Chapter 28: In Which Our Heroes Begin Their Search

Previously in Varney the Vampire: Flora trusts Charles and is therefore obviously insane.

As Chapter 28 (MR. MARCHDALE'S EXCULPATION OF HIMSELF. -- THE SEARCH THROUGH THE GARDENS. -- THE SPOT OF THE DEADLY STRUGGLE. -- THE MYSTERIOUS PAPER.) begins, Our Heroes begin the search for Charles and I begin to wonder what happened to the beloved Admiral character I found so entertaining in past chapters.

He's still there, of course, but the general dullness of the rest of the cast seems to have worn off on him. That's the problem with JMR's characters in general. A few of them are interesting on their own (like Flora, when she's taking care of herself instead of being patronized by Our Heroes) or in pairs (like Henry and Flora or Charles and the Admiral). But I think JMR has trouble balancing scenes with more than three characters, or something, because so often when the characters are together in a group they just turn into a giant ball of bland. Even Varney isn't nearly as interesting in a crowd than he is with just one guest.

Oblivious to my boredom, Our Heroes search for Charles, but only find an unreadable note, covered in mud. They return home with some delightfully condescending advice for Flora:

"They have killed him! they have killed him!" she said mournfully. "Oh, God, they have killed him! I am not now mad, but the time will come when I must surely be maddened. The vampyre has killed Charles Holland -- the dreadful vampyre!"

"Nay, now, Flora, this is frenzy."

"Because he loved me has he been destroyed. I know it, I know it. The vampyre has doomed me to destruction..."

"Hush, sister, hush!" cried Henry. "I expected not this from you. The expressions you use are not your expressions...."

"Calm! calm!"

"Yes. Make an exertion of that intellect we all know you to possess..."

I'll say this about Flora, despite JMR's inconsistent handling of her character: she's the character who most consistently displays human emotions appropriate for the situation, and yet is consistently treated as if she's the only one not doing so.

Anyway, Henry leaves the Admiral to protect Flora, and finally someone tells off Marchdale:

"Amen to that," cried the admiral; "and now, my dear, if you have got half an hour to spare, just tuck your arm under mine, and take a walk with me in the garden, for I want to say something to you."

"Most willingly," said Flora.

"I would not advise you to stray far from the house, Miss Bannerworth," said Marchdale.

"Nobody asked you for advice," said the admiral. "D -- -e, do you want to make out that I ain't capable of taking care of her?"

"No, no; but -- "

"Oh, nonsense! Come along, my dear; and if all the vampyres and odd fish that were ever created were to come across our path, we would settle them somehow or another. Come along, and don't listen to anybody's croaking."

That's the highlight of the chapter, really, so it's good that the chapter ends there.

Chapter 29: In Which a Digression is Actually Welcomed

Chapter 27: In Which the Contrived Obstacle is Conveniently Resolved

Previously in Varney the Vampire: I rant a bit more than usual.

I already kind of covered Chapter 27 (THE NOBLE CONFIDENCE OF FLORA BANNERWORTH IN HER LOVER. -- HER OPINION OF THE THREE LETTERS. -- THE ADMIRAL'S ADMIRATION.) in the last chapter, albeit briefly, which leaves me in the awkward place of not having much more to say about it, except to repeat "stupid" over and over while banging my head against a wall.

As I've mentioned before, I'm reading from the annotated edition by Curt Herr, who is at a great advantage over me not only due to being a scholar of this sort of thing and not just a bored fan with a blog, but due to not having committed himself to commenting on every chapter.

The essential problem with Varney the Vampire is not that it is good or bad, but that it is inconsistent. I rant for a few chapters about how bad it is, giggle delightfully for a few chapters about how entertainingly cheesy it is, and then read a legitimately good chapter or two and feel genuinely bad for making fun of it. The good parts are more interesting to read, but the bad parts are more interesting to comment on.

As to Chapter 27 in particular, the two main problems here are the whiplash, which I mentioned in the last post (and which I'm sure there's a literary name for that I've simply not learned) and the problematic portrayal of Flora, which just keeps rearing its ugly head. Once more, the story is All About the Men. Henry and the Admiral share the letters with Marchdale before deigning to excite poor Flora over their contents, and when she dares to react with emotion they declare her mad. After she asserts that the letters are forgeries (forged by whom and why? it doesn't matter, apparently), Marchdale doesn't even seem to believe her:

It was quite clear that he considered Flora had spoken from the generous warmth of her affection as regarded Charles Holland, and not from the conviction which reason would have enforced her to feel.

Because, as we all know, Our Heroes' reaction to the vampire has always been the epitome of reason...

But it doesn't matter. Flora entrusts the men with the task of finding Charles, and I'm left wondering where this story is going and why.

Chapter 28: In Which Our Heroes Begin Their Search

Chapter 26: In Which Charles Is Kind Of a Dick (Or So We Think)

Previously in Varney the Vampire: Story time!

