It’s been a weird decade for the undead. In the restless quest for new slants on vampirekind, bats and coffins have been ousted by day walkers and vegetarians. No worries, it’s all good. Writers need to feel free to invent.
Besides, vampire orthodoxy has always been in flux. Debates still rage over whether Bram Stoker ever said daylight was lethal to fangsters, or if it was an idea cooked up by F. W. Murnau for Nosferatu. So vamp insiders know there is a lot of play between living in the sun and dying in the sun. But sparkling in it?
In the Twilight ethos, vampires glitter like diamonds, and that’s why they avoid the day. They shimmer like disco balls, making male vampires even more irresistible to pubescent female mortals. What: tall, wan and handsome isn’t hot enough any more?
Ridiculous. And I blame it on the fact that the scrapbooking generation had barely been weaned off glitter when Edward Cullen went shirtless.
Me, I miss the days when vamps were vamps, and avoided bright light for the same reason any sensible adult does: when you’re over 100, you look better at night.