Carmilla - Book Review

Author: Sheridan Le Fanu
Published: 1872
Genre: Gothic Horror, Vampire Fiction, Queer Classic
Pages: Approximately 110–160 (depending on the edition)

When people think of classic vampire fiction, Dracula is almost always the first title that comes to mind. That makes sense. Bram Stoker's novel has become so iconic that it's easy to forget vampire stories existed long before Count Dracula ever stepped out of his castle. More than twenty-five years earlier, Sheridan Le Fanu introduced readers to Carmilla, a novella that would quietly lay the groundwork for much of the vampire fiction that followed. Looking back, it's fascinating to recognise ideas that have since become staples of the genre. The mysterious outsider, the slow, almost hypnotic corruption of an innocent young woman and the strange mixture of attraction and fear all feel surprisingly familiar, even if Le Fanu's take on them is much quieter than most modern vampire stories.

What makes Carmilla especially interesting to me, though, isn't just its place in literary history. It's also one of the earliest works of fiction to centre a relationship between two women in a way that still feels emotionally charged today. Laura and Carmilla's connection is complicated, intimate and often difficult to define. Read through a modern lens, it's impossible to ignore the romantic tension between them, even if Victorian society never would have allowed Le Fanu to write that relationship openly. That tension sits at the heart of the novella, shaping both the gothic horror and the emotional weight of the story, which is exactly why Carmilla has remained such an important book within queer literary history.

I went into this novella expecting to appreciate its historical significance more than the story itself. Instead, I found myself completely drawn into its atmosphere. I loved the isolated setting, the constant feeling that something wasn't quite right and the subtle hints towards the supernatural long before the story reveals its hand. At the same time, I won't pretend it was always an easy read. The opening chapters move at a very deliberate pace, and Le Fanu's Victorian prose demands far more attention than most modern novels. There were evenings where I only managed a handful of pages before putting the book down, not because I wasn't enjoying it, but because it simply wasn't the kind of book I could read half asleep. Once I settled into its rhythm, though, I understood why so many readers still consider Carmilla a gothic classic.

A Beautifully Gothic Setting

The setting was probably the first thing that completely won me over. Laura lives with her father in an isolated castle in the forests of Styria, far away from busy towns or curious neighbours, and Le Fanu makes full use of that isolation. Before anything overtly supernatural happens, there's already a quiet melancholy hanging over the story. Life moves slowly, visitors are rare and the world outside the castle always feels just a little too distant. It creates the perfect environment for a gothic mystery because you constantly get the feeling that, if something strange were to happen, there would be nowhere to turn.

When Carmilla suddenly arrives after a carriage accident, she doesn't immediately disrupt that atmosphere. In fact, she almost seems to belong there. She's mysterious from the very beginning, but not in an obvious way. Le Fanu never rushes to reveal who she is or what her intentions might be. Instead, he lets small details slowly pile up. Laura begins having unsettling dreams, people in the surrounding villages fall mysteriously ill and Carmilla herself says and does things that leave both Laura and the reader wondering whether there's more to her than first appears.

That gradual build-up ended up being one of my favourite aspects of the novella. I already knew I was reading a vampire story, so there weren't many surprises in that sense, but that didn't make the experience any less enjoyable. Rather than relying on dramatic twists, Le Fanu trusts the atmosphere to do most of the work. Every conversation feels like it might be hiding something, every dream seems important and every new piece of information adds another layer to the mystery. It reminded me why gothic fiction has remained so popular for so long. The horror doesn't come from constant action or graphic scenes, but from the feeling that something is quietly closing in around the characters.

Looking back, I think that's what stayed with me most after finishing the book. The plot itself isn't particularly fast-paced, but the world Le Fanu creates is one I genuinely enjoyed spending time in. I found myself looking forward to picking the book up again simply because I wanted to return to that lonely castle and see how the mystery surrounding Carmilla would slowly unfold.