I kind of want to take my original "tension, not whiplash" post and beat JMR over the head with it. I know it's only a few kilobytes of HTML code and therefore not very heavy, but it's the principle of the thing.

See, because we know Charles loves Flora, and we know he wanted to duel the vampire, and we know that now he's off to meet the vampire. And yet in Chapter 26 (THE MEETING AT MOONLIGHT IN THE PARK. -- THE TURRET WINDOW IN THE HALL. -- THE LETTERS.), he sneaks out of the house at night, leaving letters to Henry and the Admiral about how Flora is becoming a vampire and he can't possibly marry her.

Yes, I skipped ahead to the next chapter, and (SPOILER ALERT!) it was just as I suspected: Flora sees the letters and proclaims them forgeries, and everyone is happy again. But that doesn't change the fact that it's not dramatic tension. It's a random out-of-character scene that provides a brief moment of unrealistic tension and then is immediately rectified in the next scene.

I guess it kind of works if you're reading the story chapter by chapter, which was the entire point of this blog in the first place -- but then again, in a way it's much worse, because you have to wait a week or however long for the next chapter only to discover that what appears to be the next big plotline is suddenly and conveniently resolved with no problems whatsoever.

Man, there are a couple of unintentionally funny quotes in this chapter, but they are not good enough to distract me from the fact that Varney is seriously pissing me off.

Chapter 27: In Which the Contrived Obstacle is Conveniently Resolved

Chapter 25: In Which the Admiral Tells a Story

Previously in Varney the Vampire: Charles resolves to do something stupid.

Chapter 25 (THE ADMIRAL'S OPINION. -- THE REQUEST OF CHARLES.) is the second digression in six chapters. Really, JMR? But to be fair, this one kind of has to do with the story, in that rather than someone reading an unrelated tale, the Admiral relates it to Charles. I'm not going to quote because I didn't really find much to nitpick, but the gist is that a giant stranger appears, seemingly out of nowhere, on a ship during a sea voyage. He summons up a storm, drinks all their coffee, and disappears again.

In his annotated edition of Varney the Vampire, Curt Herr notes that there are parallels between the Admiral's story and the episode on the Demeter in Dracula. I haven't studied the texts extensively, so maybe there are more intricate details I'm missing, but "they're both creepy stories about a supernatural figure on a boat in books about vampires" comes across as more coincidence than anything.

When I read the footnote, I expected the twist at the end to be that the stranger on the boat was Varney. The storm thing is hard to explain for a vampire, but as JMR hasn't fully established the rules of vampirism at this point in the narrative, I can't discount anything for sure. But the eating and drinking definitely proves that the stranger on the boat isn't a vampire.

So in the end, the story is really not related to Varney any more than the penny dreadful Flora read in Chapter 19 -- merely better integrated, and (I think) an overall more interesting story. Entertaining enough, but I'd like to get back to Varney.

Chapter 26: In Which Charles is Kind Of a Dick (Or So We Think)

Chapter 24: In Which Charles Prepares to Meet His Doom

Previously in Varney the Vampire: The Admiral's awesomeness cannot withstand the presence of Varney.

Chapter 24 (THE LETTER TO CHARLES. -- THE QUARREL. -- THE ADMIRAL'S NARRATIVE. -- THE MIDNIGHT MEETING.) begins with the Admiral advising Charles to forget the duel entirely:

"D -- n it all, Jack, I don't know how to get out of it," said the admiral. "I tell you what it is, Charles, he wants to fight with swords; and what on earth is the use of your engaging with a fellow who has been practising at his weapon for more than a hundred years?"

The vampire's age really only came into play in the last chapter and was rather glossed over, so I'm glad that this is becoming a pattern. It also provides an interesting -- and again, bizarrely rational -- twist to things: they're not afraid of the vampire because he can use his teeth, but because he's become an expert at ordinary, human weapons.

It suddenly occurs to me that perhaps I'm reading the subtext wrong -- ignoring the sexual component to the vampire attacks a bit too easily. Varney's attacks on Flora are sexual -- not nearly as sexual as the vampire bites in Dracula or in much modern vampire fiction, but the undertone is there nonetheless. In my frustration at the fact that the men aren't frightened enough of the vampire, I'm ignoring the fact that the vampire attacking one of the men would be homoerotic. Perhaps in the men's minds (or JMR's), such an attack would therefore be unthinkable.

I'm sure this theory will be contradicted by the end of the book, but for now it satisfies me.

At any rate, Charles and the Admiral fret for a bit when they are interrupted by a letter from Varney:

"SIR, -- Your uncle, as he stated himself to be, Admiral Bell, was the bearer to me, as I understood him this day, of a challenge from you. Owing to some unaccountable hallucination of intellect, he seemed to imagine that I intended to set myself up as a sort of animated target, for any one to shoot at who might have a fancy so to do..."

God, I love Varney. Perhaps if he'd shown up in the first few chapters, the story would not have seemed so tedious and I would not have become inspired to start this blog at all.

