Really, describing a vampire is no different than describing any other character—what we are doesn’t determine who we are.  Yes, it’s easy to fall back on the archetype and, in effect, plagiarize from earlier authors—but this statement is no more true for vampires than for, say, gruff heroes with hearts of gold.  The best vampire is, first and foremost, a character in his own right.  His powers (or issues) are secondary.  The thing is, I don’t so much like vampires as good characters who happen to be vampires—and I like characters who happen to be vampires, because the challenges they face blend the perfect amount of drama and humor.

Jim calls my collection of vampire-centric fiction “vampire porn,” because it involves two things: vampires and sex.  Superficially, that’s true, of course—they are vampires, and they do have sex, sometimes lots of sex.  But, believe it or not, there’s more going on.  Laurell K. Hamilton, Kim Harrison and P.N. Elrod all populate their books with good characters and real issues.  To me, a vampire is a good character when the author doesn’t rely on his condition as a crutch.  None of the above authors use the, “this must be true, because he’s a vampire,” “he’s a vampire, ergo, he has these feelings” or “he’s a vampire, ergo, he has those challenges.”  These are crutches, which remove characters from the real world and, therefore, mask an inability to effectively discuss real world concerns.  Don’t fool yourself—fantasy worlds, at least good fantasy worlds, are “real worlds,” even if they’re full of wizards, on different planets, or whatever.  All the magic powers in the world don’t a good character make, realistic thoughts, feelings and responses do.

Likewise, what separates good fantasy from great fantasy isn’t gargoyles or dragons, or even impossibly complicated plots that hinge on epic forces and dynamic powers beyond our understanding.  Great fantasy, however complex, mirrors real life with all its wants and needs, petty jealousies and angers.  Cardboard cutout heroes and villains aren’t appealing, and giving them sets of teeth doesn’t make them more so.  As a plot device, the presence of a vampire is uniquely compelling because it presents a set of challenges that most of us identify with: loneliness, isolation, the desire to be good and the fear that we’re not.

Another problem with vampires that some readers have is, it tends to happen in the “real world.”  Some readers eschew “real world” settings on principle, because they don’t seem magical enough.  Fantasy is, after all, about escape.  To me, a real world setting is effective, precisely because it shows us that our world is magical—there are all sorts of thrilling phenomena waiting just under the bed.  All we need to do is gird our loins and look.  I mean, come on, how cool is that?  Ideally, the vampire is just a happier or sadder, meaner or nicer, stronger or weaker version of us.  How he interacts with the world around him reflects how we interact with the world around us.  His resultant loneliness, even neediness, sends the subtle message that, no, strength is no guarantor of success.  Sometimes we come to the game with all the right equipment, and we still fail. The “real world”, here, is no more real than Middle Earth, but the reaction that the vampire has to it is one we can easily identify with. Whether it’s living the American dream or keeping the sunlight out of our eyes, we all tilt at windmills sometimes.  Vampires, in this sense, provide us with some of the best fantasy around today, in that they’re no less magical than they are real.