The Bloody Chamber (1979)

Remember a few years back when we had yet another 'dark fairy tale' revival? And everyone and their brother was out there writing novels and shooting films where Hansel and Gretel are really violent vampire hunters, or where Red Riding Hood ends up murdering her grandmother over a cookie-related dispute? Well, we owe all of that to Angela Carter, and today I have before me her seminal collection of short stories entitled The Bloody Chamber, so-named for its first and longest tale. Nearly every story within is a subversive, twisted-up take on classic fairy tales. Carter doesn't limit herself though, and at times we see her pulling from obscure variants of popular tales or, indeed, film adaptions that were mostly original works to create a sumptuous buffet of perverted innocence, carnal obligation, and subverted sex.  

We frequently see Carter using the fairy tale format to explore dramatic situations that arise between married couples in a heightened fashion that blurs the line between reality and ancient fiction. Men wander off from their obligations as fathers and disappear for years leaving single mothers to raise a family she's been left with, only here it's because the husband was secretly a werewolf and definitely not because he was out drinking with his mates and whoring around. Men keep secret 'bloody chambers' where they can go and give in to their carnal desires, and escape their loving wives for a short while, coming back whenever they begin to miss it. And yet they expect their wives to dutifully love them and coddle them with no such provisions of their own getting in the way of that. They wish for clockwork automatons, an image Carter is fond of, that will ask no questions, lead no life of their own and desire nothing, while always being on call to be there when they're needed. They see women as beasts who must be domesticated, taught tricks and led around on a leash. Domesticated. In one story, a woman in serious danger fears reaching out for help because, it occurs to her, it's likely that the tale's resident fiend has everyone in the surrounding community in his pocket and she would be disbelieved and delivered immediately into his hands to do with as he pleases if she were to open her mouth. In another story, our protagonist is lost in a game of cards, like the property that, for all intents and purposes in this bleak world, she is.

So Carter's stories are certainly feminist, though it's worth noting that she never fully crosses over into demonizing or even generalizing men as a whole, nor declaring all women to be saints. There are plenty of examples of monstrous feminity here as well, like in the Carmilla-adjacent "The Lady of the House of Love," the ambiguously-evil witch stalking the protagonist in "The Werewolf," or, most disturbingly of all, the jealous, cruel Countess in "The Snow Child." And let's not forget that the beast in "The Tiger's Bride" wanted nothing more than to see the heroine naked; she told him that wasn't enough, and when he kisses her she turns into a beast like him. In the absurdly twisted ending of "The Company of Wolves," our protagonist has sex with and is implied to join up with the wolf after it violently murders her grandmother. So it's not only a feminist work in that it's rebellious and quite cynical, anchored by a sharp sense of humor and an eye for satire, it's feminist in the Gillian Flynn sense of acknowledging that women are every bit as capable of evil as men.

If you haven't picked up on it yet, there's an ever-present theme of the beast as metaphor running throughout the stories. Hell, we get two adaptations of "Beauty and the Beast" back-to-back at one point, but only because the latter wouldn't work as well or be as subversive if it wasn't contrasted with the former. There's lycanthropy, felines that can talk and walk around on two legs, feral children raised by wolves, and even a were-bear at one point (Lokis... anyone?) and between all ten of the tales, I'd say the idea is explored to its absolute fullest, with the final tale being perhaps the most blatant thematically. Underneath our human skin lives a beast, each and every one of us, and if we're not careful, it can take over and push out our true selves. If you ask Puss-in-Boots though, maybe we should stop worrying and embrace our beastly natures and have a good time, so who's to say really?

There are lots of little motifs and repeated images as well that really help tie things together. There is this omnipresent obsession with mirrors and one's reflection. There are many authentic ruminations on the loss of innocence, from Eve and the apple to the classic honeymoon deflowering. The use of repeating themes and ideas being remixed again and again to create new and interesting variations is one reason fairy tales are so fascinating, and this is like the creation of a new canon.

The writing is phenomenal throughout, with little to qualify it. The narrative voicing, from young heroines to cat people and everything in-between feels so inspired and fully realized. The prose isn't too dense or flowery, but it doesn't belong in the fairy tale tradition either, where everything is written out in a very matter-of-fact way with zero poetry to it. The book as a whole is atmospheric and deeply immersive, occupying your thoughts and keeping you awake at night. I love how the writing can be subversive and rebellious without quite crossing over into vulgarity. No, this is simply provocative, but it maintains a sense of decency and tastefulness that elevates it above other 'adult fairy tale' fare that would become a lot more commonplace in the decades since its release. It's not afraid to throw out a 'cunt' or a 'prick' being 'fingered,' but it also knows that doing so too often would make it far less shocking and so Carter remains quite restrained throughout. And the subversion isn't limited simply to violent takes on bedtime stories either. we get a mama bear rescuing her children from grave danger, where the only sympathetic man in the story is blind and no use at all to the rescue effort, we a reversal of the "Beauty and the Beast" template where Beauty becomes a Beast and not vice versa, and we have a significant twist on Red Riding Hood not once, but twice, where Red Riding Hood is either a damsel out of distress because she will fuck your ass up in a heartbeat, or a twisted adolescent not unlike one-half of those infamous spree-killing couples. And the prose itself is usually just as subversive. I really like the scene in "The Bloody Chamber" where the Marquis discovers that his newest bride has broken her vows, and rather than gasp, or violently start, he simply sighs and calmly resigns himself to arranging her execution, while she's strangely calm as well, as if she were in a daze. It feels so lifelike in its strangeness and humanity. 

But perhaps the best aspect of Carter's writing is that she understands that brevity is the soul of wit, and so doesn't overwhelm us, neither in its prose nor its content. While I can't say I wouldn't have enjoyed a few more stories, the book as it is is an easy candidate for a re-read someday, and so I'm just as glad that she knew when to call it a day and avoid over-stretching her brilliant imagination.

And so, would I recommend The Bloody Chamber? Absolutely. Anyone can read and enjoy this. It's fairly contemporary, based on a popular subject, written in easy-to-understand yet fluid, imaginative prose, and all under the banner of a feminist twist on classic fairy tales, which in 2022 is only too relevant. A few of the stories are perhaps a bit too cryptic for their own good, and I didn't enjoy "The Lady in the House of Love" very much at all, but hey: nothing is ever truly perfect. The Bloody Chamber is funny, horrifying, strange and surreal, and utterly magical.