Vampires as Bedfellows

Asked to think of Dracula, what image comes to mind? Is it a tall, pale man with dark hair, a cape, and extra large incisors? Is it sparkly seventeen year old? Is it an effeminate Tom Cruise or Brad Pitt? Go back a little further and maybe you think of a clan of teenagers jumping off the Santa Cruz train trestle. I have a feeling both Bram Stoker, author of the original Dracula, and John Polidori, friend of Mary Shelley and author of The Vampyre, the original vampire story, are both rolling over in their graves over the modern vampire.

What began as an entity to be feared, an entity completely evil with no redeeming qualities, has become overly romanticized by today’s culture. Arguably the most famous “count” in history, Dracula is ruthless in his pursuit of fresh, human, most often female, blood. In Stoker’s novel it takes the unifying of five gentlemen to redeem the accursed wife of one. Mina represents all that is pure and holy until she falls victim to Dracula, and along with these five heroes, she studies, strives, and seeks for a way out of her predicament.

Fast forward 100 years or so and the vampire has become a seducer in a whole new way, one that is not always rejected by those he wishes to conquer. Anne Rice gives us Lestat, a sympathetic character whose bloodlust is woven together with a romantic intensity into story after story. Stephanie Meyer gives us the Cullen clan, an altruistic, “vegetarian” group of young vampires who only bite humans as a last resort to save their lives. Walk into any bookstore today and it would seem that vampire novels have become the new Sweet Valley High.

What’s the big deal, you say? It’s just good, fun, entertainment, right? My worry is that it’s just one more indicator of a society gone amuck. What was supposed to be inherently evil and despised and fought against with every fiber of our beings has been romanticized and accepted and taken to bed. I’m not just talking about the vampire here. Our culture has become desensitized on multiple levels as is evidenced every time we turn on the TV.

So if you truly want to call yourself a fan of the vampire novel, try honestly picking up one of the originals. Let yourself be freaked out by the undead like we really should be. Enjoy the banding together of communities against what threatens purity. Appreciate the mystery and challenge of hunting down the offense and destroying it. If Bram Stoker’s a little dated for you (and no, I don’t mean the movie), try out a modern read that actually adheres to the spirit of the original: The Historian by Elizabeth Kostova. Finally, someone who gets the point.

The Language of Love

So it’s been trendy in Christian circles for the last decade or so to identify yourself with one (or two) of five “love languages”. A love language is the mode by which a person both gives and prefers to receive love to and from those around him. The whole system was popularized by this Gary Chapman guy back in the 1990’s and since the first vapid book was such a success, we now have not only the original title, but editions for couples, singles, children, teenagers, of God, of apology, etc. First off, let me say this craze was a little weird in our family because my husband spent his teenage years at Chapman’s home church and knew the guy “before he was famous.” Seeing someone you knew growing up become a guru of anything is a little strange. Kind of makes you wonder if you were an unsuspecting guinea pig all those years…if you were being observed as part of some larger experiment. Of course it doesn’t help the weirdness that the original book was given to us by my well-meaning mother-in-law who bought into the hype hook, line and sinker. In our house the quickest way for a book to make it to that box for the used bookstore is for my mother-in-law to give it to us. Any validity for whatever the book teaches is immediately called into question.

That said, I thought I would comment on my own journey with the languages. I thought I was over it, but then just this week the subject comes up when I had to fill out a parent questionnaire asking what my child’s love language is for his new teacher. Really, I just wanted to write something quippy like, “We don’t actually believe in love in our family” but I didn’t want to appear rude, so I’ve been thinking about it instead (still haven’t written anything on the questionnaire).

Briefly, the five languages are gifts, acts of service, words of affirmation, quality time, and touch. I was first pigeonholed into believing my language was gifts. Sure, I like to buy things for people, and who doesn’t like getting a well thought out gift, but what was really my motivation here? I grew up with a father who had a hard time showing any kind of affection and was more comfortable giving me money or telling my mom to get me something. If we fought, I could pretty much guarantee there would be a twenty waiting for me at my breakfast plate the next day to make up for it. My mom at least took the time to pick something out for me and now that they are divorced Christmas goes something like this…from dad: a check for me, a check for husband, a check for son; from mom: individually wrapped gifts and stocking stuffers in all the right sizes and colors. Is it any surprise I tested high in gifts for my love language? It’s how I was taught to receive love in an otherwise dysfunctional home. I learned to love gifts I order to survive.

Really, if you asked me how I like to be loved, I’d say it depends on the day. If I’ve had a really crappy day at work, I want words of affirmation. From my son I like hugs because that’s usually what he likes best…but mostly/only from me. Acts of service? I think I would take someone doing my laundry for me any day of the week, but I don’t feel unloved if it doesn’t happen. Quality time depends on the person I’m spending it with and how long it’s been since we’ve hung out. Sometimes it’s top on my list, sometimes I don’t have a spare minute to spend with even those I love best. Oftentimes the best way to show me love is to let me have time all to myself, or to let me sleep. Can sleep be a love language? What about food? Chocolate works a lot of time with me.

So back to my son’s questionnaire…I think I’ll just put Latin. It’s a romance language after all and in his Harry Potter obsessed world, it’s the one language besides English he actually understands.