, Cave portrays his vampire as a predator; something which needs to be killed so that mankind may survive.
Next Chapter: Chapter Four: The Human Vampire
