In my early teenage years, I avidly watched American crime solving TV series NCIS and one of the characters, forensic Abby Sciuto, struck my imagination with her spider web tattoos, black pigtails, chokers, knee-high platform boots and her taste for industrial artists Android Lust and Nitzer Ebb she would blast in her lab. The 13-year-old I was had never encountered someone like this in real life or even on screen. Abby was also smart, eccentric, upbeat, compassionate, optimistic and dedicated to her work. I was left with one consequential and significant first impression: goth was a positive thing. It went down as the first time I encountered something I knew was ‘gothic’.

What truly made me dive into the rabbit hole of gothic was a mainstream TV show about the investigation service of the U. S. Navy. I know. How ungoth. But the fact remained Abby had opened my mind. Curious in nature, I progressively began searching on what gothic meant. I wanted to know more. From high school to university, I was given opportunities to satisfy that thirst. It started with the poems of Baudelaire and Prosper Mérimée’s 1837 fantastic novel La Vénus d’Ille in literature class. One year in English class, we read a collection of short gothic novels. It is the only English school books I kept after high school.

As I always do when I discover works of art that resonate with me, I dig deeper to know more about the genius(es) behind them. My encounter with Edgar Allan Poe (both the man and his work) was a huge step in my addiction. For those who are wandering, yes, it is possible to be hooked to writers who master the English language via French translations, even more so when translators are poets like Charles Baudelaire and Stéphane Mallarmé. This was particularly true about The Raven, for beyond its rhymes and hypnotic rhythm addressed universal themes, such as the sinister creeping of despair caused by mourning, ultimately morphing into madness.

The gothic had infiltrated my fiction writing, my photographs, and even my academic research. My decision to complete a master’s degree and my choice of master thesis subject was practically based on the fact I wanted to talk about goths’ representation in the media. So, I conciliated that with my interest for the sociological aspect of violence and spent a couple of years researching about the instrumentalization of the Columbine High School shooting. But by that time, I had figured out what my real first encounter with the gothic really was. 

A film I watched repeatedly back in my preschool years was Disney’s 1940 Fantasia, its beautiful drawings and its larger-than-life orchestra music. In Fantasia, one segment used to scare me more than others: the one with the bat-winged demon on top of a mountain, calling for the ghostly skeletons to come out of their graves. The Night on the Bald Mountain by Modeste Mussorgsky which accompanied the animation was frightening in itself. Cold shades of blue and purple contrasting with the bright orange of Hell’s fire, emphasized by the dark minor scale and the musical arrangement made the segment gothic for eyes and ears. It later became my favorite part. 

A classic case of ‘It was there all along’.

Not long after I had discovered Fantasia, I received the 1949 Disney’s adaptation of The Legend of Sleepy Hollow on VHS that became our family’s Halloween classic. Was I scared? Due to my very young age, maybe a little. But the fascination for the last scene’s gloomy settings — a Halloween party, an old cemetery, a chase through a creepy forest, and a hefty dose of dark secondary colors — overshadowed the fear. To a 5–6-year-old’s eyes, these images were uncommon, uncanny, unreal, so different from everything else. Those images had something magical. Fear went away quickly.

By Léon Isabelle

The conference is entirely online and is open to scholars and experts from around the world.

In 1824, the Ettrick Shepherd, James Hogg, wrote his The Private Memoirs and Confessions of a Justified Sinner. Its intricate narrative structure, complex interrogation of theological extremism, and unforgettable depiction of the demonic made it a pivotal novel in the development of the British Gothic and a distinct Scottish Gothic tradition. This year’s conference seeks to mark the anniversary of the novel’s publication with a conference exploring three key themes:

1) The theological in the Gothic and horror

2) The demonic in literature, folklore and film

3) Scottish Gothic and horror traditions

We welcome papers focusing on demonic and theological traditions globally. We are particularly interested in increasing the number of papers by speakers from the Global South. We define theology broadly in relation to all religious, spiritual and belief systems across the globe. We also welcome approaches which explore practices merging different religious traditions and elements. We particularly encourage papers which engage with historic theologies, religions and spiritual practices. The demonic should, similarly, be understood broadly and interrogated in relation to evil spirits, entities or forces as defined by and within the religious, spiritual and belief systems with which the speakers are engaging.

