Blogging Project: Carmilla
3° Entry: The Paradox of Attraction and Repulsion.
1. Queer desire in a repressive world.
Through the main character's impatient curiosity, we soon find out the girl they shelter is indeed, Carmilla, the vampire from years ago. They recognise eachother but seem to have different versions of the same incident. Fate seems to bring these two ladies together, but the protagonist feels just as attracted as scared of her guest, feeling conflicted.
In 19th-century society, sapphic feelings were not only taboo, they were unnameable. So when Carmilla touches her, embraces her, kisses her, then shows apathy towards her, the protagonist melts yet feels abhorrent almost immediately. The love is intoxicating, but society has taught her it's wrong.
Vampires often symbolize the forbidden, the repressed, and being different from the normal human being.
2. Carmilla’s Illness & Cultural Alienness
Carmilla is always tired, faints, and reacts violently to rituals like funerals or hymns. This strangeness works on multiple symbolic levels:
As a vampire: She’s undead, so she’s naturally sickly in sunlight and maybe weakened by religious rites.
As a queer outsider: She doesn't fit in with Styrian society. She has her own customs, ways of speaking, and doesn't explain herself. She refuses to conform, she’s a symbol of hidden female sexuality.
The funeral rage: These might reflect how societal traditions (mourning, religion, family duty) are unbearable or toxic to someone who exists outside of them like a queer woman.
3. The Deaths of Young Women
The girls in the village die after claiming to have seen ghosts or been attacked; just like what nearly happened to the protagonist in the past. And now I realize something so obvious that went right over my head in my last analysis: after her first encounter with the vampire, her father brought a priest and a doctor to medicate her.
This reminds me of that One Direction song that many fans have theorised to be about a homosexual romance. The lyrics say: "...Just me, her and the moon... Love can be frightening for sure... You love who you love there ain't no other way... The priest says it's the devil, my mom says it's the flu, but girl, it's only you..." It perfectly captures how a queer confession has to be made in secret, the moon as their only witness, how scary it is to love someone the same sex as yourself, how religion sees queerness as the devil’s work and how psychiatry or family might label it as an illness.
The deaths after seeing a ghost or being in contact with a vampire feel like a metaphor for society’s punishment of those who step outside the norm. Love becomes a "fever" or a "ghost", something forbidden, misunderstood.
4. The Portrait & Ancestry
A restored portrait in the castle reveals Carmilla (as Mircalla) is around 160 years old and part of the protagonist’s own lineage. This is huge, the theme of haunting inheritance. Carmilla isn’t just an intruder; she’s part of the family, the narrator can't escape her. It could be seen as a metaphor for inherited queerness, a part of the narrator herself that she's just beginning to see and fear.
5. The Dentistry Scene
That weird moment where the man offers to file down Carmilla’s teeth is both ironic and horrifying: It strips away her power. Her sharp teeth are part of her identity, trying to round them is like trying to domesticate her, make her safe, “normal”. It reflects fear of female power or sexuality: Sharpened teeth are a threat, but also a symbol of agency. The idea of dulling them ties into Victorian ideas of taming dangerous women.
6. Love, Fear, and the Moonlight
Carmilla’s romantic confessions, especially under moonlight, are some of the most poignant in early queer literature. She always seems to vanish or weaken just when connection is strongest.
Moonlight as illusion: Their love can only exist in secret, in shadows. The daylight (society, judgment) can't allow it.
The push-pull of forbidden intimacy: Carmilla says "I have been in love with no one, and never shall. Unless it should be with you". It’s passionate, but also isolating. There’s no space for them to exist openly.
So what does all this symbolize?
In one word: Paradox.
Carmilla is both lover and predator. The narrator feels both desire and terror. Their relationship is tender but doomed. The vampire is dead yet at the same time alive.
It’s a deeply queer Gothic tale: a story about a love that can’t name itself, can’t thrive in the light, and must live in whispers and haunted bedrooms. Carmilla’s refusal to explain herself is powerful, because she doesn’t have to. She just is. She embodies mystery, longing, and danger.











