Home is where you hang your cape

If a man's home is his castle, then a vampire's castle is his home. Hardly a vampire story passes into fiction without the description of a palace, mansion, or some grandiose house.

Who can forget Jonathan Harker's first sight of Castle Dracula?

"Suddenly, I became conscious of the fact that the driver was in the act of pulling up the horses in the courtyard of a vast ruined castle, from whose tall black windows came no ray of light, and whose broken battlements showed a jagged line against the moon-lit sky" (Stoker 13).

Gone is the time of the folkloric revenant, who passed daylight hours in a water-logged caves or crawled from the graveyard beds at first signs of night. Nowadays, even the vegetarian vampires have a veritable palace, albeit it's made largely of glass, which won't help at all to hide their sparkly skin in the noon-day sun. On the plus side, it's easy to see a mob of angry villagers with torches and processional crosses approaching.

But, before the Cullens decided to prettify vampire imagery, the residence of the vampire was depicted as large, dark, and well-secured. Anne Rice describes countless mansions, palaces, and island fortresses that serve as nighttime dwellings for her immortal characters. The castle may change according to the standard of the time, but her vampires often live well. At times, the image of the vampire is nearly inseparable from the spooky fortress that encloses him.

Even one of the oldest of vampire fictions, Varney the Vampire, touts a large manor as an important issue to the vampire. I'd like to be more specific with this example, but I am not able to wade through the bloated dialogue of that ridiculously long penny-dreadful looking for an acceptable quote to back my claim, at the moment. So, take my word for it, or read it yourself.

"Why is Ana so busy?" You may ask...and inevitably someone will.

I'd like to respond, "Writing little blog articles to explain the intricacies of vampiric existence is not the most entertaining or important use of my time", but I should refrain. So, I will tell you that relocation has rendered me too busy to re-read the melodramatic series in the hope of finding the source of the vampire castle. Yes, I have relocated, and that is precisely my point.

You see, castles are horribly impractical for the vampire. Limelight living is not something for which vampires aspire. Let's face it, ostentatious dwellings draw attention. I know. We've all met Sunday drivers who decide to pass their time gawking at and yearning for the homes of the rich as they drive two miles per hour through residential streets. Who wants this sort of attention? Frankly, I don't.

Anyway, once a vampire has hung around the neighborhood long enough, the locals will notice strange habits and feel snubbed by the repetitious refusal of dinner party invitations. All this doesn't even consider the expected life-cycle of a human. Moving away for half a century only to return, claiming to be the grandchild and namesake of the previous occupant, won't work. Why?--paperwork.

Boil it all down, and I'd prefer a cozy little crypt over a palace. But, since graveyards are full of decaying bodies, I'll settle for an inconspicuous little hovel with thick walls and a low security deposit--just in case I have to skip town in a hurry.

Oh, and obliging landlords with few questions certainly make things easier.

Greetings,
Ana

Night Vision

"According to Abraham Van Helsing, the voice of authority on vampires in Dracula, the vampire can see in the dark" (Melton 755). This little perk of vampirism comes in handy as the blood-drinker lurks in a shadowy recess waiting for his prey to stumble by him.

Vampiric night vision is a logical assumption, "because vampires [are] nocturnal creatures who [move] freely in the darkness of the evening hours" (755). In order to feel comfortable and secure a creature should be able to use all available senses, so a vampire must be able to see at night. But, let's be honest, you can see at night, too. You just can't see very well.

Nocturnal creatures cannot perceive an environment that is totally dark, either, unless they employ another means of navigation. The bat, for instance, uses sonar. The viper utilizes infrared. Often the vampire is compared to both of these creatures, but can a vampire truly see when the world is devoid of light?

Before we continue further, I will admit that I have rather poor eyesight. I mean, it's probably still better than yours, but I shouldn't brag. Once again, I am an unreliable source of information. My eyes are not equipped with infrared sensors, x-ray emitters, or sonar receivers...but, I really wish that they were; that'd be cool.