Romancing the Gothic seeks to encourage innovative conversations across barriers, bringing together scholarship and research from different countries, traditions, sub-fields and perspectives.

We welcome scholars, researchers and experts from all stages of their career and from every background

What are we looking for?

We welcome:

• 20 minute papers
• 10 minute lightning talks
• Panels (3-4 papers of 20 minutes with or without a suggested panel chair)
• Workshops (cooking, writing, art, music, craft, drama, dance) related to the key themes of the conference

Potential Topics

We welcome papers on a range of topics. The below are suggested areas but we welcome papers from outside these themes. References to the ‘demonic’ refer to any religious tradition, belief or spiritual practice. We wish to include many different faiths.

• The demonic in literature
• The demonic in film
• The demonic in art
• Scottish traditions of the demonic
• Histories of the devil
• Histories of the demonic
• Folklores of the demonic
• Representations of the demonic and sexuality
• Comparative religious studies of the demonic
• Competing conceptions of the demonic
• Demonologies (within any religious tradition)
• Demonic dreams and other demonic activities
• Demonisation
• Eblis in literature, folklore and belief
• Hellscapes
• Satanic panics
• Gothic theologies
• Vampiric theologies
• ‘Perverse’ theologies in Gothic and horror
• Religion in Gothic and horror
• Evil angels
• Temptation narratives
• Salvation narratives in Gothic and horror
• Cults and sects in literature, film, and history
• Religious extremism in the Gothic/horror
• Religion and supernatural literature
• Misrepresentation of religion in Gothic and horror literature
• The Scottish Gothic and theology
• Theologies of horror
• Scottish traditions of the Gothic
• Modern Scottish horror
• The wider work of James Hogg
• The Private Memoirs and Confessions of a Justified Sinner

An abstract of 150-250 words should be sent to devilsandjustifiedsinners@gmail.com before 31st March 2024. If you have not written an abstract before, I will be running workshops on abstract writing. Please enquire at the email above. Your abstract should function as a short summary of your paper and demonstrate your expertise in the area. You can also include a short biography (<100 words) but all submissions will be judged solely on the abstract and a biography is not required at this stage.

Accessibility Notes

We want to work with all contributors to make sure that the conference is fully accessible for them. We work entirely online. Subtitles are auto-generated during the conference. Information is provided with alt-text where required and accessibility training is offered to all speakers. For the conference itself, clear information on the timetable, running of the event and what to expect is provided ahead of time. We have a clear code of conduct which is used to maintain a welcoming atmosphere and a comfortable space for all participants. We are explicitly queer friendly and aim to be an inclusive conference for all. If you have any questions, queries or requests at this stage or at a later stage, please do not hesitate to contact me at devilsandjustifiedsinners@gmail.com.

