Eternal Outsiders: Reflections on Anne Rice's Vampires and Disability
I recently rewatched both film adaptations of Anne Rice’s The Vampire Chronicles and then the most recent—and surprisingly spectacular—TV series Interview with the Vampire. This experience left me feeling quite strange, as I found myself relating to these vampires in ways I hadn’t expected—as a disabled man in his thirties.
I asked ChatGPT to give me a brief summary of the main characters within the Vampire Chronicles, and here’s what it said: Anne Rice’s "The Vampire Chronicles" delves into the lives of immortal vampires, exploring themes of alienation, humanity, and morality. Central to the story are compelling characters:
Lestat de Lioncourt: The charismatic antihero, a rebellious vampire yearning for connection and power, constantly challenges societal norms, epitomising the allure and burden of immortality.
Louis de Pointe du Lac: The tortured narrator of "Interview with the Vampire", who grapples with guilt and existential questions, offers a philosophical exploration of vampirism and eternal outsiderhood.
Claudia: A child vampire created by Lestat, she embodies a tragic figure, trapped in a child’s body with the mind of a mature woman, sparking reflections on autonomy and identity.
These characters inhabit a world that is both sensual and isolating, with their struggles reflecting broader themes of identity and otherness.
As a ’90s goth obsessed with Korn, my first introduction to The Vampire Chronicles was the early-noughties film Queen of the Damned. The score of this film is its main redeeming feature, helmed by Korn’s very own Jonathan Davis, who supplies vocals for this film’s version of Lestat. The official soundtrack features nu-metal royalty, with bangers from members of Linkin Park, Static-X, Disturbed, and Deftones. This movie was made for kids like me! It will always be a guilty pleasure of mine.
It wasn’t until university that I actually listened to the audiobooks of The Vampire Chronicles, and I don’t think I fully grasped the genius of Anne Rice’s world back then. Her vampires weren’t monsters—they had a real humanity about them. They span a timeline of centuries, and the lore is dense and intricate. There are moral questions and difficult topics to grasp. Imagine, for example, being 5, 10, or 14 years old for the rest of your life—a life that is pretty much eternal. Imagine your family growing old and dying while you cannot have children. You’re this eternal outsider that nobody really wants to deal with.
The marketing of the TV adaptation was terrible—I completely forgot it was a thing! Yet over the Christmas period, I was looking for something to binge and remembered that it was on BBC iPlayer. Because it was on iPlayer, I didn't expect much. However, I’m so glad how wrong I was! TV is such a perfect way to explore the rich lore and very complicated characters of The Vampire Chronicles.
Spending time with this newly adapted version of The Vampire Chronicles has been awesome, but the deeper I got into this world, the more I found myself relating to these creatures—these bodies that aren’t supposed to exist, these isolated, depressed, and vengeful once-humans. As a disabled man in his mid-thirties with severe emotional difficulties, I found myself relating hard to the vampires in this world!
Take Claudia, a 14-year-old vampire in this adaptation. She faces a life of growing old without ever being viewed as an adult, without ever knowing romance, without ever being a mother. Her anger and rage are so valid. In my life, being condescended to is a routine experience. People are shocked to know I have a job, or that I have romantic desires. When people look at me, words like “father,” “lover,” or “husband” aren’t what come to mind—and that’s a fact. In my family, I will most likely be the only sibling of seven not to have children, and at this point, it feels like I might very well be the only sibling to die single. I’m not supposed to want these things, it seems. Spend five minutes as me on a dating app, and you’ll understand why my future love life seems bleak. I am plainly not the man society sees as anywhere close to valuable. I am a taboo.
In my most recent therapy session, this topic came up. My therapist admitted he didn’t know if he could add anything to this but to sit there with me in my pain. He knows we live in a society that doesn’t want disabled people. My struggles with love, my past trauma, and my disability make dating such a challenge. I am human, though, so I can’t just stop wanting that love. Please don’t misread this section as me writing romance off for me outright—I do know that purely on a statistical level, there are potential matches out there for me. I just hope we find each other before too long.
