Since it's the Halloween season, it's
only fitting that October sees the return of the Psycho-sexual
Ravenloft series. If this is your first time at the rodeo, the
premise is simple: I read one of the official Ravenloft novels from back
in the '90s, post about all the weird and yucky sex bits that lurk
under the book's otherwise banal surface, and you all get a good
laugh at my pain as I slog through this underwhelming sequence of
tie-in novels.
Next up is Christie Golden's Dance of
the Dead. Oh god, not another Golden novel so soon. I wonder if
that guy who had a meltdown the last time I dared besmirch Golden's
literary status is reading; are you still out there, buddy? I
digress.
I'm actually a bit surprised to find
myself saying this, but...Dance of the Dead seems to be an order of
magnitude better than Vampire in the Mists. Perhaps I've been brain
damaged by the first two Ravenloft books I've read as part of this
project, but I'm willing to hazard a guess that freed from the
tyranny of having to write about Jander and Strahd has enabled Golden
to get an actual plot in motion and to create some characters who are
human enough to be at least slightly compelling. The set-up of Dance
of the Dead is actually interesting; the novel follows the exploits
of a traveling showboat that docks in various domains in Ravenloft
and puts on a magic-powered cabaret for the downtrodden denizens of
the Demi-plane of Dread. Of course, things go awry and the
performing troupe find their boat arriving at Souragne, Ravenloft's Louisiana cum Haiti zombieland pastiche.
Of course, this is a Golden novel, so
we're not going to escape having to read about a bunch of rapey male
characters. In fact, we get our first abusive guy on the second page
of the novel when we're introduced to Sardan, an actor who likes to
make the leading woman in the troupe's play sexually uncomfortable:
“it was well-known that Liza couldn't stand Sardan. As a result,
Sardan made it a point to turn every onstage kiss into a passionate
one, taking a devilish glee in the fact that Liza had to pretend to
enjoy it.” Yep, we're back in Ravenloft all right.
And back in Ravenloft we are indeed, as
we're next introduced to the disturbing relationship between our
heroine, the white-maned Larissa, and Raoul, her guardian and the
captain of the showboat. From the way Raoul is initially described,
it's clear that we're meant to take him as a figure of sexual power.
“He was big in more than a physical sense,” the narration winks
at us and lolls its tongue lasciviously. Furthermore, we're treated
to the “flash of his sea-green eyes, the tightening of his sensual
mouth, the clenching of his powerful, callused hands.” Since he's
such an obviously virile specimen of manhood, it seems only natural
that Larissa would want to ride him like a Shetland pony, but you
know what turns it from bodice-ripper to stomach-churner? The fact
that she calls him “Uncle” throughout the first third of the
novel.