In Julia Kristeva’s seminal work, The Powers of Horror, she describes decay as the “contamination of life by death” (149). She goes on to write that “a decaying body, lifeless, completely turned into dejection, blurred between the inanimate and inorganic, a transitional swarming, inseparable lining of a human nature whose life is indistinguishable from the symbolic—the corpse represents fundamental pollution” (109). Kristeva’s work has influenced countless treatments of Gothic horror, helping to define the parameters of an unstable genre and explain why the corpse features so heavily in a genre where bodies, especially dead ones, are de rigueur. However, as scholars devote more attention to the ecoGothic and ecohorror, the role of the corpse is changing. The rotting corpse, dead or undead, is as multifaceted in ecohorror as the macro- and microinvertebrates that swarm within it. On one hand, the corpse remains a site of uncanny blurring between the familiar, human form and that which is alien, frightening, and inhuman. On the other hand, the corpse, especially when it rots, is also a site that teams with nonhuman life, a thriving ecosystem unto itself that represents potential hybridities, posthuman potentialities, and layers of transcorporeal encounters. Corpses in ecohorror rise from both biodiverse swamplands as well as petroleum-rich wells. Ecohorror’s corpses are not limited to the human, but also extend to the enormous corpses of the monsters in creature features. Ecohorror’s corpses are useful, disgusting, beautiful, and funny. Moreover, rotting corpses in ecohorror challenge the anthropocentric reactions of disgust that Kristeva outlines in The Powers of Horror, and evince new ways of conceptualizing the common materiality that binds the human and the nonhuman together.

This collection seeks essays that feature the rotting corpse in ecohorror, addressing topics such as but not limited to corpses in relation to:

• Posthumanism
• Transcorporeality
• Materiality
• Disgust
• Hybridity
• Monsters
• Pop Culture
• Petrohorror
• History
• Burial Traditions
• Green Burial
• Aesthetics and Beauty of the Corpse
• Folk Traditions and the Dead
• Animal Corpses
• The gothic
• Ecohorror
• Extinction
• The Anthropocene
• Spirituality
• Race, Sex, Gender
• Nonhuman decomposition
• Mythology
• Graveyards, Cemeteries, and Crypts
• Relics and Religion
• Corpses in Videogames

Please submit a 250 word proposal/abstract to ashley.anne.kniss@gmail.com  along with your name, affiliation, and a short 50-word bio by September 1st, 2024.

As a child, I was fascinated by ghost stories. While no one else in my family liked my weird obsession with ghosts and horror stories, this always gave me the opportunity to explore the world of the undead through my imagination. It was just a different to be in; while others were most into adventure stories and something with moral lessons, I always crave a different angle– the angle of terror and fear. The world of witches, vampires, and monsters was my stomping ground well they still are; I have not left that world. 

Now, what was one dream which led me to become a gothic researcher?

 Well, to be honest, I do not remember how old I was, but that is not the focus. One night, I had a nightmare which shuffled my life. Imagine that you are three or maybe six years old and get chased by a creepy-looking monster who wants to gobble you down raw. You are running and running in an open field filled with overgrown grass blocking your vision (but you can still see your surroundings) and suddenly you fall, and the creepy-looking monster has caught up with you, and by the time you stand, you are eaten alive by the monster. Then, you suddenly woke up, realising that I was just a dream, but no. You look to your left and see the same monster standing right next to you, and you scream the hell out of yourself, breaking the dream within a dream and making your family worry about you for something which can end life.

For years, I have thought about that dream, and why my obsession with terror and fear made me had a nightmare about something which I love the most. Well, that dream or nightmare was my encounter with the gothic which now has opened up many possibilities in my life and led me to think about gothic and studies surrounded by the genre of gothic studies. This dream has led to questions about vampires, witches, monsters, and Dracula.

The first novel I read in Gothic studies that introduced me to the entire cult of gothic fiction is Frankenstein by Mary Shelly during my ‘The Romantic Age’ course in the second semester of my undergrad degree in English Literature (2018). After that, I read the classic Dr. Faustus by Christopher Marlow which made me Gothic have several concepts one can deal with. The entire point of ‘selling your soul’ to the devil is one of my main areas of interest, as well as the research question I want to answer. Mathew Lewis’s The Monk: A Gothic Romance which also deals with the same question has also opened a lot of interesting things about Gothic. Not only novels, however, but films also have something which has made to investigate the entire question of the nature of the gothic, especially films which deal with the concept of exorcism, and the plot is entirely gothic or deals with horror. 

