The Vampire as Alien

In horror fiction and dark fantasy, we encounter two main types of scientifically explained vampires -- vampirism as an infectious disease or as a hereditary condition. In the latter case, if the vampire belongs to a naturally evolved different species or human subspecies (as opposed to, say, a mutation in one family line, although in many stories the distinction is fuzzy or left unspecified), that's what I mean by "vampire as alien." They might either originate on Earth or migrate here from another planet.

In my opinion THE VAMPIRE TAPESTRY, by Suzy McKee Charnas, is one of the best vampire novels of the twentieth century. It’s one of the earliest book-length works of fiction to explore the question, “How would nature design a vampire?” (as the vampire himself rhetorically asks in the first section of the book). The inimitable Dr. Weyland, the sole survivor of his species, so old he remembers no parents or childhood, holds an acerbic view of the human race, the “cattle” he preys on. Although he can’t digest animal blood and therefore must feed on people, to avoid unwelcome attention he usually refrains from killing or seriously harming his victims. He has great physical strength and endurance and extremely keen senses, but no overtly “supernatural” abilities such as transformation or mesmerism. THE VAMPIRE TAPESTRY chronicles a series of events that open him unwillingly to an emotional connection with some of the short-lived creatures he prowls among. He periodically renews himself by withdrawing into a state of suspended animation, to rise decades later with his clear-eyed predator’s perspective restored.

The naturally evolved vampire occasionally appeared in short stories of the classic pulp era, e.g., the vampire child of Richard Matheson’s “Dress of White Silk,” the family of “monsters” in Ray Bradbury’s “Homecoming,” the pragmatic predator in Jerome Bixby’s “Share Alike.” With the veritable explosion of vampire fiction that started in the mid-1970s, however, especially with a new emphasis on vampires as sympathetic protagonists, natural vampires proliferated at novel length.

Miriam in Whitley Strieber’s THE HUNGER, like Weyland, is the last of her species (as far as we can tell in this novel; the sequel, published years later, reveals otherwise). Unlike Weyland, she admits to being lonely, treats her human companions like pets, and tries to transform some of them into creatures like herself -- with consistently disastrous results. Elaine Bergstrom in SHATTERED GLASS introduces the Austra clan, subjects of several later novels. They can interbreed with human beings, and they have tremendous powers, including regeneration from severe injuries, telepathy, and the hypnotic compulsion common to many literary vampires. The nonhuman creatures in FEVRE DREAM, by George R. R. Martin, combine traits of the traditional vampire and werewolf, since they go into a frenzy of uncontrollable bloodlust for only a few days each month. They can’t reproduce with our kind, and their race is dying out because of the infrequency with which their females go into heat. Jacqueline Lichtenberg presents a race of extraterrestrial vampires in THOSE OF MY BLOOD. Stranded on Earth, they’ve interbred with humanity. One faction, the Tourists, regards human beings as simply prey, while the other group, the Residents, has a moral and emotional investment in the welfare of the people around them. These vampires can exert powerful influence over unsuspecting human minds. Octavia Butler introduces a child vampire whose family has been wiped out in FLEDGLING. Her vampires live in symbiosis with human companions who often fill the role of lovers as well as food source. S. M. Stirling's Shadowspawn trilogy, beginning with A TAINT IN THE BLOOD, features a human subspecies underlying all the darkest myths and legends of vampires, werewolves, incubi, ghosts, and sorcerers. It's a homage to and updating of the same concept in Jack Williamson's classic DARKER THAN YOU THINK.

In the design of a natural vampire, many questions have to be answered, leading to practically endless intriguing variations: Can they breed with human mates? Are they solitary or pack predators? Can they consume any food besides blood? If not, does the blood have to be human, or can it come from other animals? Do they have to kill when they feed? Do they have any adverse reaction to sunlight? (Daylight didn’t destroy the classic nineteenth-century vampires such as Carmilla and Dracula, nor were all folklore vampires limited to nocturnal activity.) Are they immortal or only long-lived? What can kill them? What powers do they have? Any psychic abilities?