Anyway, let's examine what fiction and folklore have to say. Then, we'll discuss the scenario as I...ahem...see it.

In folklore, vampires emerge at night, and in some tales cannot withstand the solar rays. However, vampires are rarely afforded a narrative voice in folklore, and we cannot assume that they possess heightened night-vision just because they are nocturnal.

So, we'll turn to fiction. Certainly, Stoker bestows keen nocturnal sight on his undead characters. Human narrators describe dark scenes through which the vampire navigates flawlessly. In more modern fiction, nearly always vampires are ascribed preternatural sight, including powerful night-vision.

Nina Auerbach points out that Rice's vampires "do little, but they are superb spectators. When they are not killing, they flex their highly developed vampire sight" (154). Not only do Rice's vampires see well in very low light, but they also see well in illuminated scenes. Louis notes how his vision changes--he sees the world through new, vampiric eyes--when he transforms from human to vampire. Armand, as Amadeo, records how lights glow brighter after his death, and paintings seem to come alive. Colors are also bolder, and patterns are more distinguished.

When I argue with Anne Rice, readers of my blog become disgruntled. You'll be happy to know that I'm not contradicting your vampire-guru author...well, I'm not contradicting her overtly, anyway. Vampiric vision relies on acute perception, which is sensing and mentally translating the environment, instead of sonar, infrared, or any other seemingly magical catalyst of night vision. Vampires are nocturnal and are therefore more accustomed to the dark version of the world than diurnal humans. Looming shadows fail to startle the vampire, who realizes that they are nothing more than inanimate objects. Small movements register sharply in the peripherals of the vampire's vision, and he knows to react to these tremors.

So, does a vampire have night vision? Of course, he does. And, unlike you, he understands what he sees.


See you soon,
Ana

Note: Hey, it could be worse. I could have babbled on about the natural bleaching of rods and cones and the regeneration cycles of cells...just think about that.

Sources:
Auerbach, Nina. Our Vampires.
Melton, J Gordon. Vampire Book.

Full Moon

"As the moonbeams, in consequence of the luminary rising higher and higher in the heavens, came to touch the figure that lay extended on the rising ground, a perceptible movement took place in it. The limbs appeared to tremble, and although it did not rise up, the whole body gave signs of vitality" (Rymer, chapter 5).

In the early vampire fictions, the moon called the vampire from the ground and restored animation to its corpse. "Because the vampire is a nocturnal creature," it was expected to have "special relationship to the moon" (Melton 469). Moonbeams contained restorative powers, and the magic salve of lunar light healed all wounds.

In John Polidori's story The Vampyre (c.1819), "the vampire was killed in the course of the story" (Melton 469). After the "first cold ray of the moon that rose after his death" struck his body, the vampire revived (Polidori).

James Malcolm Rymer built vampiric healing on the same principle as Polidori in Varney the Vampyre (alternatively attributed to Jonathan Preskett Prest; published 1845-47). In this penny dreadful (a pulp-fiction story that was published as a series of short articles), the moon is so pivotal to healing that vampires "always endeavor to make their feast of blood, for the revival of their bodily powers, on some evening immediately preceding a full moon, because if any accident befalls them, such as being shot, or otherwise killed or wounded, they can recover by lying down somewhere where the full moon's rays will fall upon them" (Rymer, chapter 4).

Your logical question is: Does it work? And, for that I say: Bah. I've never been the type to howl at the moon imploring it to save me from my ailments. Full moon equates more light than normal, and superior luminescence encourages humans to risk nocturnal strolls. I harbor no ill-will against the moon goddess, but I'll leave the lunar worship to the wolves.

After Bram Stoker associated the moon with Dracula's "command over the wolves", "the moon became much more associated with werewolves" than with vampires in fiction (Melton 469).

Salud y vida,
Ana

Sources:
Melton, J. The Vampire Book.
Polidori, John. The Vampyre.
Rymer, James Malcolm. Varney the Vampire.