My obsession with the gothic has led me to question it, but also to do research on it, and that dream led me to write a dissertation during my Master’s programme. Now I look back at that dream, the only thing I can say is ‘I am glad that I had that dream’ because now I am a gothic researcher. My Master of Arts in English Literature (2021-2023) gave me the option to write a dissertation and, in the beginning, my dissertation topic was Existential Phenomenology; later on, my supervisor made me explore the world of gothic studies and I did my dissertation on a lesser-known gothic novella which in fact made Stocker write his famous novel Dracula. I am talking about Sheridan Le Fanu’s gothic novella Carmilla which, in my opinion, is not known to many researchers or students in the world. My master’s dissertation, Dualism and Repression in Le Fanu’s Gothic Vampire Novella Carmilla (1872), made me discover the notion of Repression and Dualism in a female lesbian Vampire story, but also questioned the ‘trope of Lesbianism’. Now, I am working toward my MPhil and PhD proposal which is in the field of gothic studies and dark academia. 

This rollercoaster journey has made me realise that sometimes dreams or nightmares are for your good and who knows that they can make you a gothic researcher.

By Aditya Kaushal

The Allan Lloyd Smith Memorial Prize for a Monograph of Gothic Criticism, 2024

and

The Justin D. Edwards Memorial Prize for an Edited Collection of Gothic Criticism, 2024

In 2011, as a memorial to its founding President Dr Allan Lloyd Smith (1945-2010), the International Gothic Association established the Allan Lloyd Smith Memorial Prize to be awarded for a scholarly publication considered to have significantly advanced the field of Gothic studies. For the current round of nominations, monographs published between January 1st 2022 to December 31st 2023 are eligible.

In addition, as of 2024, the International Gothic Association is inaugurating a new prize to honour the memory of Justin D. Edwards, past co-president of the IGA and beloved colleague and friend. As such, the IGA is inaugurating the Justin D. Edwards Memorial Prize, for an edited collection considered to have significantly advanced the field of Gothic studies. For the current round of nominations, edited collections published between January 1st 2019 to December 31st 2023 are eligible.

We are delighted to announce that there will be £100 awarded for each prize. 

We are now accepting nominations and each IGA member is entitled to nominate for either or both prizes. 

Nominations for the prizes need to be received no later than 23.59 (UTC) on Thursday 29th February 2024. 

Nominations for either award should be sent to Dr Matt Foley, Secretary to the Allan Lloyd Smith Memorial Prize for Gothic Criticism, via e-mail: matthew.foley@mmu.ac.uk. Please note that self-nominations will not be accepted.

The Chair for the 2024 prize panel is Dr Sara-Patricia Wasson (Lancaster University). A panel of past Presidents and winners will assess the nominations before drawing up a shortlist that will be published on the IGA website. The panel reserves the right not to make an award should no nominated work satisfy the criteria of the Prize. 

Nominations may be submitted only by individual members of the IGA, though nominated works do not have to have been published by a member of the Association. Short articles, individual chapters in longer volumes, original fiction and poetry are not eligible, though scholarly (i.e., introduced, annotated and resourced) editions of Gothic texts may be considered. 

The panel will advise the serving Joint-Presidents of their decision on the winner prior to the IGA conference, which, this year, is hosted at Mount Saint Vincent University in Nova Scotia, Canada, in late July. 

The prizes will be presented (or, if a winning author is not present, announced) during the conference.

Back in 2002, I can remember a time when one of the U.K.’s national newspapers had been giving away free books. Every week, readers were able to collect a classic literary tale to enjoy along with their daily newspaper. Already an avid reader, I saw this as the perfect opportunity to get my hands on such classics as Louisa May Alcott’s Little Women or Arthur Conan Doyle’s The Hound of the Baskervilles.

Having already collected and devoured several new novels, one week the novel on offer was Bram Stoker’s Dracula. Curious and eager to get my hands on a copy, I asked my mother to collect the book for me to read and was surprised as she replied with a resounding “No.” Having always been encouraged to read I was confused. When I pushed for an explanation all my mother had to say was “It’s too scary for you, you will have nightmares.” It was fair to say that that cryptic dismissal stayed with me well into adulthood.

