I remember the moment when the truth dawned on me…I was just a nipper and I was watching a Hammer House of Horror movie featuring Christopher Lee as Dracula – and it struck me that what vampires do is JUST LIKE SEX.
Except, in fact, it’s not; when vampires feed, they take fluid out; but when you have sex, you…okay okay I’m moving on. But the basic insight – which came to me when I was 12 or 13 - is this: vampirism is a compelling and unmistakable metaphor for sexual intercourse.
And, of course, I’m not exactly the only person who’s noticed this fact…
The American TV vampire series True Blood takes the implicit metaphor and really bangs it out there. It’s sex, sex, sex all the way…the high point for me came when Sookie’s brother takes vampire blood in a pill and gets a hard on so enormous he’s in agony and has to have all the blood surgically removed from – no, no, that’s another sentence I’m not going to finish.
The old Hammer vampire films were relatively tame ; it’s not until you get to classics like The Vampire Lovers (1970) that it all starts getting steamy. (Okay, film nerds out there, correct me if you wish!) But the icky-sticky sexy stuff was there all along; for The Vampire Lovers was based on Sheridan Le Fanu’s lesbian vampire short story Carmilla, arguably the first ever vampire story (okay book nerds, shoot me down there too!) Here’s a flavour of Le Fanu:
Sometimes after an hour of apathy, my strange and beautiful companion would take my hand and hold it with a fond pressure, renewed again and again; blushing softly, gazing in my face with languid and burning eyes, and breathing so fast that her dress rose and fell with the tumultuous respiration. It was like the ardour of a lover; it embarrassed me; it was hateful and yet overpowering; and with gloating eyes she drew me to her, and her hot lips travelled along my cheek in kisses; and she would whisper, almost in sobs, ‘You are mine, you shall be mine, and you and I are one for ever’. (Carmilla, Chapter 4).
Of course vampire stories and urban fantasy stories aren’t necessarily the same thing; though to be honest, the distinctions seem elusive to me. Stephen King’s ‘Salem’s Lot is a definitive reinvention of the vampire myth; but it’s not urban fantasy, it’s small town America fantasy/horror. And Kim Newman’s great Victorian vampire novels Anno Dracula and The Bloody Red Baron are awash with sex (like the vampire stripper scene in which – no, I’m really not going to speak that one out loud) but they’re aren’t contemporary. And as I understand, urban fantasy has to be urban, cool, & now.
But the general point is this: urban fantasy is a booming genre, as publisher Tim Holman has conclusively demonstrated. And urban fantasy seems to me to be awash with sex.
And are those two things connected?
Of course urban fantasy is often (always?) horror, and horror is by definition a sensationalist genre. But the thesis I’m reaching towards here is this: urban fantasy readers like sex – more than that they like stories about CHARACTERS having sex – and the whole genre is dominated by an assumption that stories have to be about people, relationships, and feelings. And – sorry, a four letter word is about to be used here – LOVE.
And this is why there’s such a huge gulf between the hardcore SF reader and the died-in-the-wool urban fantasy writer. SF thrives on gadgets, gizmos, and huge space battles; urban fantasy is about characters and their emotions.
Wild generalisation? You bet!
I’m not, I stress, arguing that science fiction is prudish; far from it. Robert Heinlein’s Stranger in a Strange Land tapped into the 60s free love ethos and its advocacy of polyamory still exerts a strong pull over the core SF readership. Anyone who’s on the mailing list for this year’s Odyssey will know there has been a huge debate about the connections between science fiction/fantasy and bondage, polyamory, and other sexual life choices.
And modern SF writers are far from shy about writing explicit sex scenes. Charles Stross’ superb Saturn’s Children, for instance, is written as a homage to Heinlein but is FAR filthier. It’s set in a world where humans have died out, and robots are left behind; and these robots are horny and love sex. It’s an adorable tongue-in-cheek novel that’s as amusing as it is graphic.
Or take Peter F. Hamilton’s The Dreaming Void, in which the character of Araminta has sex with a ‘multiple human’ – one personality shared between multiple bodies – called Mr Bovey. Araminta wakes from a dream to find the Mr Boveys are pleasuring her:
The gossamer breath of nebula dust firmed up into strong fingers sliding along her legs; more hands began to stroke her belly, the another pair squeezed her breasts. Sweet oil was massaged into her skin with wicked insistence. Tongues licked with intimate familiarity.
