THREE STARS: the rating that means, "I might read it again, I might not."
I loved the opening chapters and the exploration of pre-Dracula literary vampires: the contexts into which they were born, the interpretations of them on stage and in film. Then we hit Dracula and wow, we do not seem to stop for a long, long time. Dracula's origins, Stoker's possibly commentary on Wilde were again, interesting -- but much of those chapters is seemingly endless, endless details about different takes on the same damn book with only a sprinkling of commentary on why those details were important. If you're a Dracula nerd, sure, this will be catnip. If not? It's a bit of a slog.
And then it got a little bit worse. The final third(ish) of the book is divided between two decades: the '70s, which Auerbach loves and loves everything resulting from; and the '80s, which Auerbach saw as the death of everything good, and thinks everything resulting from is tainted by association. The woman does not hold back, is what I'm saying. And it's daunting, because look, I adore the '70s vampires films -- but I still can't deny that at this point, Auerbach's logic treads perilously close to confusing "this thing is important because I, personally, like it" and "I, personally, like this thing because it is important."
In fact whatever facade of academic objectivity Auerbach tried to maintain falls away completely in this section. She leaves oddly snarky or defensive footnotes about her students' reactions or her colleagues' presentations. She makes her seething hatred of the 1992 Dracula abundantly clear, even though she never dissects it as part of a decade trend. She also has an oddly un-feminist scorn of female characters; she drags the protagonist of The Gilda Stories over the coals for the same "de-fanged" approach to vampirism that Lestat suffers, but whenever praising that character and his books Auerbach never details his similar sins. She also reduces the Vampire Chronicles to stories about "beautiful boys," only speaking of the two female vampires she believes are victims or villains of the patriarchy and ignoring the rest, as well as any implications of their portrayals. (In fact, she has a habit of fudging such details about the texts discussed to make her arguments. It's the kind of thing that makes me glad the book stops before the vampire boom of the late '90s and 2000s, where I might be even less willing to entertain Auerbach's fudging with properties I know inside and out.)
Is it internalized misogyny? Is it disliking Rice's retcons and machinations after Interview With the Vampire and relegating them, like all else, as sins of the '80s? Who knows, but Auerbach has a weird, out-of-place tangent about plastic surgery and breast fetishism, and also describes Hammer heroines as "swollen" so repetitively I wondered where her editor had gone. Then she lauds Mae from Near Dark (whose image graces the cover) as "boyish," "tomboy," etc, in a feverishly admiring tone. I'm saying there's a real whiff of second wave, "not like other girls"-type feminism in this book.
Auerbach's sniffing at the contributions of Queer Theory don't help -- she acknowledges homosexual subtext and potential in the most obvious texts (Carmilla, The Vampyre, Interview -- although Auerbach's certainty about that last text is pretty funny in the face of Rice's "no homo" protestations) but she draws the line at any kind of gender negotiation or ambiguity, outright mocks it in fact. A text is only radical when it confronts oppressive systems directly, Auerbach maintains, and so The Gilda Stories is dismissed as too huggy-wuggy touchy-feely, while she ignores the impact of envisioning a separatist utopia led by a black lesbian. Also, The Hunger isn't gay enough for Auerbach, somehow, and also too consumerist to be respected. But the pre-war opulence and soft touch of the 1979 Dracula with Frank Langella gets many adoring paragraphs because of "feminist revisionism" to the familiar story.
My point is that intersectionality is not Auerbach's forte, and neither is her ability to analyze a text without her personal feelings as context -- which is where her pettier footnotes about pushback from her students come into play. Even for the early '90s, Auerbach comes across as a bit of a White Feminist fossil, speaking with a collective "we" whenever recounting the impact of superior (so she maintains) texts from the '60s and '70s on women of her age in that era, and how no artistic or political ideology has been as satisfying in the years since. (Don't expect her to make a single mention of the seminal Blacula (1972), though. She at least acknowledges lesbian exploitation vampire films, but seems to regard them as out of her area of expertise.) And yes, the way she describes certain Queer Theory colleagues and their work is decidedly TERF-y. Auerbach maintains she's using the pronouns those individuals claim, and in 1995 it was a much vague-er and undefined era of identity, but... just a heads up.
Still, I give it props for arguing convincingly that "low culture" properties like Hammer films and made-for-TV movies can contain just as much social commentary and subversion as classic texts of the Western canon. When Our Vampires, Ourselves does what it says on the tin -- looks at how vampires can be reflections of the people who created them, the times they were created in -- and gets out of its own way, it's an interesting read.