Fast forward thirteen years and I crossed paths with the text again at university. Dracula was stalking the reading list of my third-year Gothic literature module, and I finally had the chance to visit Transylvania and meet the Count. It is an understatement to say that I was enthralled. I eagerly read chapter after chapter, desperate to find out if the heroes would prevail and drive out the vampire menace once and for all. The novel had a lasting impact, and it is one that I now try to revisit at least once per year.

Similarly, two years later I watched William Fredkin’s The Exorcist for the first time having long been warned against watching what many in my social circle had labelled ‘the scariest film of all time.’ Again, I was not disappointed, watching Reagan’s physical and mental transformation from innocent pre-teen to demonic monster was thrilling to behold. After the credits had rolled, I noticed a pattern between the most popular Gothic fiction and the notion that these stories were so scary that they became inaccessible, suited only to the bravest among us who are completely without fear.

For me then, as I am sure it is for many others, the Gothic has long been associated with the idea of the forbidden. A genre that holds within itself a fear so terrible that it is locked away until we are ready and even then, it may be too much for us to bear. Vampires, demons, werewolves, and a host of other monsters are waiting for us, ready to expose our deepest and darkest fears. As I grew older and came to enjoy more of the genre that started with Horace Walpole’s The Castle Otranto in 1764, I came to realise that it was not those surface level figures that had made the genre so popular. It is the subtext that dominates so many of the Gothic narratives that we enjoy that remain the source of their popularity. 

If we return to Dracula as an example, it is not just the idea of the blood-sucking vampire that terrified readers in 1897 nor has continued to do so ever since. Instead, the character is a vehicle for delivering a wide range of other far more tangible and salient fears that remain with us to this day. Dracula, crossing from his native Romania to metropolitan London, is both a disease and an immigrant, an uncontrolled and unchecked spread of biological matter and alien cultural beliefs. Two anxieties that are just a prevalent in the twenty-first century as they were when Stoker first published his work. Dracula is a layered and intricate work that demands to be reread. 

Indeed, this is another reason why I fell in love with the novel. Not all my previous revelations came to me after my first reading Dracula. It was only after two or three visits to the novel that much of this subtext and the text’s various connotations and implications made themselves present. Having read the novel more than once, I am continually amazed by its multiplicity. The Exorcist follows in the same vein; Reagan’s transformation is far more than a play on secular fears and the demonic. With its true terror being invoked by an intimate and chilling depiction of a fearsome and rebellious American youth that seeks to upset the natural order of the world.

Gothic fiction has had a long history of enthralling audiences, the combination of surface-level fears and wealth of subtext keep the genre alive. There is little doubt, given the world we live in, that there will be no shortage of cultural phenomena to keep the genre salient.

Looking to the future, novel and films such as The Exorcist and Dracula continue to have an endless appeal that shows no sign of waning. With the figure of the vampire in particular remaining a continued source of fascination to readers and audiences across the globe (the count himself received a BBC adaptation in early 2020), and the vampire being exposed to entirely new demographics thanks to the rise of the likes of Twilight and True Blood it appears that the vampire will continue to terrorise the public for years to come.

The Exorcist is also receiving a sequel in October 2023 and in doing so looks set to terrorise a whole new generation of audiences. The Gothic, then, appears to continue to go on. All one can do is hope that in another century a new generation of readers are just as drawn to the genre as I was those many years ago. 

—–

Connor Long-Johnson, currently writing his thesis on the fiction of Stephen King at the University of Greenwich in London, England, enjoys writing short stories in the gothic, fantasy and science-fiction genres. He has had various works published, three short pieces of fiction with HorrorTree’s Trembling With Fear, another in Breaking Rules Publishing’s horror anthology The Hollow and three with Science-Fiction website 365tomorrows. He can be found either at library or at cljohnson.co.uk.