‘Time to wake up,’ a voice murmured.
On the other side of her, another voice encouraged, ”Time to indulge yourself again.’
(And after that, it gets REALLY steamy…)
So there’s no way that the modern SF writer is shy about writing ‘down and dirty’ sex scenes in the far future; and all too often these may involve differently evolved human beings, or even acts of exophilia, ie sex with aliens. (As in Eric Brown’s masterly short story ‘Star Crystals and Karmel’ in the collection The Time Lapsed Man and Other Stories.)
But my point here is that in science fiction and traditional fantasy, sex is an element of the storytelling – it’s something characters do in the course of the story. But in certain subgenres of urban fantasy, sex IS the story.
In other words, the very premise of a vampire story is a sexual metaphor; the deflowering of a virgin, the loss of innocence, the ravishing of a nubile woman or a virile man, often in bed, by a monster.
And by the same token, the very premise of a werewolf story is also a sexual metaphor; the beast unleashed, the shapeshifting, the feet that grow (!!! that’s called ‘metonymy’, think not ‘foot’ but some other body part) and the surrender to wild bestial passion.
Urban fantasy IS sex in other words.
Of course sometimes the sexual metaphor is underplayed, and is drowned out by other metaphors. Charlie Huston for instance is writing a terrific series about a vampire in a version of New York (I’ve just read the first, Already Dead) in which vampires run the gangs; here vampires are the Mafia, rather than being sexual monsters. There are some racy scenes, admittedly, but the dominant metaphor isn’t sexual.
But all too often, these two subgenres – vampire and werewolf stories – offer the writer a way to explore the human condition ESPECIALLY WITH REGARD TO HAVING SEX, and falling in love. Buffy The Vampire Slayer, for instance, is many things; but the dominant strand (for me) is the story of a young woman’s sexual awakening (the whole Angel romance) and her discovery of herself as a independently minded sexual being. I love the fights in Buffy; but the moments and images I remember most vividly are when Buffy is haunted by sorrow because she has a broken heart.
Nicole Peeler’s heroine Jane True (in her series which begins with Tempest Rising) offers an intriguing variation on this ‘urban fantasy is all about sex’ approach. For Jane is not a vampire, she’s a selkie – half-seal, half-woman – and let’s be frank about this: that’s REALLY sexy. If you don’t believe me, listen to THIS SONG (chosen by Nicole) about a murderous selkie, and then read Nicole’s hot prose. In fact here’s an excerpt (note: Old Sow is the local name in this New England town for a dangerous whirlpool):
I used the riptide caused by one of the Sow’s piglets to help me shoot up into the air so I could dive back down like a porpose. I landed more heavily than I’d anticipated, the piglet forcing me into a strong current that wanted to carry me to her mother. I fought hard to free myself but the current had me in its vicelike grip. The Old Sow was nowhere near the most powerful of the Earth’s whirlpools, but she was far too strong even for my freakish swimming abilities.
You see what I mean! If being caught up in a whirlpool as a half-woman, half-seal isn’t a metaphor for sex, then I don’t know what it is. And okay, that’s pretty extreme and kinky and, er, damp sex; but the sensuality of the language and the intensity of the ‘surrendering to passion’ subtext are, in my view, undeniable. (Unless, ahem, I’m just really odd?)
There are, I should add, some very graphic sex scenes between Jane and her vampire lover later on in the book; but my point is that it’s the very premise that’s sexy. The whole concept of the book is about what it is to be a sensual beast; rather than being a sensible, cerebral geek in nerdy clothing (as I, for instance, am for most of the time.)
I’m also, as readers of this blogsite will know, a huge fan of Dante Valentine, Lilith Saintcrow’s ass-kicking private necromance character in the series of books which begins with Working fot the Devil. These books have a fabulously well worked out future history, and the action scenes are intense and exciting. But the whole point of the book, really, is Dante’s love life; her passions, her confusions, her love/hate relationship with her various lovers. And, more than anything, it’s about the intense and toxic love between a human being (who becomes part-demon) and an actual demon. That’s Japhrimel of course; powerful, arrogant, wearing a black cape, patronising to Dante yet adoring her, and terrifyingly protective of ‘his’ woman. He’s a demonic Heathcliff; a man so sexy he sizzles.
