A productive tool for critiquing aspects of human existence from capitalist institutions to notions of cultural contamination, the vampire’s frequently implicated in a broader struggle between good and evil: either in wider society, as in Stoker’s Dracula; or as internal conflict, as in Angel and Rice’s Interview with the Vampire. Marina Yuszczuk’s equally intent on exploiting the vampire’s symbolic potential but not in reinforcing traditional moral binaries. Despite the gothic trappings, Yuszczuk’s representation of the vampiric harks back to the worldview of the nineteenth-century Decadent movement. Yusczuk’s far more interested in the vampire as a vehicle for reflections on mortality, bodily decay, instinct versus repression. It’s tempting to interpret Yusczuk’s piece as a response to Covid but it was actually written between 2017 and 2019, when Yuszczuk was caught up in the aftermath of witnessing her mother’s protracted illness and subsequent death. For Yuszczuk, horror fiction became a means of saying the unsayable, of processing immense loss.
Yuszczuk’s carefully-crafted piece opens with an oblique assessment of cultural attitudes towards mourning, constructed via an encounter with Buenos Aires’s famous La Recoleta Cemetery. She then moves back in time to the nineteenth-century, experienced from the perspective of an unnamed vampire. A young girl from a remote European village, she was handed over to a Dracula-like master by her mother, one of many such sacrifices to appease this dangerous creature. Post transformation, the vampire closely resembles one of Stoker’s nameless female vampires. Like them she lives with her “sister” vampires in the recesses of their master’s castle, locked into his patriarchal world, feeding only on prey he deigns to provide. But a chain of events leaves the vampire alone. Cut adrift, forced to fend for herself, circumstances lead her to developing city Buenos Aires. A place soon overwhelmed by an epidemic of deadly Yellow Fever. But as this ebbs, the city becomes embroiled in the pursuit of modernity and evolving scientific methods for tracking criminals leave the vampire vulnerable, out of step with this new world. So, she takes a drastic decision to escape this emerging reality.
The second half shifts the action to contemporary Buenos Aires and recently-divorced Alma. Alma’s recovering from major surgery, juggling a demanding job with caring for a small child, and grappling with her mother’s rapid decline. Her mother has an unspecified condition – most likely an aggressive form of Motor Neurone Disease – causing a creeping paralysis which will eventually kill her. Like the vampire, Alma’s alienated and increasingly isolated. But the vampire’s very existence was an embrace of pain and bodily degeneration; she inhabited a Buenos Aires where death was a public as much as a private spectacle. Alma’s situation is vastly different, demanding a retreat into silence and denial. In Alma’s Buenos Aires dying and grief are private affairs, she’s beset by unspoken expectations requiring her to downplay her emotions. There’s no socially-sanctioned outlet for Alma’s anguish, illness and death are sanitised, hidden away behind closed doors. Even the medical professionals overseeing her mother’s case refuse to be direct, instead they trade in infantilising euphemisms. Moreover, Argentina’s pervasive Catholicism robs Alma’s mother of bodily autonomy, closing off any possibility of a dignified death. Yuszcuzk’s comparison between Alma’s era and the vampire’s heyday highlights the continued precarity of existence, a contemporary world that’s as brutal as the past, it’s just that that brutality’s taken on new guises.
As Alma’s story unfolds, multiple points of overlap between the vampire’s earlier environment and Alma’s emerge. There’re striking similarities between nineteenth-century necropolitics and those of present-day Buenos Aires, both rife with social inequality, spaces in which some lives have far more value than others. In the vampire’s era, women outside without men were automatically suspect; in Alma’s city a woman living alone, or even entering a bar without a man in tow, is viewed as vulnerable or strange. When Alma and the vampire eventually meet, rather than the vampire reinforcing Alma’s fears she offers an unexpected escape route. Their relationship radically reframes Alma’s ideas about the maternal. For Alma motherhood, both mothering and being mothered, is fraught with anxiety over potential loss and abandonment. But, the growing bond between the vampire and Alma opens up fresh possibilities, a possible resolution to their respective existential predicaments. A means of quenching their overwhelming thirst for lasting connection and intimacy. An intriguing, provocative story; it doesn’t always come together but when it does – as in the sections featuring Alma and her mother – it’s intensely powerful.
Thanks to Netgalley and publisher Scribe for an ARC
Rating: 3.5