So Varney offers to meet Charles alone at night to clear the whole thing up. Worried that admitting fear will rob him of his manhood, Charles resolves to do so. First, of course, he has to say farewell to Flora, all but shouting "I'm going to do something terribly stupid!" He kisses her -- a significant act, considering the sexual mores of the day -- and then goes off to meet the vampire:

"What can this be," he exclaimed, "that thus oppressed me? What feeling is this that seems to tell me, I shall never again see Flora Bannerworth?"...

"Oh, this is weakness," he then added. "I must fight out against this; it is mere nervousness. I must not endure it, I will not suffer myself thus to become the sport of imagination. Courage, courage, Charles Holland. There are real evils enough, without your adding to them by those of a disordered fancy. Courage, courage, courage."

I think this is one of the few chapter endings so far that actually feels suspenseful. For the most part they either sort of dick around until JMR decides he has enough words down or leave us with overdramatic, contrived cliffhangers. Charles has not been a consistently human or believable character -- though he's better than some of the others -- but here, I really get a glimpse of true emotion, and it makes me want to continue reading.

Chapter 25: In Which the Admiral Tells a Story

Chapter 23: In Which a Duel is Arranged

Previously in Varney the Vampire: Henry considers renting the Bannerworth house to Varney. I... smell... SITCOM!

Chapter 23 (THE ADMIRAL'S ADVICE TO CHARLES HOLLAND. -- THE CHALLENGE TO THE VAMPYRE.), which is really much longer than it has any right to be, begins with the Admiral advising Charles to fight the vampire. Says Charles:

"...Should I overcome Varney, there will most likely be at once an end to the numerous and uncomfortable perplexities of the Bannerworths as regards him; and if he overcome me, why, then, at all events, I shall have made an effort to rescue Flora from the dread of this man."

Or you'll be dead because you're fighting a f***ing vampire who has survived bullet wounds and... oh, I give up.

So the Admiral agrees to be Charles's second and goes to deliver a note to Varney, leaving Charles to consider "the best means of preventing the resuscitation of the corpse of a vampire." After considering the various means of killing a vampire, Charles has a sudden revelation about what vampirism -- and immortality -- really entails:

"What changes he must have witnessed about him in that time," thought Charles. "How he must have seen kingdoms totter and fall, and how many changes of habits, of manners, and of custom must he have become a spectator of. Renewing too, ever and anon, his fearful existence by such fearful means."

It's a short paragraph, but it's the first real exploration of Varney's age and how immortality has affected his character.

Meanwhile, the Admiral visits Varney with Charles's offer of a duel. Once again, I absolutely adore Varney. His dialogue is just so subtly creepy. (I suspect that is often unintentional, since subtlety is not generally JMR's strong suit.) It's just so casual and calm; for example:

"I have no particular objection. Have you settled all your affairs, and made your will?"

"What's that to you?"

"Oh, I only asked, because there is generally so much food for litigation if a man dies intestate, and is worth any money."

"You make devilish sure," said the admiral, "of being the victor. Have you made your will?"

"Oh, my will," smiled Sir Francis; "that, my good sir, is quite an indifferent affair."

They agree to duel with swords (guns being too modern and barbarous for Varney). And I'm sorry for quoting so much, but Varney just keeps being wonderfully calm and downright smug:

"Oh, I beg your pardon there. I never challenge anybody, and when foolish people call me out, contrary to my inclination, I think I am bound to take what care of myself I can."

"D -- n me, there's some reason in that, too," said the admiral; "but why do you insult people?"

"People insult me first."

So the Admiral leaves in a huff, and in the end the chapter didn't seem nearly as long as it appeared. Varney's presence in the story for which he is the title character does that to one's interest, I suppose.

Chapter 24: In Which Charles Prepares to Meet His Doom

Digression: Regarding Sexy Vampires

Man, I am just not feeling good today. So in place of our Regularly Scheduled Program, here's a confession:

I don't understand why vampires are supposed to be sexy.

I mean, I get the whole sex-and-death connection, but the way vampires are presented in literature usually seems more unintentionally creepy than sexually attractive. More often than not, vampires are a hundred years old or more, hailing from the Good Old Days before men were generally expected to not be chauvinistic assholes. Yet they look young forever, which usually leads them to women in their teens as love interests. Combined with the fact that vampires are monsters and therefore can't control their actions, this leads to a host of behaviors that are at best unattractive and at worst emotionally abusive.

The best vampire stories, romances or not, present the vampire as a sympathetic yet problematic figure, and vampirism as a condition with downsides more severe than a chronic case of Generic Angst. Off the top of my head, I enjoy the portrayal of the vampire in Tanya Huff's Blood Books. Henry is a balanced character, intense and sexual but also genuinely frightening, and the relationships are more complicated than "sexy vampire = true love."

I prefer vampires as balanced, developed villains than woobiefied, misunderstood figures or generically supernatural love interests. But no one seems to write them like that anymore.