In the Company of Wolves: Werewolves, Wolves and Wild Children 2023

18.00–20.30 BST, 20 October 2023, online.

This event invites you into the company of wolves to listen to their voices as they sound in ‘our interpreted world’. You will be drawn into innovative research on the cultural significance of wolves, wild children and werewolves as portrayed in different media and genres.

In this evening of lively illustrated talks, we will situate the werewolf in a broader context of animality and sociality, challenging the simplistic model of the werewolf as the ‘beast within’, and embracing the werewolf as ‘spectre wolf’. Attendees can also take part in a challenge to redeem the wolf, join a discussion on wolves and lies based on Marcus Sedgwick’s essay on writing wolves and lies, and participate in werewolf flash fiction writing (40-50 words). We are launching the paperback edition of the OGOM Project book In the Company of Wolves which will be available at 30% discount to all our delegates.

Of all the Gothic monsters, the werewolf best expresses our ambivalent concerns with nature, both the natural world and our inner nature that is our animal heritage. This event is a chance to explore our own divided existence and the relationship of human beings to their environment. Wolves themselves are highly social and yet are portrayed culturally as monstrous predators; we look at the symbol of the wolf in various narratives. We look, too, at stories of wild children – often thought to have been raised by wolves – and what light they cast upon our emergence as linguistic, storytelling creatures from wild nature. 

Link to event https://www.opengravesopenminds.com/in-the-company-of-wolves-2003/

Booking via Eventbrite https://www.eventbrite.co.uk/e/in-the-company-of-wolves-werewolves-wolves-and-wild-children-2023-tickets-715491082087?aff=oddtdtcreator

Blog about event https://www.opengravesopenminds.com/ogom-news/in-the-company-of-wolves-werewolves-wolves-and-wild-children-out-in-paperback-augusts-2023/

Writing the Occult: Vampires

Saturday 28th October, 1pm-9pm (UK time) online.

This event is for writers and readers in the vampire genre. It includes lively sessions by folklorists, writers and academics on such topics as making the vampire trope your own; vampire adaptations; the vampire as romantic lead; world-building for vampire tales; Gothic feminism; And more! Dr Sam George will be presenting on the folkloric vampire and its representation in fiction. The event is unique in featuring legendary writer Jewelle Gomez author of The Gilda Stories (1991). Gomez is celebrated this month in The Guardian as ‘the black lesbian writer who changed vampire fiction and the world’. You can view the full programme and the speakers here https://writingtheoccult.carrd.co/

Booking via this Eventbrite page. Early bird tickets £40 (until 30th September). Regular tickets £45 (until 26 October).

Event on OGOM blog https://www.opengravesopenminds.com/events/writing-the-occult-vampires-28th-october-2023-online/

‘Winged Fiends: The Dark Origins of the Fairy’, Sam George 

29^th October, Guy’s Hospital Chapel, London SE1

The event is part of the annual festival of arts entitled London Month of the Dead. This year’s grand calendar boasts a haunting array of over 60 talks, walks, workshops, and performances, each meticulously curated to ensnare hearts and minds alike. Placed throughout the hidden crevices of this ancient metropolis, you will be entertained by an enigmatic cadre of writers, artists, historians, experts, academics, practitioners, and performers—bearers of secrets and whispers from the shadowy depths.

Abstract

The prevalent innocent idea of fairyland is far from the shadowy realms of the dead, and yet there are many resemblances between them. Despite their wands and glitter, fairies have a dark history, and surprisingly gothic credentials. In The Secret Commonwealth of Elves, Fauns and Fairies (1682), fairy minister and folklorist Robert Kirk argued that fairies are ‘the dead’, or of ‘of a middle nature betwixt man and angels’. This association is particularly prominent in Celtic lore. Writing in 1887, Lady Jane Wilde popularised the Irish belief that fairies are ‘fallen angels […] the devil gives to these knowledge and power and sends them on earth where they work much evil’.