Scholomance

What do Harry Potter and Dracula have in common? For starters, they both attended wizardry school.

Dracula learned the secrets of nature and magic at the Scholomance, an occult school that is described to lay nestled "amongst the mountains over Lake Hermannstadt, where the devil claims" every "tenth scholar as his due" (Stoker 383).

"In the novel Dracula...Dr. Van Helsing says that Count Dracula...studied at a school run by the devil himself known as Scholomance" (Stevenson 4). The "Scholomance was an occult school situated in a labyrinth of underground caves where men would make a pact with the devil to gain occult knowledge" (Ramsland 19). The headmaster was paid with the flesh and soul of one pupil who would become a servant to his evil ways. This sinister school remains "hidden at an unknown location variously said to be located in the mountains, the underground, or the other world" (Melton 604).

The scholomance reference in Stoker's Dracula "is important because it associates Dracula, hence Slavic vampires, with witchcraft and Satan, as well as with occult philosophical learning...In her papers, folklore researcher Emily de Laszowska-Gerard talks about the Scholomance as a school where people learned 'the secrets of nature, the language of animals, and all magic spells,' as taught by the devil" (Ramsland 20).

"Very little is known of the" origins of the "Scholomance legend. Bram Stoker read about it in a book about Transylvania called Land Beyond the Forest (1888) by Emily Gerard." Some scholars suggest that Gerard misunderstood the term 'Solomonari' as "spoken by a local with a German accent." Was this a case of a foreigner miserably failing to grasp the clear diction of the local region? Perhaps...If the assertion is true, 'scholomance' "is a misnomer." Its appearance "in no other known source, nor in Romanian folklore" leads me to believe that the fantastical label was conjured by the befuddled mind of Gerard (Ramsland 19-20).

Regardless, some society of magical tradition existed, and from the mists of enchantment surrounding the magic men, Gerard spun her article. "Traditional Romanian society recognized the existence of solomonari, or wise ones, considered successors of the biblical King Solomon and bearers of his wisdom...The solomonari were basically wizards whose primary ability was affecting the weather, which they accomplish[ed] through their power over the balauri, or dragons. By riding the dragon in the sky they [brought] rain or drought. The solomonari were thus the Romanian equivalent to shaman" (Melton 603).

A solomonari is recognized as a "large person with red eyes," [possibly permanently swollen from ceaseless studying for the impossible final exam] "and red hair and a wrinkled forehead. He will wear white clothes and will arrive in a village as a wandering beggar. Around his neck will be the 'bag of the solomonari' in which he keeps his magical instruments, including an iron ax (to break up the sky ice thus producing hailstones), a bridle shaped from birch used to capture the dragon, his magical 'book' from which he 'reads' the charms used to master the dragons" (604).

"Legend has it that the Scholomance would admit students ten at a time", and that some of these would become solomonari. "Upon acquisition of the devilish insight" nine would be freed from apprenticeship and one would be retained by the Devil as payment (Leatherdale 107). The students' "final examination involved copying all that they knew about humanity into the Solomonar's book" (Ramsland 20). "Students received their own 'book' at the end of their training, described as a stone talisman with nine mysterious letters in it. In any given situation, the solomonari concentrates on the book, and from it discerns what he should do" (Melton 604). Once initiated, they become full-fledged alchemists with the power to maintain the balance of nature and to preserve order" (Ramsland 20). Stoker's Dracula boasted such powers. Mina Harker writes in her journal, "he can, within his range, direct the elements, the storm, the fog, the thunder, he can command all the meaner things, the rat, and the owl, and the bat, the moth, and the fox, and the wolf, he can grow and become small, and he can at times vanish and become unknown" (Stoker).

Pa,
Ana

Sources:
Leatherdale, Clive. Dracula: the novel & the legend
Melton. The Vampire Book.
Ramsland, Katherine M. The Science of Vampires.
Stevenson, Jay. The Complete Idiot's Guide to Vampires.
Stoker. Dracula.