A Slow Burn That Requires Some Patience

If there's one thing I can imagine dividing readers, it's the pacing. Carmilla is very much a slow-burn story, and it asks you to settle into its rhythm rather than constantly pushing the plot forward. Le Fanu spends a lot of time introducing Laura's quiet life and allowing her relationship with Carmilla to develop naturally before the mystery really begins to take shape. Looking back, I don't think that was the wrong choice. The emotional connection between the two women is the heart of the novella, and rushing that relationship would have made everything that follows far less effective.

That being said, I did find the first part of the book a little difficult to get through at times. I usually read before going to bed, and this wasn't the kind of novel I could casually read when I was already feeling tired. The Victorian writing style asks for your full attention, and because the plot unfolds so gradually, I often found myself stopping after only a few pages. It wasn't because I wasn't enjoying the story. In fact, I was genuinely curious about where it was going. It simply isn't a book you can rush through in the same way you might with a modern horror novel.

Once the mystery starts revealing itself more clearly, I found the pacing much easier to appreciate. By that point, I was invested in Laura and Carmilla's relationship, and all those subtle moments that seemed almost insignificant at first suddenly began to fit together. The slow opening started to make sense because it had quietly laid the foundation for everything that followed. I can completely understand why some readers struggle with those early chapters, but I also think that anyone willing to stick with it will probably find the payoff worthwhile. It's one of those books that rewards patience rather than trying to grab your attention with constant twists or action, and that feels surprisingly refreshing in a genre where everything often has to happen as quickly as possible.

The Writing Style Won't Be for Everyone

The pacing isn't the only thing that makes Carmilla feel different from a modern novel. Le Fanu's writing style also takes some getting used to. Like many Victorian classics, the prose is much more descriptive and deliberate than what most of us are used to reading today. Sentences are often longer, conversations unfold at a gentler pace and there are moments where Le Fanu spends far more time setting a scene or describing a character than a contemporary author probably would.

It reminded me a little of reading Pride and Prejudice. Not because the stories have much in common, but because both books require you to slow down and really pay attention to the language. I found that I couldn't just breeze through a chapter before bed the way I normally would. If my mind started to wander for even a moment, I'd often realise I'd reached the bottom of the page without properly taking in what I'd just read.

That might sound like a criticism, but I don't really mean it that way. Carmilla was written more than 150 years ago, and expecting it to read like a modern horror novel would be unfair. Once I stopped comparing it to contemporary fiction and accepted the slower, more deliberate style, I actually started to appreciate it a lot more. The careful descriptions and measured dialogue suit the story remarkably well, especially because so much of the horror comes from things that are hinted at rather than openly explained.

I do think it's worth mentioning because it will probably be the biggest hurdle for many readers. If you already enjoy classic literature, you'll likely settle into Le Fanu's writing without too much difficulty. If your bookshelf mainly consists of modern fantasy or horror, though, don't be surprised if it takes a few chapters before the prose starts to feel natural. In my case, that adjustment was absolutely worth it, but it was an adjustment nonetheless.

Laura and Carmilla

More than anything else, it was the relationship between Laura and Carmilla that kept me reading. I already knew before picking up the book that Carmilla had a reputation as one of the earliest sapphic vampire stories, so I expected there to be some queer subtext. What I didn't expect was just how central that relationship would feel to the story. The mystery, the gothic horror and the supernatural elements all revolve around it, but at its core this is really a story about fascination, longing and the uneasy feeling of being drawn towards someone you don't fully understand.

Laura's feelings towards Carmilla are surprisingly believable. She admires her almost immediately, enjoys her company and seems genuinely happy to have someone her own age around after such an isolated upbringing. At the same time, there's always something that doesn't quite sit right. Carmilla can be incredibly warm and affectionate one moment, only to become strangely possessive or unsettling the next. That constant push and pull makes their relationship feel far more interesting than a simple friendship or romance ever could have been.