And again there are exceptions to this rule; there are plenty of urban fantasy books (especially YA books) which AREN’T all about sex. (Although even then, if you think of Stephanie Meyer’s tales about a celibate vampire – isn’t the absence of sex another way of being ABOUT sex?)
My simple point though is that there’s a strong subgenre of urban fantasies which are love stories as much as they are kick-ass supernatural thrillers; and that fact intrigues me. You couldn’t write a crime novel that was more about the sexual and emotional desires of the main characters than about the who-dun-it unfolding of the plot; but in SFF, all things are possible.
And this is where the subgenre of ‘paranormal romance’ comes into the argument. This is a subgenre that buds off from ‘romance’ rather than from SFF; there’s nothing wrong with that in my view, though I’ve seen comments on the blogosphere that are deeply hostile to this whole literary trend. Most people who love SFF are attracted to great stories, wonderful concepts, and compelling characters; we’re not looking for ‘romance’ as such.
And yet – a good romance is possibly the greatest story which any writer can tell. So I’m happy to read SF or fantasy or urban fantasy with sex and love and romance as vital story strands.
But I have to reluctantly concede that it’s only the urban fantasy writers who get to write ALL about sex…
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Absolutely 100% agree with your comments in regard to Buffy. Two of the most powerful episodes in the whole damn show were the 2-parter in season two where Angel loses his soul, and not because of great special effects or flashy fight scenes but because of the emotional tumult it sends our heroine into. Crowning Moment of Heartbreaking: Angelus playing it off like the whole thing was no big deal.
Good blog, man.
I love those eps…the ep with the ghost at the school breaks my heart too,and it’s the same emotional story being told…
On the title question. No. Read Greywalker.
That Tempest Rising sounds filthy! What SMUT!
Hahahahaha, I crack myself up. Okay, seriously, great post! To be honest, I hadn’t really thought of the selkie as a metaphor for sexuality but now that you point it out it’s REALLY obvious. I think especially the way they shift, literally taking on and off their seal coat. Implying that their animal nature is fundamentally a part of them, and their humanity as much a mask as their animality.
As you do point out, however, there are a lot of UF writers who DO eschew sex and, I think, write a more traditionally SF/F story set in modern times. As Hagelrat pointed out, a great example is Kat Richardson, whose fabulous books are all about the world and the powers.
Which leads me to one of the GREAT about UF, tho. It’s like a pick and mix genre, where you can literally cobble together whatever you want in your book…if you like a lot of action, or gadgetry (Jen Rardin’s a great one for gadgets), or science, or whatever, just stick ‘er in. There’s a lot less genre convention expectations in UF from both the reading public and from publishers.
And, as authors, we all really appreciate that, and each other’s work. Kat and I are on two totally opposite ends of the UF spectrum, and I ADORE her fiction and she has publicly called my book one of the best she read last year. Which is awesome! I see other genres bickering about who is and who isn’t a “real” [insert genre] writer, but there’s very little of that in UF.
My one suggestion for your post would be to think about how you use “love” and “sex.” I’ve gotten some flak from certain readers who HATE that Jane isn’t “in love” with Ryu. She likes him a lot, and they definitely have sexual chemistry, but she knows damned well she doesn’t love him. Which bothers some readers…they think Jane should only be having sex with someone she loves. I find this fascinating (as a woman and as an academic who studies power and sexuality) on about 400 levels, but I’m also a bit horrified. I wish they could see what you’ve seen–that Jane delights in sensuality–and appreciate that in her rather than judge her for it.
Mina Loy would be sad.
But the majority of Jane’s readers have really enjoyed her take on life, and many have cited her sexuality (it’s combination of sensuality AND clear-headedness) as one reason they enjoy the book. It might not be a love story, but I think it’s a damned good sex story.
I haven’t read Kat Richardson…I guess that proves I gravitate towards the smuttier side of UF.
