Worn-out monsters
"I was a monster, once," said the porcelain unicorn, sunlight shining on its creamy-white body and rainbow-colored mane and tail.
"Really," said the vampire, looking up from the cover of the movie tie-in edition of the thick trade paperback. He had decided he might as well be sociable with the fellow resident of the girl's bedside table.
"It's true. Ctesias of Cnidus, back in 4th century BC, called me a monster, destructive and powerful, killing men and horses. Then the Christians dangled a virgin in front of me, and I fell for it. It took a long time, but it happened. The old beauty-and-the-beast story. Now look at me. I'm a trinket. Utterly harmless. Leeched of any sexuality, wildness, magic, power, potential. Even the girl barely notices me anymore, thanks to you. It's the attic or the garage sale, soon."
"That's a shame," said the vampire, not really listening.
"It happens to all of them," proclaimed the unicorn. "Godzilla? Used to be a walking nuclear bomb, then they made him an indulgent dad and a defender of Japan. The Terminator: first a perfect killing machine, now a protector and father-figure, even a sex object. Rambo: a psychotic soldier in the original book, and they turned him into a noble savage and then a hero. Even the Fonz on Happy Days: he started out as a sketchy greaser, everything that was outside of Richie's safe little life. Then he jumped the shark, and by the end of the series he was completely domesticated into middle-class normality. When Angels appeared to the shepherds in the New Testament, they had to say, 'Fear not,' because in the Old Testament, angels generally meant God had to destroy a city. Now they're pudgy little children with wings. And what is Dexter but 'Hannibal Lecter joins the police and gets married'? Sad, just sad."
"You watch too much TV," said the vampire, wondering if his eyebrows needed shaping.
"It's happening to vampires too," said the unicorn.
"...wait, what?"
"You heard me." The unicorn looked a little smug. "Vampires are being domesticated too, like all the other monsters."
"Your horn's on too tight."
"There's a definite progression, from monstrous inhuman fiend, to stylish European aristocrat, to androgynous rockstar to preppie. Vampires used to be this implacable, contaminating, threatening force, without any particular motivation or humanity. Now they are protagonists, with the usual litany of therapy-speak interiority. Honestly, if I see one more penitent vampire seeking redemption or humanity, I'm going to puke rainbows.I think a lot of it goes back to Mary Shelley. When she wrote a big chunk of Frankenstein from the Creature's point of view, and made it a sympathetic character, she was way ahead of the curve. Vampires weren't given interiority until the 20th century."
"She didn't start it. Shakespeare and Milton knew a thing or two about sympathetic monsters," argued the vampire.
"True, but you can see the process of the domestication of the monster. Hell, you're not even shelved in Horror anymore. You're in Erotica or Paranormal Romance or even Young Adult Fiction. And.... wait.... what is that?"
"Nothing," said the vampire.
"Is that... glitter? Are you sparkling in sunlight?"
"Hey, Dracula could go out in sunlight. The rules keep changing."
"Granted, but he didn't sparkle. Lord Ruthven didn't sparkle. Varney the Vampire didn't sparkle. Carmilla didn't sparkle. Lestat and Louis didn't sparkle. And Dracula sure as hell didn't sparkle. He was a dark, contaminating force, the threat of the East and the past. He was a badass. He was going to tear the English bourgeoisie to shreds, and liberate them from Victorian morality. That's what made him sexy. That's what made every book or film version of Dracula since give him humanized motivations, instead of being just a dark force, because he was dangerous yet seductive.
"You, on the other hand, you're an Abercrombie & Fitch model in service of a Mormon abstinence message. You're so heteronormative it's a snooze, no sex before marriage, mating for life and all that. All that technical virginity bullshit."
"Listen, Mr. 'made in China.' I'm a billion-dollar multimedia franchise, and that doesn't even count all the knockoffs. Millions of girls are giving themselves their first orgasms thinking about me. Some of their moms, too. The chicks dig the stalker moves. I'm dangerous and otherworldly. I'm a monster."
"You sold out for greater market acceptance. Do you even know what 'monster' really means?" asked the unicorn.
"I suppose you do," said the vampire.
"I sat next to a word-a-day calendar for a while, Go back far enough into middle English, middle French, and it means 'warning, portent, omen.' A monster indicates there is something that cannot be perceived immediately. It can signify everything a society represses and externalizes. The collective Shadow, in Jungian terms. There's a reason the first lesbian film character was the Daughter of Dracula, that the first hint of Willow Rosenberg's lesbianism and her deep depression came from her vampire doppelganger from a parallel world. Monsters tell us something we're not quite ready to hear, but we need to hear it anyway.
"You don't signify anything. You don't offer any alternative to mainstream culture. You aren't a portent or omen of anything. You're comfortable, even reassuring."
"Pretty high-falutin' talk from something that came with a Hello Kitty backpack," said the vampire.
"Ad hominem attacks are a sign of losing an argument." The unicorn sniffed. "A few generations down the road, you won't even be sexy. You will be solely confined to cereal boxes and ironic hipster Internet memes. You will be twee." It said that last word with utter disgust. "The past is prologue, vampire. I am your monster."
They heard steps going up the stairs to the bedroom. "Shh," hissed the vampire, "she's coming back!"
They lapsed into silence. The vampire was far more troubled that it would ever admit, thinking of things it had seen, other forms it had taken in recent years. If they wanted him to do Christmas stories, there wasn't really much it could do about it.
The girl came into her room, flounced onto her bed and picked up the book. The vampire felt that odd sensation that came with being read, and realized there were forces beyond its control shaping it, molding him, transforming him. Little by little, it realized, something was being done to it, a kind of entropy of the imagination, being worn down and flattened out.
