The 1970s were a strange time for the vampire in written fiction and in the movies. Vampire novels were starting to become big business, especially since the publication of ’Salem’s Lot (1975) by the then relatively unknown Stephen King (it was his second novel), and then Anne Rice’s Interview with the Vampire (1976). Both these stories feature vampires in the traditional sense, with the associated lore of ancient fanged supernatural creatures. Cinema releases during that decade were mostly focused on the campy Hammer stories of Dracula, Carmilla, and Elizabeth Bathory, or the erotic dream-like productions of Jean Rollin, or the blaxploitation cinema of Blacula (1972) and its ilk. There had, though, been some notable examples of experimentation or even attempts to take the vampire a little more seriously. I’m thinking particularly of David Cronenberg’s Rabid (1977) and George A. Romero’s Martin (1978), with the former suggesting that vampirism could be equated to a sexually transmitted disease more openly than the general erotic vampire metaphor, and the latter being more enigmatic with the eponymous character believing himself to be a vampire.
Into this arena entered the multi-award-winning Suzy McKee Charnas, whose previous novels were the science fiction series The Holdfast Chronicles (1974-99) and whose concept of the vampire sat more comfortably with Romero’s Martin than anything else in the era. I’ve read many a vampire novel, some of which I’ve found (controversially perhaps) boring (Dracula [1897]) to imaginatively haunting (Let the Right One In [2004]), and some novels with characters that simply appeal to me (Sunshine [2003]); but Charnas’s The Vampire Tapestry is something outside almost every other vampire story I’ve ever read, and more interesting because of this.
As pointed out by Nicola Griffith’s foreword in this 2025 edition, Charnas was one of the first science fiction writers to publish a novel featuring no men at all. This made her choice of male vampiric protagonist a surprising development. Perhaps more surprising, though, was the decision to make the vampire a biological ‘fact’ as opposed to a supernatural entity. As Griffith puts it, “how would a vampire who’s a natural predator … behave?” Good question! Charnas tackles the answer by providing, essentially, five short stories featuring the vampire Dr Edward Weyland. I say short stories, but the central piece, “Unicorn Tapestry,” was actually later published and won the Nebula as a standalone novella, and because each story represents a different viewpoint on Weyland’s existence.
In this world, the vampire does not need to kill. He just needs to feed on blood. He appears to be alone, perhaps one of only a few in the world—maybe the only one. But he must blend in and live a human life. Thus, there is no turning into other animals (bats or wolves), no sunlight-related combustion, no reaction to garlic, and no evidence of any thralling going on. But he can be cruel. As can anyone.
The first section, “An Ancient Mind at Work,” introduces Weyland as a vampire in its opening lines, with Katje having observed an act of his. He is at this point known as an eminent, if difficult and introverted, anthropologist. He is involved in dream mapping—not a typical vampire pursuit. For her part, Katje was brought up by a hunting grandfather and uncle in colonial Africa, so she understands the predator; Weyland claims a Germanic origin although (and despite his publication of books) his background is “foggy” at best. This first perspective is how the reader gets to know the vampire in McKee Charnas’s world: His existence is a matter of fact, despite an acknowledgement by Katje (apparently a fan of Hammer films) that it is also somewhat like the movies. Thus, this first part sets the ground rules of the material as opposed to the supernatural vampire: The fangs are out, but there is a needle in the tongue that administers an anti-clotting substance. It is almost the story of a serial killer pretending to be a university academic.
Only by placing Katje as the product of African hunters is the narrative framed. For a while, Katje is portrayed as a positive protagonist who is only imagining the horror of a vampire; but later, she can be seen as a racist—she won’t be taken advantage of by “blacks.” What is interesting in this context is that no one in the book is especially surprised or horrified by the existence of vampires. The story is written in places like a noir, in one section a notebook, and in others a straight drama, adding to a realism unlike other vampire novels. Weyland’s actions may be seen as that of a rare big cat—inevitable, smart—but certainly no worse than a human murderer. No one suggests a supernatural origin to the events witnessed, other than the references to the movie vampires and Dracula (“a silly book”). One of Katje’s colleagues even jokes about Weyland biting her neck during a dream experiment.
Following a public lecture in which Weyland discusses vampirism, Katje seeks him out to discuss it. He invites her to participate in his sleep studies. It is a ruse, however, and he tries to force her into his car. A struggle ensues and Katje shoots Weyland in the scuffle. This leads to the second section, in which a wounded Weyand is found in his car while in Manhattan. The men who found him are only interested in pawning the car, but a friend of theirs, Roger, initially takes Weyland in to help with the injuries, leading to an incident during which Weyland’s bloodlust is revealed. He is subsequently imprisoned by Roger, and looked after by Roger’s school-aged nephew, Mark. Again, they know and accept that Weyland is a vampire. Roger starts to bring people to his flat to show off his vampire captive. The visitors include an occultist called Reese, who knows all about vampires and has plans for Weyland. He sees potential for power; Weyland knows that, if he cannot escape, Reese will use and abuse him. Fortunately, as Weyland recovers, he forms a kind of bond with Mark, his carer. Indeed, much of this section is concerned with Mark and his dreams of a future life, which we read about as Roger tries, unsuccessfully, to get to the bottom of Weyland’s life story. Helping with his school work and his future plans, Weyland encourages a growing empathy with Mark—and eventually finds a way to flee his imprisonment.