HOW COULD YOU NOT REALISE SELKIES ARE ALL ABOUT SEX. Harumph. You innocent little minx.
I am now going to accuse you of a version of the Intentional Fallacy ie you can’t judge a story by what the author intends. I think Jane and Ryu ARE in love – or at least, WILL BE in love – it’ll grow and develop as the books go by. Because that’s what readers will want and you will be powerless to resist.
That’s not to say characters – or people- have to be in love to have sex. If that were the case, poor James Bond would be celibate. But I don’t think anyone wants James Bond to be happily married (though he did get married in one book and was assassinated…)
But I do think readers will want Jane True to find, er, True Love.
I’ll bet you fifty pounds she doesn’t end up falling in love with Ryu.
LOL And I DID get that seals were all about sensuality, but I didn’t see the whole waves/ocean/submissive stuff till you pointed it out. So true! Get it? True?
Sometimes a whirlpool is only a whirlpool.
I don’t think urban fantasy is all about sex, it’s about cities. However, as an emerging genre with pronounced catch-all tendencies, there are plethora of memes in play. The undefined nature of the genre seems to lend itself to throwing off conventions with regard to the place of sex in a novel that may have been somewhat established in other genres. It is interesting to consider the extreme of this spectrum.
I have encountered interesting discussions about hard science fiction that may be applicable here. One notion goes that there is only so much room in a novel. To establish an intense level of technicality in a hard SF novel something else must get cut. A more balanced novel that develops characters or plot loses something that is quintessential to hard SF.
While the hard SF novel focus on technicality, the updated UF bodice-ripper substitutes sexuality. Perhaps it’s time for a new subgenre: Hard UF.
Okay, now you’ve got my attention. Where do you hear the argument that a hard SF novel that develops characters or plot loses something quintessential to hard SF? It may be right – though I sure as hell hope not!!
Actually, what vampires do is just like assault. Assault and/or murder. They’re violently wounding you and spilling your blood; the fact that they then consume the blood is the only difference. Because people have chosen – relatively recently in the broad scheme of things – to sensualize the violence doesn’t mean it inherently is sexual.
The Dante Valentine series is about one woman’s struggle for vengeance against evil, trauma, her past, the devil, and the corrupt government. And encapsulating an adventure story about a woman as ‘all about her love life’ is an idea I dislike on principle. Japhrimel isn’t even IN one of the books, and in none of the books is their relationship the main point.
Also – Heathcliff? Sexy? You’ll really have to explain that one to me. Japh was a jackass, but I don’t think he was as horrific as Heathcliff.
And I very much disagree that Urban Fantasy is inherently about emotions. Urban Fantasy done well is usually about a mystery, and/or cities, magical realism, magic, adventure, horror – any number of genres. Your assertion that detective novels cannot be written with more focus on the romance than the whodunit is completely untrue; I’ve enjoyed some and been aggravated by others depending on execution. And I’ve read plenty of sci-fi or fantasy that had tons of romance.
I agree with you that there is a strong subgenre that focuses on romance. There is in every genre of writing. I’m as dirty-minded as any girl, and have certainly enjoyed sensualization of fantastical concepts, but claiming this is ‘the rule’ is pushing it.
The discussion about hard sf occurred at my book club meeting, so unfortunately I can’t forward a link. Two books that illustrate the differences of SF that is hard in the extreme are Hal Clement’s Mission of Gravity and Greg Egan’s Schild’s Ladder. Novels that focus on technicality to the near exclusion of other elements achieve a particular expression. Whether or not this focus is what captures the essence of hard SF seems a matter of opinion and great fodder for debate.
“You couldn’t write a crime novel that was more about the sexual and emotional desires of the main characters than about the who-dun-it unfolding of the plot…”
Good thing no one ever told Raymond Chandler that.
Hi Shiegra
I agree that what vampires do is assault – but the sexual connotation is out there. And my point is about underlying metaphors – it’s the secret undercurrent of stories.