It was widely believed in society at that time that fairies inhabited a shadowy spirit world. However, when Peter Pan debuted in the early 1900s with its prominent character of Tinker Bell, fairies began to lose their malevolence and became increasingly confined to the nursery. This is far from the notion of dark fairies with their shadowy history in folklore. Folkloric fairies steal children, drive people insane, blight cattle and crops – and drink human blood. Barrie, of course, was aware of their dark side. Despite the fairy dust and glamour, Tinker Bell is dangerous and vengeful like a deadly fairy temptress. At one point in the story, she even threatens to kill Wendy.

In folklore, fairies are often a demonic or undead force; one which humans need to seek protection against. As folklorist Katharine Briggs has noted in her Dictionary of Fairies. What is more, Fairyland has a hunger for human blood. This links fairies to the vengeful dead and to vampires. Diane Purkiss’s history of fairies, includes a Scottish Highland legend which warns that you must bring water into the house at night, so the fairies don’t quench their thirst with your blood. Very old fairies, like vampires, were said to wrinkle and dry up without fresh blood. The Baobhan Sith are vampiric Scottish fairies. These beautiful green banshees have hooves instead of feet, they dance with and exhaust their male victims then tear them to pieces. Like many fairies, they can be killed with iron. Dearg-Due are Irish vampiric fairies or “Red Blood Suckers”. They were thought to be influential on Sheridan Le Fanu’s female vampire tale Carmilla (1871).

Halloween is supposedly a time when the veil between our world and the shadow world is extremely thin. A time when encounters between humans and fairies are likely. This talk offers a warning to the curious, if you go seeking winged friends, they might not be as benevolent as you think!

More details: londonmonthofthedead.com/darkfairies.html

Photography – Rod Doyle

Full schedule and ticket info here.

The witch has long been a source of fear and revulsion but has become a symbol of feminine power, sexual liberty, indigenous knowledge and political rebellion.

The Festival of the Accused delves into the history of witchcraft and summons a host of writers and performers who praise and explore the witch. It tells the true stories of those accused in the English Witch Trials, a violent reckoning that gripped the country for hundreds of years and affected thousands.

It also celebrates modern devotees of the craft, in all their strangeness and subtlety. From the authors of ‘WitchLit’ telling tales of powerful covens, to queer performance artists who draw inspiration from the occult.

Light Source- Performance by Amy Kingsmill. Photo by Darren Black.

The festival concludes with a spectacular twilight performance by artist Amy Kingsmill and a memorial reading by actor Jenny Runacre in the Library’s open-air amphitheatre, the Poets Circle.

“I was born in Essex, deep in witch-hunter county and grew up learning about English history and its injustices. As a woman, I make work that addresses feminine trauma from a female viewpoint. This is a vital act. I don’t claim that I can heal thousands of long dead but hope that Light Source can give something back to these accused people; mothers, daughters, grandmothers, fathers, parents and siblings. This performance seeks to return their humanity and raise the importance of a national memorial for those unjustly persecuted.”  – Amy Kingsmill

I hope you can join us November 4th, for this monumental memorial day of discussions, reclamation and reckoning.

https://www.bl.uk/events/a-festival-of-the-accused-day-pass

As a child, my memories of quality time with my mom were often in relation to horror films. On the weekends, we would curl up on the couch with snacks and watch the latest gorefest, such as the newest Halloween, a rerun of Pet Sematary, or a classic like Silver Bullet. It was not fear that I felt from these moments, but a kind of enjoyment within a safe space that shaped my understandings of “real-world” horrors versus how they are represented. 