This brings us to “Unicorn Tapestry,” in which Weyland engages in sessions with a therapist, Floria, after telling her that he has “fallen victim to a delusion of being a vampire.” These sessions come at the request of the dean of his former college, and Weyland has turned the actual events in the first story into a fantasy that he describes to Floria, who isn’t in the best of health at the beginning of this story. (She has suffered a familial bereavement and the breakdown of her marriage.) Weyland, himself still weak from his injuries and incarceration, is reluctant to talk to her. However, their relationship improves and Weyland opens up to her more. Floria finds herself looking forward to their sessions. She starts to think that there may be a paper or even a book in this therapy. She even starts to believe in Weyland’s fantasy (in a sense, after all, it is indeed true). But one day Weyland breaks into her office and steals all records relating to him. He confronts her at her home and insists she gives up all documented evidence of his sessions and placate his former dean. A tense scene ensues that might be the death of Floria (Weyland muses that she might be named after the ill-fated character in Puccini’s Tosca [1900]); but eventually they end up in bed, curiosity sated. Weyland then flees to New Mexico.
The part that follows is for me is the least effective piece. “A Musical Interlude” is set in a new university at which Weyland is expected to get to know the faculty. To this end, he is invited to attend an opera. It is Tosca. He doesn’t enjoy the experience. Most of this section is a description of events of both the opera and the cast, alongside the faculty members with whom he attends. He doesn’t feel well—having last fed just before travelling—and this is exacerbated by the violence of the music, so he leaves the performance at an interval. In the streets, he finds and kills a man in a savage and unusual method that makes Weyland a little reflective. Others may disagree with my reaction to this section. Charnas is obviously drawing parallels between Weyland and characters in the opera, and I found this hard to follow alongside the raft of new faculty characters. There is also, I am sure, a comment on the importance of art to the vampire—why shouldn’t they appreciate it? But with the focus of this section on the detail of the opera’s characters, and the lives of the actors playing them, I felt that I was taken too far out of the main narrative for what in my mind is an overly extended metaphor which possibly works best only for those with a familiarity with Tosca.
The final section, “The Last of Dr Weyland,” continues to focus on the ways in which Weyland must fit in with his new academic life in New Mexico. He seeks status. He begins a sexual relationship with Alison, his teaching assistant. He decides to end it when she gets emotionally close to him (Alison describes him as “inhuman”). He simultaneously becomes good friends with an anthropologist called Irv, and thinks they could collaborate on a book about the predator-prey relationship among humans. However, one of Irv’s friends is concerned about his behaviour, and not long after, Irv commits suicide. His final note draws attention to Weyland … and before long, Reese is back in the story. He has been watching Weyland from afar since his sessions with Floria. There is a final confrontation: Reese wants to kill Weyland, but the latter suggests that the former can become a vampire too. Weyland indicates that Reese must drink from him to become like him. However, this is a trick and Reese ends up dead at the bottom of a mountain—Charnas’s final nail in the coffin of vampire mythology. Still, at the end of the book, forced into hiding as a result of his encounters throughout the novel, Weyland must hibernate, finally admitting to himself that he is a monster.
Having read the novel through, one comment by Griffith in the foreword doesn’t quite ring true to me, and that is how The Vampire Tapestry has not dated. While I concur with this regarding the characters, the prose style, and the plot, there are elements of the description and some of the language used by the author that do give this away as being of its time. For example, rape victims are women with no self-respect, technology figures in the form of a “portable tape recorder,” there’s a reference to Telly Savalas. There are insults such as “twerp.”
There are constant reminders of the animal world, in Tennyson’s words, “nature red in tooth and claw.” These feel a little heavy-handed after so much repetition. Beyond the archaisms, this tendency to ladle on an effect is probably my only criticism of the text. The prose is more often charming and even poetic at times, preventing it in the main from being a dull treatise on the animalistic nature of the vampire and of humanity. Throughout, Weyland acts as a natural predator, toying with his victims. He has a “matter-of-fact arrogance” that certainly has the requisite charisma of a supernatural vampire, but here is almost certainly a simple evolutionary advantage. He tells Mark that he is a natural being. He explicitly denies there is any magic to his person. Yet to Floria he describes the majority of people as stupid, violent, and featherbrained. To him, humans are food, nothing more.
All this provoked me into thinking about how more traditional horror novels portray their monsters, alongside that common, even conventional, trope of “humans are the real monsters.” In this context, Charnas’s 1980 novel of a vampire is still impactful, and enjoyable, in 2025. Despite my reticence about the opera section and the dated references, I found The Vampire Tapestry equal parts charming, engaging, and fascinating. It will live long in my memory. The characters are expertly drawn, the situations detailed and thought-provoking, there is so much amazing character detail to explore. Nevertheless, I’m keen to read another more traditional vampire novel now to see how they sit together in my head. Perhaps I’ll even try Dracula again.