Many other authors besides the few mentioned here have explored these possibilities. I analyze this theme in fiction from the mid-nineteenth century to the early 1990s in my nonfiction book DIFFERENT BLOOD: THE VAMPIRE AS ALIEN:

Different Blood (This mini-essay first appeared on a now-defunct blog called VampChix. I plan to continue reposting these retro-reviews of older vampire fiction here in the near future. Since they're all over ten years old, and VampChix was taken down quite a while ago, they'll probably be new to our readers.)

Margaret L. Carter

Please explore love among the monsters at Carter's Crypt.

Robot Caretakers

Here's another article, long and detailed, about robot personal attendants for elderly people:

Meet Your Robot Caretaker

I was a little surprised that the first paragraph suggests those machines will be a common household convenience in "four or five decades." I'd have imagined their becoming a reality sooner, considering that robots able to perform some of the necessary tasks already exist. The article mentions several other countries besides Japan where such devices are now commercially available.

The article enumerates some of the potential advantages of robot health care aides: (1) There's no risk of personality conflicts, as may develop between even the most well-intentioned people. (2) Automatons don't need time off. (3) They don't get tired, confused, sick, or sloppy. (4) They can take the place of human workers in low-paid, often physically grueling jobs. (4) Automatons are far less likely to make mistakes, being "programmed to be consistent and reliable." (5) In case of error, they can correct the problem with no emotional upheaval to cloud their judgment or undermine the client-caretaker relationship. (6) The latter point relates to an actual advantage many prospective clients see in having nonhuman health aides; there's no worry about hurting a robot's feelings. (7) Likewise, having a machine instead of a live person to perform intimate physical care, such as bathing, would avoid embarrassment.

Contrary to hypothetical objections that health-care robots would deprive human aides of work, one expert suggests that "robots handling these tasks would free humans to do other, more important work, the kind only humans can do: 'How awesome would it be for the home healthcare nurse to play games, discuss TV shows, take them outside for fresh air, take them to get their hair done, instead of mundane tasks?'” Isolated old people need "human connection" that, so far, robots can't provide. The article does, however, go on to discuss future possibilities of emotional bonding with robots and speculates about the optimal appearances of robotic home health workers. A robot designed to take blood pressure, administer medication, etc. should have a shape that inspires confidence. On the other hand, it shouldn't look so human as to fall into the uncanny valley.

As far as "bonding" is concerned, the article points out that "for most people, connections to artificial intelligence or even mechanical objects can happen without even trying." The prospect of more lifelike robots and deeper bonding, however, raises another question: Would clients come to think of the automaton as so person-like that some of the robotic advantages listed above might be negated? I'm reminded of Ray Bradbury's classic story about a robot grandmother who wins the love of a family of motherless children, "I Sing the Body Electric"; one child fears losing the "grandmother" in death, like her biological mother.

Margaret L. Carter

Carter's Crypt

Smart Houses

The October 2018 issue of CONSUMER REPORTS contains an article about some of the things a "smart house" can do for its occupants.

We're closer than I formerly realized to the versatile total-AI house in Ray Bradbury's classic story "There Will Come Soft Rains," which is available here:

There Will Come Soft Rains

CONSUMER REPORTS evaluates Internet-connected systems that remotely operate appliances from a cell phone, "smart speakers" such as Alexa and Siri that can be linked to thousands of domestic devices, and voice-operated home security features (e.g., video doorbells, smart locks, security cameras). Although you might have no interest in receiving messages from your refrigerator or washing machine, you might find it useful to be able to issue commands or ask questions while your hands are otherwise occupied and remotely lock doors or adjust the thermostat.

Here's a Wikipedia article on automated houses, which lists numerous other functions that such a structure might perform:

Home Automation

For instance: tracking the movements of pets and babies; turning lights off and on; monitoring air quality; monitoring vital signs and even dispensing medication for elderly or disabled persons; controlling smoke detectors and carbon dioxide sensors. It's all part of the rapidly evolving "Internet of things."

