Vampires: It's Not Their Fault

Dynamic characters abound in media. For one thing, it makes for a more believable story, since over the course of our lives, our opinions shift as we grow. For another, it makes the stories more interesting: if we can predict a character’s actions to a T for the first half of a story, why would we read it to the end? Change is necessary for character growth. These changes aren’t always positive, however. In Atwood’s “Lusus Naturae”, we see an innocent girl’s body disfigured by porphyria, a disease that has been speculated to be a root of many vampire legends. Over the course of the story, we see the effects of this disease go beyond disfigurement of the body as her family mistreats and neglects her, demonstrating that the actions of other people, good or bad, can shape how we interact with the world.

Vampires have been a popular horror theme for centuries. Usually, they are seen as mysterious forces of corruption, luring young women into their austere castles to drain them of their blood, or biting their necks and turning them into vampires themselves. Unlike most monsters, vampires seem to be one hundred percent in control of their mental faculties when preying on poor villagers. This sets them apart from other classic humanoid creatures, such as the werewolf, who transforms at the full moon but cannot recall their actions the next day, or Frankenstein’s Monster, who is almost completely unconscious of his actions (his brain came from a jar; how smart can he be?) These primal beasts have little control over their urges, and can be blamed less than a sentient being like the typical vampire.

While she may not actually become a vampire in the truest sense of the word, the protagonist certainly does have certain features and habits that match those of traditional vampires. For one thing, she stays inside during the day because she “[can’t] stand sunlight” (Atwood 226). She’s also prescribed blood to drink by the doctor her father hires toward the beginning of the story (Atwood 225). At the beginning of this story, we see a girl who is willing to help her family in any way she can: her family is relatively well-off, but nobody would want to marry her older sister with the knowledge that she’s related to such a disfigured person. With this in mind, she doesn’t protest when her parents decide to fake her death. “It was decided that I should die. That way I would not stand in the way of my sister [...] I agreed to this plan, as I wanted to be helpful” (226). While it may not have been her suggestion, her willingness to help her family demonstrates some selflessness early on in her life. Young people are especially impressionable, though, and “nature” (what people are born with for a personality) can be overpowered by “nurture” (how other’s actions influence us). Despite the fact that she is their daughter, her parents mistreat her by locking her away, leaving her without the social growth that people need in order to mature properly.

Her grandmother and father pass away, but since they alienated her she doesn’t seem to care very much. At this point, her mother seems to be the only one who cares. “‘Who will take care of you when I’m gone?’ [her mother said.] There was only one answer to that: it would have to be me” (Atwood 227). By the time she reaches adulthood, the protagonist is looking out for the only friend she’s ever had: herself. This is selfish in a way, but also a survival instinct. As she scares children away from her forest so they’ll leave her alone, she learns certain powers come with her disfigurement. She can frighten people, she finds, and soon begins to exploit this for her benefit. Her mother sells the farm the two of them had been inhabiting, but she quickly spooks the new owners off the property so she can have it to herself. “I became an apparition [...] I was a red-nailed hand touching a face in the moonlight; I was the sound of a rusted hinge that I made despite myself” (Atwood 227). The poor people who paid hard-earned money for that spacious property had been robbed by this vampire.

She now has the farm all to herself, but turns to a life of crime so she can eat. She steals all her food, apparently without remorse (Atwood 227). At one point during her late-night foraging, she stumbles across two young lovers and observes them from afar. One night after the man falls asleep on the grass, she sneaks over and bites his neck, hard enough to break the skin. She meant it to be a kiss, but her craving for blood pushes it further. Here we see another aspect of the vampire legend: the neck-biting, the feeding on human blood. So far her crimes accumulate to a lot of theft and some violence, mostly due to her isolation because of the illness. The fact that she’s the protagonist, but also kind of a “bad guy”, makes her something of an anti-hero.

In media, we typically see anti-heroes improve over the course of the story, usually to demonstrate personal growth as a dynamic character. Take Han Solo: when we first meet him in Star Wars Episode IV, he’s a selfish scoundrel who is only helpful when it benefits him financially. By the end of the movie, though, he comes back to the rebels to help them assault the Death Star. In “Lusus Naturae”, we see the opposite happen. The tone our heroine uses throughout the story indicates that she has no clue she’s in the wrong, ever. Her helpful attitude at the beginning gives way to apathy as her family members die off, then she becomes even more malicious with her thievery and assault. This just goes to show that sometimes the most damaging aspects of a disease aren’t the symptoms, but the side effects.

#vampires #LususNaturae #MargaretAtwood #family #change