What struck me most was how openly affectionate Carmilla is. She speaks about her feelings with an intensity that feels surprisingly bold for a novella published in 1872, often blurring the line between friendship and romantic desire. None of it is described in explicit terms, of course, but it hardly needs to be. The lingering looks, the physical closeness and the emotional dependency between the two women leave very little to the imagination for a modern reader. It's easy to see why Carmilla has become such an important work within queer literary history.

At the same time, I think it's important to read that relationship within the context of the period in which it was written. This isn't a modern sapphic romance, and Carmilla certainly isn't meant to be read as a queer heroine. Le Fanu was writing during the Victorian era, when same-sex desire could only really exist in literature through implication and symbolism. In Carmilla, that desire becomes intertwined with horror. The novella reflects many of the fears and anxieties that surrounded female sexuality at the time, which means the relationship between Laura and Carmilla is intentionally unsettling as well as intimate.

Rather than diminishing the story, I actually found that historical context made it even more interesting. Carmilla isn't important because it gives us the kind of representation we'd hope to see in a contemporary novel. It's important because it shows that queer stories have always existed, even when authors couldn't tell them openly. Reading it now feels a little like looking back at the roots of sapphic fiction. You can clearly see the limitations of the time, but you can also see why this novella has continued to resonate with queer readers for more than a century. Carmilla herself is a huge part of that. She's mysterious, charismatic and impossible to ignore, and even after finishing the book she's easily the character I kept thinking about the most.

Why Carmilla Is Still Worth Reading

Before reading Carmilla, I mostly knew it as "the vampire story that came before Dracula." I expected to appreciate it because of its place in literary history, but I wasn't expecting to enjoy it as much as I did. Once I got used to the slower pace and the Victorian writing style, I found myself completely immersed in its world. The atmosphere stayed with me long after I'd put the book down, and I kept thinking about Laura and Carmilla's relationship in particular. That, more than anything else, is what convinced me this novella has earned its reputation.

It's easy to look at a book like Carmilla and think of it as something that's mainly interesting from a historical perspective, but I don't think that's entirely fair. Yes, it's fascinating to recognise ideas that would later become defining features of vampire fiction, and it's impossible not to notice how much influence Le Fanu had on everything that came after. At the same time, the novella also stands on its own. The gothic atmosphere, the slow build-up and the emotional complexity of its two main characters still make for a genuinely engaging story, even if you've already seen those vampire tropes in countless other books, films and television series.

I also think Carmilla remains an important read for queer readers. Not because it offers the kind of representation we'd expect from a modern novel, but because it reminds us that queer stories have always existed, even when they had to be told through implication and coded language. Reading Laura and Carmilla's relationship today feels a little like looking back at the roots of sapphic fiction. It isn't always comfortable, and it certainly reflects the attitudes of its time, but that historical context is exactly what makes it so interesting. More than 150 years later, people are still discussing their relationship, and I think that's a testament to just how memorable Le Fanu's writing really is.

Final Verdict: Is Carmilla Worth Reading?

I'm really glad I finally picked up Carmilla. It's one of those books that had been on my reading list for years because of its influence on vampire fiction and queer literature, and while it wasn't always the easiest read, it was definitely a rewarding one.

The biggest hurdle is undoubtedly the writing style. Combined with the slow pace, it makes the first part of the novella feel like something you have to ease yourself into. There were evenings where I only managed a chapter before deciding I'd continue another day, simply because it demanded more concentration than I usually have before going to sleep. Once I adjusted to that rhythm, though, I started appreciating the book for what it is instead of wishing it read like a modern novel.

What I'll remember most isn't the vampire story itself, but the atmosphere Le Fanu creates and, even more so, the relationship between Laura and Carmilla. Their connection is fascinating because it never feels straightforward. It's affectionate, unsettling, romantic and unsettling again, often within the same conversation. That emotional tension carries the entire novella and is ultimately what kept me turning the pages, even during the slower sections.