As she read, the girl murmured, "Now, if I was writing this..." The vampire felt itself change just a little bit, once more.
"Really," said the vampire, looking up from the cover of the movie tie-in edition of the thick trade paperback. He had decided he might as well be sociable with the fellow resident of the girl's bedside table.
"It's true. Ctesias of Cnidus, back in 4th century BC, called me a monster, destructive and powerful, killing men and horses. Then the Christians dangled a virgin in front of me, and I fell for it. It took a long time, but it happened. The old beauty-and-the-beast story. Now look at me. I'm a trinket. Utterly harmless. Leeched of any sexuality, wildness, magic, power, potential. Even the girl barely notices me anymore, thanks to you. It's the attic or the garage sale, soon."
"That's a shame," said the vampire, not really listening.
"It happens to all of them," proclaimed the unicorn. "Godzilla? Used to be a walking nuclear bomb, then they made him an indulgent dad and a defender of Japan. The Terminator: first a perfect killing machine, now a protector and father-figure, even a sex object. Rambo: a psychotic soldier in the original book, and they turned him into a noble savage and then a hero. Even the Fonz on Happy Days: he started out as a sketchy greaser, everything that was outside of Richie's safe little life. Then he jumped the shark, and by the end of the series he was completely domesticated into middle-class normality. When Angels appeared to the shepherds in the New Testament, they had to say, 'Fear not,' because in the Old Testament, angels generally meant God had to destroy a city. Now they're pudgy little children with wings. And what is Dexter but 'Hannibal Lecter joins the police and gets married'? Sad, just sad."
"You watch too much TV," said the vampire, wondering if his eyebrows needed shaping.
"It's happening to vampires too," said the unicorn.
"...wait, what?"
"You heard me." The unicorn looked a little smug. "Vampires are being domesticated too, like all the other monsters."
"Your horn's on too tight."
"There's a definite progression, from monstrous inhuman fiend, to stylish European aristocrat, to androgynous rockstar to preppie. Vampires used to be this implacable, contaminating, threatening force, without any particular motivation or humanity. Now they are protagonists, with the usual litany of therapy-speak interiority. Honestly, if I see one more penitent vampire seeking redemption or humanity, I'm going to puke rainbows.I think a lot of it goes back to Mary Shelley. When she wrote a big chunk of Frankenstein from the Creature's point of view, and made it a sympathetic character, she was way ahead of the curve. Vampires weren't given interiority until the 20th century."
"She didn't start it. Shakespeare and Milton knew a thing or two about sympathetic monsters," argued the vampire.
"True, but you can see the process of the domestication of the monster. Hell, you're not even shelved in Horror anymore. You're in Erotica or Paranormal Romance or even Young Adult Fiction. And.... wait.... what is that?"
"Nothing," said the vampire.
"Is that... glitter? Are you sparkling in sunlight?"
"Hey, Dracula could go out in sunlight. The rules keep changing."
"Granted, but he didn't sparkle. Lord Ruthven didn't sparkle. Varney the Vampire didn't sparkle. Carmilla didn't sparkle. Lestat and Louis didn't sparkle. And Dracula sure as hell didn't sparkle. He was a dark, contaminating force, the threat of the East and the past. He was a badass. He was going to tear the English bourgeoisie to shreds, and liberate them from Victorian morality. That's what made him sexy. That's what made every book or film version of Dracula since give him humanized motivations, instead of being just a dark force, because he was dangerous yet seductive.
"You, on the other hand, you're an Abercrombie & Fitch model in service of a Mormon abstinence message. You're so heteronormative it's a snooze, no sex before marriage, mating for life and all that. All that technical virginity bullshit."
"Listen, Mr. 'made in China.' I'm a billion-dollar multimedia franchise, and that doesn't even count all the knockoffs. Millions of girls are giving themselves their first orgasms thinking about me. Some of their moms, too. The chicks dig the stalker moves. I'm dangerous and otherworldly. I'm a monster."
"You sold out for greater market acceptance. Do you even know what 'monster' really means?" asked the unicorn.
"I suppose you do," said the vampire.
"I sat next to a word-a-day calendar for a while, Go back far enough into middle English, middle French, and it means 'warning, portent, omen.' A monster indicates there is something that cannot be perceived immediately. It can signify everything a society represses and externalizes. The collective Shadow, in Jungian terms. There's a reason the first lesbian film character was the Daughter of Dracula, that the first hint of Willow Rosenberg's lesbianism and her deep depression came from her vampire doppelganger from a parallel world. Monsters tell us something we're not quite ready to hear, but we need to hear it anyway.
"You don't signify anything. You don't offer any alternative to mainstream culture. You aren't a portent or omen of anything. You're comfortable, even reassuring."
"Pretty high-falutin' talk from something that came with a Hello Kitty backpack," said the vampire.
"Ad hominem attacks are a sign of losing an argument." The unicorn sniffed. "A few generations down the road, you won't even be sexy. You will be solely confined to cereal boxes and ironic hipster Internet memes. You will be twee." It said that last word with utter disgust. "The past is prologue, vampire. I am your monster."
They heard steps going up the stairs to the bedroom. "Shh," hissed the vampire, "she's coming back!"
They lapsed into silence. The vampire was far more troubled that it would ever admit, thinking of things it had seen, other forms it had taken in recent years. If they wanted him to do Christmas stories, there wasn't really much it could do about it.
The girl came into her room, flounced onto her bed and picked up the book. The vampire felt that odd sensation that came with being read, and realized there were forces beyond its control shaping it, molding him, transforming him. Little by little, it realized, something was being done to it, a kind of entropy of the imagination, being worn down and flattened out.
As she read, the girl murmured, "Now, if I was writing this..." The vampire felt itself change just a little bit, once more.