My love of horror movies translated well in my English classes when we read short stories and novels that took up Gothic topics. I was drawn to the writings of Charlotte Perkins Gilman, Eudora Welty, and Edgar Allan Poe. My favorite Shakespeare play was Titus Andronicus (I couldn’t stop myself from researching the amount of blood used in the various adaptations). While not a Gothic text per se, Titus Andronicus felt like an Early Modern embodiment of the horror movies that shaped my childhood. I found myself drawn to reading and writing exclusively about the Gothic. I just didn’t know that what I encountered was Gothic.

The first time a professor named the genre as “Gothic” illuminated and reframed my relationship with those narratives.

When exploring options for my honours research, I initially met with Dr. Karen Macfarlane (MSVU). I was unsure what to focus on for a project of this length. She asked me what I thought I could talk about for a year, and I quickly responded with “The Walking Dead,” which I personally consider to be my first encounter with the Gothic. 

Discovering The Walking Dead

In high school, a close friend of mine was moving away. As a goodbye gift, he gave me my first comic books—the entire series of Lady Death: A Medieval Tale (2003). Yes, I resisted comic books during my childhood; I couldn’t possibly understand what the big deal was. I was immediately enthralled with the dark and beautiful artwork in Lady Death, with the representation of death as a powerful force, and with the serialisation of a story that kept me coming back for more. These stories were nuanced, complex reworkings of the very things I already adored in film and literature.

After completing the series, I felt hungry for more, so I visited the local comic book shop for the first time. I walked in the door and up to the first shelf and sitting front and center was the latest issue of the The Walking Dead; it was issue #9 (2004)—the one where Carl is accidentally shot by Otis. The cover made me uncomfortable with its peeling eye and oversized fly. I read through it so fast, enveloped by the story to the point where I didn’t even realise it was in black and white. I hunted down the first 8 back issues and thus my obsession began.

My honours research addressed the representation of pregnant women and newborns in The Walking Dead comics, and because the television adaptation was released partway through that year, I included some early scenes from the show. My Master’s thesis built upon this work; I looked at the little girl zombies in The Walking Dead as well as a host of other zombie narratives. I am now completing my PhD dissertation, and while I’ve turned away from The Walked Dead for the most part, I will most likely never be able to turn away from the Gothic. I’m hooked for life!

Nancy Schumann. Picture credit: soulstealer.co.uk

Full disclosure, I may not judge a book by its cover but I definitely pick books by their covers. It’s what happened when I had my first encounter with the Gothic. For some reason, my mother and grandmother went through a phase of reading romance novellas. You know the ones: women with great hair and bare-chested men on the cover, the content of the she meets him – he seems great – there’s an obstacle – there’s a happily ever after formula. In retrospect, this might have had something to do with the availability of books in the Easter Bloc. Those romance booklets could be brought across the Iron Curtain border without fear. Nobody was worried about them.

I didn’t go anywhere these booklets. Until, that is, I spotted one on my grandmother’s bedside table with a very dark cover: a ballerina in white watched by a cloaked man, almost hidden by a curtain. The title read: The Vampire and the Dancer. 

Well, I was having that one, thank you very much. Yes, it was a romance but it wasn’t Twilight-style. There was no happy ending, no ever after. There was a vampire, who like the Phantom of the Opera stalks the theatre where the ballerina dances. He has a whole lot of lived history to offer and the ballerina falls for him. They crash and burn for a fleeting moment in both their lives, walking away into lifelong yearning and an eternity of loneliness respectively. It was beautiful. Turns out what I need in a romance story is a tragic ending and we’re good. 

Vampires and their intrinsic potential to experience an eternity of lived history have been with me ever since, moving on to classics like Dracula and the amazing new takes on the myth like Sabella by Tanith Lee. So it was natural to continue my academic journey in the same direction and I made it my mission to shine a light as it were on vampiric women. 

I am forever fascinated by the subject that it continues to bring me joy. I watch with great delight as the vampiric works by women as well as female vampiric characters keep appearing and growing in works of fiction and there is so much more to explore.