![]() ![]() Two hundred years ago, vampire fiction (erotic or otherwise) was virtually unheard of. Today, the word Gothic usually conjures up images of either paperback novels involving mystery, innocent young women married off to rich and powerful old men, haunted mansions, and murder (actually, this description isn’t all that far from the original Gothic recipe, except that the modern Gothic romance is often reputed to have been written by a group of Rhesus monkeys banging away on word processors), or an Anne Rice/White Wolf vision of vampires, gargoyles, haunted castles, black clothing, and white face paint, urban horror and industrial punk, maybe a bit of sadistic fantasy for the truly liberated hard core. What is today accepted as “Gothic” has only a slight bit in common with the Gothic literature of the eighteenth century and the Romantic period in general. Before the gentle reader plunges into the chthonic depths of Anne Radcliffe’s mind, a few explanatory words about the genre of Gothic horror may be in order. ![]()
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