Louis' guilt and moral dilemma of having to kill to survive. He is burdened with undertones of self-hatred, despising what he must become. I often find myself hating who I must be. This "vulnerable," "weak" man that people assume me to be—I loathe that living my best, most mentally fulfilling life requires me to ask my woefully underpaid care staff to go above and beyond. If I want to see my family, my carer has to drive eight hours in two days. Additionally, there's an aspect of Louis that ponders the life he could have had; at times, he is deeply sad. I too wonder what life I could have had if I wasn't born disabled, if I hadn't experienced my traumas, or if this grim world was built with people like me in mind. In this adaptation of Interview, Louis is a Black man and the story is set in the 1920s, and with this in mind, Louis is subject to racist behaviour and ideology. Louis also wrestles with his sexuality, so he carries significant trauma on his shoulders; he has to mask his true self way before becoming a vampire. Louis fits into two marginalised groups but ends up having the privilege and power of being an immortal being who can conjure flame, read thoughts, and never die. When I get talked down to by strangers, when people use me as inspiration, and when people talk to my able-bodied companions instead of me, I sometimes think to myself, "These idiots have no idea what I’m capable of, do they?" They don’t know about my job and the work I so proudly do; they don’t know the poet, the depth of feelings I have. I never lose my temper; I keep my cool. Unlike Louis, I’m not capable of tearing these idiots limb from limb, but I want to. I feel like Louis is always fighting against stereotypes and never feels respected amongst humans due to his race and sexuality. As someone who looks the way I do and speaks the way I do, I feel like I’m constantly overlooked and underestimated.
Lestat is relatable in many ways. Firstly, he’s clearly a romantic and, yes, very complicated. He has a fear of abandonment, which Louis manipulates when he asks Lestat to make Claudia. Lestat is an artist, and he was punk rock before it was even a thing. Rejected by his own kind, he doesn’t follow the rules. I’m not a “good disabled person.” I defended Rosie Jones when she titled her documentary Am I a Retard because I know the word “retard” is used to describe people with all disabilities, regardless of medical specifics. The title sparked outrage and backlash, with critics accusing her of using an offensive term that perpetuates harmful stereotypes. However, Jones—a disabled comedian herself—chose the title deliberately, reclaiming the slur to provoke discussions about ableism and the prejudice disabled people face. It enraged me to see non-disabled people dictating to a victim of online abuse what words she could use.
During the height of COVID-19, I got vaccinated and did my best to adhere to whatever rules were invented each day. However, I didn't shame my friends, family, or strangers into "doing the right thing." It was never the right of disabled people to ask complete strangers to gladly give up their livelihoods. During lockdown, I felt so alienated from the "disabled community"—we became ugly, entitled, hive-minded government parrots, repeating the rhetoric of the same government that has treated us with utter contempt for as long as we've existed. Lestat never asked to be a "good vampire"; he never vowed to follow any code—he was made a vampire by an abuser. In Lestat I see a person who leads with emotion. He is determined to have the last laugh. Anger and love are both powerful motivations.
I feel that if it were not for my anger, I wouldn’t be where I am today. If I wasn’t so angry at the world, at the people that wanted me in a care home, at the kids who said awful things to me, at the shit I went through as a kid—selfishly, that fuels me. Also, love—I love hard, and I’m loyal. I want to succeed in life to make my people proud. By succeeding, I want to help others who come from similar backgrounds: kids, adults, people who have never had their suffering recognised or their potential acknowledged.
I live, have lived, and will continue to live with the aftereffects of childhood neglect and trauma while existing in a society that doesn’t see me—a society that is inherently ableist, where the othering of disabled people is an unspoken truth. I’ve found comfort in the parts of me that nobody else can see. I take pride in surviving and thriving with my sadness, my loneliness, and the injustices I feel. I love that I’m different and I love knowing that with all the pain I have been through, and all the pain that will undoubtedly be in my future, I have made a place for myself in this world.
I love being a vampire.
Rest In Power Anne!