Wikipedia: Internet of Things

While we may not be able to build a sentient dwelling like SARAH, the intelligent, self-willed, and sometimes uncooperative house in the TV series EUREKA, all elements of the technology that runs the abandoned home in Bradbury's story are theoretically within our reach today. Two potential problems with living in a fully AI-operated house come to mind: (1) Suppose the system gets hacked? (2) If the designers place too much dependence on the technology and don't allow for manual override, the inhabitants could find themselves helpless in case the system malfunctions. Still, it might be fun to be able to speak any command or request and have the house fulfill it (including keeping the place clean). That could become an all-encompassing version of the ideal robot Jeeves I touched upon last week.

Margaret L. Carter

Carter's Crypt

The Value of Horror

"Horror Is Good for You (and Even Better for Your Kids)," according to Greg Ruth. I wish I'd had this article to show to my parents when I was a thirteen-year-old horror fanatic and aspiring writer, and they disapproved of my reading "that junk" (not that they'd have paid any attention):

Horror Is Good for You

Greg Ruth leads off with a tribute to Ray Bradbury, who was my own idol in my teens—based on his early works collected in such books as THE OCTOBER COUNTRY, full of shivery, deeply stirring, poetic stories. Here is Ruth's list of reasons in defense of horror's value for children. Read the article for his full explanation of each:

(1) Childhood is scary. (2) Power to the powerless. (3) Horror is ancient and real and can teach us much. (4) Horror confirms secret truths. (5) Sharing scary stories brings people together. (6) Hidden inside horror are the facts of life.

The article ends with, "The parents that find this so inappropriate are under the illusion that if they don’t ever let their kids know any of this stuff [the terrors of real life], they won’t have bad dreams or be afraid—not knowing that, tragically, they are just making them more vulnerable to fear. Let the kids follow their interests, but be a good guardian rather than an oppressive guard. Only adults are under the delusion that childhood is a fairy rainbow fantasy land: just let your kids lead on what they love, and you’ll be fine."

Stephen King's fiction often highlights the connection between childhood and the primal, timeless fears haunt the human species. Particularly in IT (which I recently saw the excellent new movie of), King's central theme focuses on the power of childhood's imagination, a wellspring not only of fear but of the strength to overcome it. The boy hero Mark in 'SALEM'S LOT realizes, "Death is when the monsters get you." In his nonfiction book DANSE MACABRE, King offers the opinion that all horror fiction is, at its root, a means of coming to terms with death.

Ruth's defense of horror reminds me of C. S. Lewis's comments, in "On Three Ways of Writing for Children," about the mistaken belief of some adults that fairy tales are too scary for children. Lewis says it's wrongheaded to try to protect children from the fact that they are "born into a world of death, violence, wounds, adventure, heroism and cowardice, good and evil." That would indeed be "escapism in the bad sense." He goes on, "Since it is so likely that they will meet cruel enemies, let them at least have heard of brave knights and heroic courage. Otherwise you are making their destiny not brighter but darker. . . . And I think it possible that by confining your child to blameless stories of child life in which nothing at all alarming ever happens, you would fail to banish the terrors, and would succeed in banishing all that can ennoble them or make them endurable. . . . if he is going to be frightened, I think it better that he should think of giants and dragons than merely of burglars. And I think St. George, or any bright champion in armour, is a better comforter than the idea of the police."

I might add that, in my opinion, the best supernatural horror (which is the type I mainly think of when contemplating the genre) has a numinous quality. In a secular age, human beings still crave something that transcends the mundane and merely physical. It's no accident that the Gothic novel was invented during the eighteenth-century Enlightenment, and the peak of the classic ghost story occurred during the industrialized, science-minded late Victorian era (along with a craze for seances and psychic research in real life). Ghosts, vampires, etc. feed our yearning for and curiosity about life beyond death, even if they frighten us at the same time.

Margaret L. Carter

Carter's Crypt