I don't think Carmilla is a book I'd recommend to absolutely everyone. If you're looking for a fast-paced horror novel with lots of action, this probably isn't going to be your thing. But if you enjoy gothic fiction, don't mind taking your time with a classic and have an interest in queer literary history, I think there's a lot here to appreciate. It's one of those stories that's best approached with the right expectations. Let yourself settle into its slower pace, enjoy the atmosphere and don't expect every mystery to be explained immediately.

More than 150 years after it was first published, Carmilla still feels surprisingly relevant. Not because it reads like a modern novel, but because the things it does well are timeless. The atmosphere, the slow-building suspense and the complicated relationship between its two main characters are just as engaging now as they must have been in the nineteenth century. For me, it wasn't just an important book to read because of its place in literary history. It was simply a good story, and that's probably the biggest compliment I can give it.

Final Scores

Writing style: 7.5/10
Atmosphere: 10/10
Characters: 9/10
Pacing: 6.5/10
Queer significance: 10/10

8.5 out of 10

Final rating: Carmilla is a beautifully atmospheric gothic novella that asks for a little patience but rewards it with an unforgettable story. The slow pacing and Victorian prose won't be for everyone, but the haunting setting, subtle suspense and fascinating relationship between Laura and Carmilla make it a classic that's still well worth reading, especially for anyone interested in gothic fiction or queer literary history.

Why We Review Books From a Queer Perspective

At ChaoticSapphics, we review books through a queer lens because stories like these deserve more than a simple star rating. A book can be historically important, culturally significant and still be an enjoyable read in its own right. We think it's worth talking about all of those aspects together.

Not every queer book features openly LGBTQ+ characters or celebrates queer relationships in the way modern readers might expect. Especially when reading older literature, queerness often exists between the lines, hidden in subtext, longing and relationships that could never be fully acknowledged on the page. That doesn't make those stories any less meaningful. In many ways, it makes them even more fascinating to revisit today.

Carmilla is a perfect example of that. Its portrayal of Laura and Carmilla's relationship is shaped by the fears and social attitudes of Victorian England, yet it also became one of the foundations of sapphic literature. Reading it now isn't just about spotting queer subtext. It's about seeing how far queer storytelling has come while appreciating the books that helped make those stories possible in the first place.

That's what we hope to do with our reviews. We want to celebrate great books, but we also want to explore the way they fit into queer history, whether that history is joyful, complicated or somewhere in between.

FAQ: Carmilla by Sheridan Le Fanu

Is Carmilla an LGBTQ+ book?

Yes, Carmilla is widely considered one of the earliest works of sapphic fiction. While the relationship between Laura and Carmilla is never described as openly romantic in the way a modern novel might, their emotional and physical intimacy leaves little doubt that there's more than friendship between them. Because the novella was written during the Victorian era, those themes are expressed through implication and subtext rather than explicit representation, making Carmilla an important milestone in queer literary history.

Is Carmilla difficult to read?

That really depends on what you're used to reading. I wouldn't call it difficult, but it does require more patience than most modern novels. The writing is very much a product of its time, with longer sentences, more descriptive passages and a slower pace. It took me a little while to settle into Le Fanu's style, but once I did, I found it much easier to appreciate what the novella was trying to do.

Should I read Carmilla before Dracula?

You certainly don't have to, but I think it's a fascinating experience. Reading Carmilla first lets you see just how many ideas that later became synonymous with vampire fiction were already present decades before Dracula was published. Even if you've read or watched countless vampire stories, you'll probably recognise more than a few familiar themes.

Is Carmilla still worth reading today?

I definitely think so, as long as you know what to expect. If you're hoping for a fast-paced horror novel, you may struggle with its slow pace and Victorian prose. But if you enjoy gothic fiction, atmospheric storytelling and books that played an important role in queer literary history, Carmilla is still a rewarding read more than 150 years after it was first published.

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