The Hosts of Horror: Ghosts and Goblins in a Comparison of Kendare Blake and Christina Rossetti

         Without a doubt, I hate horror movies. I do not see the point or the pleasure in jump scares or seeing the Woman in Black stand at the end of your bed for two weeks. But Kendare Blake, whose ravishingly witty narrative has been shedding new light on teenage thrillers since 2011, managed to entice me with her first novel, Anna Dressed in Blood. I initially read this book when I was thirteen or fourteen—it was a gift, I never would have chosen such a gory title—and it reminded me of The Dead of Winter by Chris Priestley in leaving the same terrible scar, some imprint that renders it scarily memorable. And I suppose, in this case, it is because the protagonist falls in love with a ghost. On the other hand, renowned Victorian poet Christina Rossetti addresses a more spiritual contemplation of love after Laura is tempted and poisoned by fiendish creatures in Goblin Market, published in 1862. Inspired by the autumnal darkness of Halloween, I decided to compare these two works in light of the ghoulish marks that literature leaves on its readers, perhaps even more effectively than films ever could.

         Anna Dressed in Blood is a captivating story centring on Theseus Cassio Lowood, a travelling ghost hunter who goes by Cas, and his ultimate goal of avenging the murder of his father. Along the way, Cas becomes entranced by the ghost of Anna Korlov, somehow softening his dismissive and dark-humoured approach to his deeds. In a similarly romantic way, Goblin Market depicts the relationship between two sisters as an expression of feminine solidarity, which has also raised questions about sexual allegories and interpretations of gender with its highly erotic language: “Hug me, kiss me, suck my juices / Squeezed from goblin fruits for you, / Goblin pulp and goblin dew”. Both of these works are pivotal in that they tackle forbidden love and forbidden fruit; an impossible bond between a human and a ghost, and the temptation of a ‘fallen woman’, equally imply Genesis and the wrongdoings of Adam and Eve into these tales about snakes and spiritual darkness.

         Yet, whilst these are both strange love stories, they are inevitably about the horrors of life. Rossetti’s animalistic description of the goblins, who are “Cat-like and rat-like” and “Fluttering like pigeons, / Gliding like fishes”, mutates into a terrifying rampage of abusive and deranged beasts, forcing their fruits against Lizzie’s face when she refuses to eat like her sister. Monsters are also the focus of Blake’s novel, though it is not Anna who poses the greatest threat. The most fearful moment is when Cas and his mother hear the stairs creaking as something descends from the attic, and they are faced with the very creature that killed his father—the Obeahman. After attaching its spirit onto Cas’ weapon, the athame, it has been following the family ever since. This hair-raising realisation that the ghost that feasts on human flesh has been living in the same house throughout the entire novel is chilling to say the least. Goblin Market adds to this sense of fear with its irregular meter and rhyme scheme, by causing a lulling, almost sickening feeling to erupt from the chants, which is pointed out by Dinah Roe: “the sing-song rhythm of alternating dactylic and trochaic feet mimics the sound of street vendors hawking”.

         It has to be the protagonists who make these works what they are. Lizzie is a vigilant emblem of bravery and determination, a Christian woman seeking redemption for her sister in a stand-off against the vile goblins. Likewise, Cas is valiant and intelligent, and although Blake’s encompassing novel is full of violence, the reader remains hooked on its quietly confident narrator, whose snarky comments and sarcasm punctuate the ghost story with refreshing zest. Both go through a somewhat spiritual development; whilst Lizzie endures a painful sacrifice whereby the merchants “Mauled and mocked her” as she stands “white and golden” in a replication of the Virgin Mary, Cas questions his own quick judgement on others when his newfound friends surprise him. Carmel, for example, is assigned the ‘Queen Bee’ trope by Cas but unexpectedly stands up for him in the final battle with the Obeahman.

        At face value, these texts could not be more different—an experimental mid-nineteenth-century poem with “surprising lyric energy” (Roe) and a contemporary novel narrated by a ghost-hunting teen. However, the two fairytale worlds collide in their obsessions with salvation. The blood-soaked images of gore and glutton unequivocally tie them to the land of the dead, and Blake and Rossetti’s thrilling yet devastatingly romantic takes on horror ensure that the reader is left forever haunted by love.