I’m glad you love Dante Valentine too and I don’t disagree with anything you say about the books and the range of urban fantasy. But hey! If you deny the power of the romantic strands in those books, you’re donig the books a grave injustice. Even when Jaf isn’t there there’s a love interest (Gabe isn’t it?) And Dante SUFFERS emotionally, as much as she does physically. It’s that range I love. But yes, of course, Lili is a highly sophisticated storyteller who writes action, suspense, magic, mood, the whole caboodle – so please don’t put me in the box that says ‘This person can only see one story element at a time’. I just ain’t that dumb narrrow-minded guy, and I don’t think anything in my blog says I am.
I may be pushing it to say that who-dun-its can’t have romance – Margery Allingham’s Campion stories for instance have wonderful romantic moments, and Nicholas Blake’s Nigel Strangeways books have strong elements of romance too. And though the Stiegg Larsson’s are arguably more thrillers than who-dun-its, there is a great emotional connection between Blomkvist and Lisbeth. But as a genre, it’s not known for its rich exploration of character.
But it’s all about balance. Who-dun-its & hard SF novels tend to be plot-biased; a lot of the UF I’ve read has been very character-biased, even though great plots are a must-have for the genre.
But generalisations are only generalisations; they’re there to provoke debate and thought. If I were to further generalise; UF (hard genre to define!) stories have to be supernatural thrillers to qualify, but there’s something about the genre that allows writers to easily and organically introduce themes of love and lust. But do you know what; generalisations are cautiously worded as that are BORING which is why I wrote more provokingly and boldly in my blog.
(By the way, in case some else come back at me – I DON’T believe that hard SF MUST be plot-biased; a lot of it is like that, and some of the great stuff is like. But I adore hard SF that can get deep into characters, and emotions, and tell love stories that matter. That’s why I’m reading so much UF; I’m learning from the masters on this.)
btw, I never liked Heathcliff either; I just thought that girls like him. Kate Bush did, didn’t she? But what do I know!
Cash – It is indeed a huge debate…I’d argue that modern hard SF can and should be as much about emotions and characters as about gadgets. And that’s why Theodore Sturgeon is one of my great inspirations!
Kaigou – I love Philip Marlowe, and he has a fabulous brooding presence. But do we ever get inside his head? Does he ever really articulate his feelings about romance and love? Actually I don’t think so.
In Hammett’s The Maltese Falcon there’s a stunningly erotic love story between Sam Spade and Brigid O’Shaughnessy, which ends with
BEWARE MAJOR SPOILER AHEAD!
the scene in which he sends her to the gallows. Fabulous! Sexy! All those things. But let’s face it, it’s a hard-boiled novel and you don’t get entire sections of Sam Spade agonising about his feelings for the girl . It’s terribly terribly underplayed; but in other genres, writers can be much more explicit in writing about emotion.
It’s all about balance, as I say in my other reply on this page. Chandler is more plot than emotion; other genre writers have more emotion than plot.
And there are, and should be, and must be EXCEPTIONS TO EVERY RULE.
btw way Archie Goodwin, the detective hero of Rex Stout’s mysteries featuring fat detective Nero Wolfe, DOES care more about romance than the unfolding of the plot. (But even so, there’s nothing as emotionally intense in this books as the stuff you get in Dante Valentine – point bruised but not disproved!)
Some great comments – positive and negative, but all interesting – about my post over at Next Read:
http://nextread.co.uk/2010/03/.....e-a-genre/
One point raised intrigues me too; how DO we define urban fantasy? (As opposed to horror.)
I have a question that is questionably on topic: we have urban fantasy… what about urban sci-fi? do you have any favorite sci-fi books that are particularly urban? I can think of Matt Ruff’s Public Works Trilogy, a few of Jonathan Lethem’s books and other similar noir joints. I am also curious about any good books that are intensely involved with cities but aren’t noir.
Great question… I’d add Chasm City by Alastair Reynolds, and a lot of Jon Courtenay Grimwood. I also suspect Version 43 may be urban sci-fi – it’s set on an alien planet but is noir and mainly takes place in the city. But since it’s not yet published and only my editor and me have read the damned thing, that question goes on the back burner for now.
On another note – I’ve been wrestling for a sensible definition of urban fantasy and how it differs from paranormal romance, then I came across this excellent account at Juno Books:
http://juno-books.com/blog/?p=410