I loved this one. And I'm fuming that nobody has ever told me "hey, here's a book about a black lesbian vampire and found family" because this is so my type of book.

It's the anti-Interview With the Vampire in every way. ( )

In the Afterword for the 25th Anniversary Edition of The Gilda Stories, Alexis Pauline Gumbs calls the book: "A precise and prophetic work. A neo-slavery escape narrative. An Afro-futuristic projection." And before that, in the introduction to the work, Gomez speaks of how she was spurred into writing the book, and the 'pent-up fury' that went into it. The passion in all of this language, and the way it carefully bleeds through this long-form narrative of vampires and personal history, is absolute--and while the book may disappoint readers coming to it from a horror perspective for a tale of vampires and violence, I would answer that it is an important, worthwhile work that takes influence from classic slave narratives, classic novels such as Uncle Tom's Cabin and Giovanni's Room, and moves the narratives into a contemporary space that is at once a coming-of-age tale for a slave-turned-vampire and an examination of growth, love, and hope.

If you're reading this review, and curious about the book, I'm hope you'll read it. It feels like one which should have found its way to my hands much sooner, and one which should be far more widely known, read, and spoken of.

I'd absolutely recommend it. ( )

If you want to read a groundbreaking feminist novel about an African-American lesbian vampire, now in its twentieth year of being in print, then what are you waiting for? Jewelle Gomez is an inspiration to me. ( )

I can’t quite believe that this book was written and published back in 1991, and yet it undoubtedly was. Jewelle Gomez challenges the mythos surrounding vampires in culture and lore by writing her protagonist, Gilda, as a Black American lesbian - the polar opposite of the vampires popularized by authors such as Stoker, Rice, and Süskind. Gilda begins her tale as a nameless Girl, recently run away from the plantation where she was born and raised. As she runs, she is confronted by a man who wishes her harm (rape most assuredly and a return to the plantation from where she has run from or at least back to the status of slave), and she proves her mettle from the get go: waiting with preternatural patience until her hidden blade can find his heart. Bathed in blood, nameless, and having shed the painful memories of the remnants of her family that she left behind, she is reborn (literally and figuratively) under the care of Gilda, a vampire who runs a brothel, and her lover and companion Bird, a Lakota woman. As the first Gilda chooses to go into the light for the True Death, Bird completes the process of transformation, and our protagonist begins a new life after taking on the name of her creator. Gomez traces Gilda’s life through 200 years of American history, touching on so many powerful themes around the changing landscape, the face of female survival, the power inherent in Black women, the strength in female relationships (lesbian or otherwise), and created family (just to name a few) that to fully unpack this novel would take an encyclopedia. Suffice to say, that it deserves a place in the canon not just as a powerful piece of vampire literature, but also as a commentary on the evolution of American society. ( )

I am not going to lie, I would have considered this a 2 or 2 and 1/2 star book, had I not pushed through the first 128 pages.

For context, the book follows a touchingly moral Black lesbian vampire (who takes the name Gilda) through time. The story begins with the main character escaping both slavery and an attempted-rapist slave-catcher in Louisiana in 1850; we then follow Gilda to California in 1890, and then Rosebud, Missouri in 1921. During all of that - despite the premise being plenty compelling - Gomez's writing did not grab me, and neither did her characters.

However, once Gilda reaches the South End of Boston in 1955, things really started to sing for me. Gilda's story is all about nourishment - how to get it ethically, how to give it ethically - and the moral obligation of outsiders to nurture, respect, and protect one another. It is an unabashed celebration of Blackness and Black womanhood specifically, but Gomez's arms are wide, and the love and compassion that she has for anyone on the outskirts is outspoken and clear.

Later chapters take place in 1971, 1981, and then the near-future (the book was first published in 1991) of 2020 and 2050. Again, I can't state this enough - I am positive that this book probably speaks directly to the souls of a tremendous number of people in the world, and I love Gomez's alternative vision of a tribe of immortals who strive to sustain and reproduce themselves using a model of careful consideration and exchange, rather than through raping their prey of blood and enslaving the unwitting and unwilling ala the traditional vampire (plantation?) trope. Gomez directly addresses issues of intersectionality within the Black community about a decade before the term was in common currency. Her queer characters are numerous, varied, and in no way defined purely by their sexuality. There is a lot to praise here.

That said, the writing was...an issue for me. During the entire first half of the book, it was distracting enough that I seriously considered putting the book down. The vibrancy and explorations of the later chapters make me glad I didn't, but I doubt that I will ever go in for a re-read. ( )