Tag Archives: romance

The Vampire: A Brief History

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This spooky season I find myself falling headlong back into the clutches of vampire fiction, a turn of events spurred on by the fantastic new television adaptation of Interview With the Vampire. Ever since HBO’s bonkers True Blood ended, I’ve been craving something that truly gets the horror, the thrill, the sheer camp of vampires. Pop culture needed a bit of a break from them, but this fall we have four new vampire book adaptations airing. We’re back, baby! And we (vampire fans) are getting everything our goth little hearts desire. For too long it’s been all about zombies. Enough. Time for the return of decadence. 

For the past couple hundred years, vampires have enjoyed a stable presence in literature, waning in and out of fashion. And while people might still roll their eyes at the concept of vampire romance, probably bemoaning the cheesiness of Twilight, the fact of the matter is that for as long as there have been vampires in fiction, they have been intrinsically tied to romance—or at least, to desire. In 1700s Western Europe, the novel as we know it was in its fledgling form, and much of the written content was meant to be lurid and titillating (often under the guise of morality-teaching) for a newly widespread audience (think Fanny Hill or Pamela). Around the same time, Eastern Europe was gripped by a “vampire epidemic”; a sort of mass hysteria that caused townsfolk to exhume corpses they were convinced were coming back to life. Shortly after this time period came Gothic literature. The motifs are familiar: decaying castles or abbeys, vengeful murder, damsels, lascivious villains, and so on. Basically, Gothic fiction was the height of melodrama (for a crystallization of all of these themes and more, see 1796’s The Monk by Matthew Lewis). 

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What Went Wrong with Netflix’s Persuasion?

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What was it that Shakespeare said? “My kingdom for a decent adaptation of Persuasion?” Some versions have gotten close, but we’ve yet to land on a definitive take (unlike, say, Pride and Prejudice, which is done, now please leave it alone forever). The latest brave soul to take a crack at Jane Austen’s final novel is Netflix, who takes misinterpretation of the source material to soaring new heights in an adaptation that is not only just plain bad, but bafflingly off-base. And it seems that many of us have taken that personally. By now, plenty of hilariously dramatic thinkpieces have been written on the ways in which this version fails. But all the hubbub got me thinking: there have been plenty of terrible movie adaptations of beloved books before. Why is this one so offensive? 

First and most obviously, it takes Austen’s most mature, melancholic, pensive work about lost love and regret and tries to jam it into the shape of a romantic comedy. Then there’s the questionable dialogue, which switches wildly between the 19th and 21st centuries without any rhyme or reason (there’s a scene where protagonist Anne Elliot’s sister asks her how she would dance to Beethoven. Anne: “Alone in my room, with a bottle of red.” Where is the Beethoven playing from, in this scenario? Her Spotify account?), and also has the subtlety of a sledgehammer (I particularly enjoyed the scene where the mustache-twirling villain Mr. Elliot fully lays out his dastardly plans to sabotage Anne’s father’s relationship in the style of a Bond villain—and Anne has no problem going shopping with him later). The romantic lead Captain Wentworth—who carries himself with a dignified, wounded pride in the novel—has the air of a boxer who has taken one too many hits, always seeming a bit dazed; I have a hard time believing this version of him could craft the iconic “I am half-agony, half-hope” letter.  

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Bridgerton: The Allure of the Regency

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On April 12, join us for Lady Whistledown Presents: A Bridgerton Soirée for an evening of decadence and discussion as we take on the Ton of London’s high society! For ages 18+.

When Brigderton first premiered on Christmas Day of 2020, it wasn’t long before streaming numbers exploded and the historical romance was crowned the most-streamed show in Netflix history. Despite the period setting, it always had the makings of a hit: a Shondaland production, a Jane Austen-meets-Gossip Girl (with an R rating) plot, gorgeous costumes, and an even more gorgeous cast. Throw in the fact that we were all still locked in our homes and needing some form of breezy distraction, and voila! The show has since been bumped from the top spot by Squid Game, but let’s see where season two lands. If you’re like me, you’ve probably devoured season two of Bridgerton by now—perhaps more than once. 

Season two of the show is based on The Viscount Who Loved Me, book two in the Bridgerton book series by Julia Quinn. I confess that I myself have never read the books, so I can’t speak to the show’s faithfulness—but what I can speak to is the pivot to a more traditional Regency style: season two trades the graphic love scenes for simmering tension, barbed snipes, and charged glances. And honestly, the show is all the better for it. Our mains this season are Viscount Anthony Bridgerton, eldest of the siblings, and Miss Kate Sharma, who comes to England from India in order to find a match for her younger sister. It’s the enemies-to-lovers story we’ve been waiting for! Anyone who was despairing over the lack of season one’s Duke, do not fear: these two more than make up for the loss. 

I’ve long been a fan of period dramas, and I’ve seen just about every Jane Austen adaption to date (you better believe I’m already hyped for the upcoming Persuasion movie starring Dakota Johnson). And I’m certainly not alone! Regency is the most popular subgenre of romance fiction; next time you’re at the library, just take note of how many paperbacks feature dukes and women in period-inappropriate dresses. It’s a lot! But what makes this extremely niche time period so alluring, 200 years later? The Regency period was, quite literally, only nine years in English history (1811-1820). Nine! So what gives? 

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