BOOK REVIEW: Vampirates is a Female-Centric Children's Tale Ahead of its Time

Vampire literature has long been a genre dominated by sparkling anti-heroes with tortured pasts and stereotypically weepy women caught in love triangles. From Dracula to Twilight, and every rehash in between, the message was loud and clear: Men are heroes; women are swooning sweethearts. Or so it was until an inconspicuous children's book tiptoed quietly and unassumingly onto the scene in 2008 and turned the genre on its' head.

My first exposure to vampires came not through the Twilight craze of the early 2000's, but through a children's book series titled Vampirates. As one of six children, my dad made it a goal to keep us occupied and out of trouble during the long sweltering months of summer break. His solution: reading.

I can't count the number of hours I spent curled in an overstuffed armchair in the corner of my local library pouring over "kid books" as my dad took a much-needed nap in the airconditioned great indoors. I'm sure if I did count the hours, I would find most of my childhood was spent with my nose buried in a book. Which, I've learned, was not a bad way to spend the wild years of my youth.

I had just finished reading A Series of Unfortunate Events followed up by a gaggle of nameless mermaid books, when I stumbled across the first novel in the Vampirates series. I was beginning to realize I rather liked stories centered on misfits and outcasts, and in particular stories with strong female protagonists. It was the title that drew my attention, but it was the cover that stole my breath.

I was no stranger to pirate books. My dad raised my sisters and I on Edward and the Pirates, How I Became a Pirate, and Henry and the Buccaneer Bunnies. He was reading us bedtime stories of swashbuckling adventure before we were old enough to tie our shoes and he kept reading us tales of treachery on the high seas long after we gave up laces for trendy velcro. But none of those books, as thrilling as they were, featured female pirates. None except The Ballad of the Pirate Queens. I'd be lying if I said I didn't love The Ballad of the Pirate Queens. The pictures and shanty-like rhymes never failed to wow me. But I couldn't shake the feeling Anne Bonney and Mary Read were victims of a rotten deal. Afterall, Jack Rackham may have hung for his crimes, but Anne and Mary were forced to give up their hard-won independence for a box stuffed full of perfumed practicality. So, you can imagine, when I saw the cover of Vampirates: Demons of the Ocean, eight-year-old me was downright amazed. Who was that fearless dark-haired woman, fighting choppy waters to drag a drowning boy from the sea? What was her story?

I opened Demons of the Ocean in search of a pleasant pirate tale and a dash of vampire angst, but what I found was a story that stuck with me for a lifetime. I was drawn in by Cheng Li's sharp tongue, Grace Tempest's stubborn spunk, Darcy Flotsam's gentle heart, and Cutlass Cate's expert swordsmanship. I was accustomed to female characters being smart, or ditzy, or on occasion both. Violet Baudelaire, Hermione Granger, the zany Clementine or gutsy Junie B Jones, these were the female role models I knew and loved. But the women of Vampirates were something completely different. Back then, I lacked the ability to put into words what made them so special to me. I liked their style. I loved their voices. And for a child, those simple reasons were enough to keep me invested in their adventures, but it wasn't until I stumbled upon a 2021 blog post, that I found the answer. When asked about his writing process, author Justin Somper said, "I wanted strong female protagonists on both sides of my story, standing shoulder to shoulder- actually, preferably, ahead- of their male counterparts." It was such a simple answer. Surely every author writing tales of adventure and magic in the early aughts had done the same. Right? But when I thought back on the touchstone novels of my youth, Vampirates was one of only a handful where the women were more vital to the story than the men.

In Vampirates, the women were far from the cardboard cutouts and pretty faces and wisdom spouting sidekicks I was used to. They were plot-drivers and decision makers and leaders. It was the women who propelled the story forward, not the men. It was Lady Lola Lockwood who fashioned the Empire of Night from an evil whim and a burgeoning winery venture. It was Ma Kettle who made a business of men's thirst. It was Lilithe who lined her pockets with the coins of hungry vampires. And it was Cheng Li who paved the way for young girls to dream of being captains.

Cheng Li may have started the series as Molucco Wrathe's doormat deputy, bitter and invisible, but she didn't settle for a life in the shadows of a belligerent old coon. She clawed her way to the top of the Pirate Federation as the captain of a state-of-the-art ship of vampire assassins. And unlike the punch-happy emotionless female superheroes that have become the Hollywood standard of "strong women", Cheng Li was never emotionless. What she was, was flawed. She was blunt to the point of abrasiveness, ambitious to the point of short-sightedness, and at times she let her frustration at having her authority stepped on by the men around her govern her tongue. She was a loyal friend and a fearless fighter, and none of her strengths or flaws made her any less of a woman. She nursed an unrequited crush on her nocturnal comrade, and doted on the young upstart Bo Yin, and supported the women around her with a listening ear—teasing Jasmine about her romantic interests and laughing alongside Kate at Bart's horrible jokes— and I loved her just as much for those little glimpses of softness as I did for her hardened, vamp-kicking shell. She was not a perfect pirate, but she was a perfect example of a real woman, and that mattered to me more than any amount of katana badassery.

It would have been easy for Somper to shove the women of Vampirates into the "natural-born fighter" trope. In a fictional world where cowboys double as pirates and decapitated heads are readily reattached, it wouldn't have earned even one lifted eyebrow. But I am beyond thankful Somper chose instead to showcase the ways in which women fight without lifting a sword or raising their voices. Not every woman is cut from stone or hungry for battle. Not every woman was born with fists raised and teeth clenched. Some women fight with words, with tears, with stubborn pride and unquenchable hope. A truth illustrated perfectly in the nuanced personalities of Grace Tempest and Darcy Flotsam.

Grace Tempest started the series as a luckless orphan adrift at sea with no prospects and no future. After being fished out of the waves by the Nocturne's dashing midshipman, Lorcan Furey, and rescued by the Vampirates (later rechristened the Nocturnals), her tale easily could have been a tried-and-true textbook case of a sappy vampire-human romance. Instead, Grace became an integral part of the crew. Forging relationships with outcasts and fighting for the underdogs. She rose through the ranks as a dhampir healer with a bleeding heart, never sacrificing her ambitions for love, but nevertheless allowing herself to be vulnerable with her friends.

By the time Grace comes into her own in Immortal War, the sixth and final installment in the Vampirates series, the little orphan lost at sea is a master healer single-handedly changing the tide of the war by venturing- quite literally- into hell. And though she is more than capable of holding her own without a sword, she doesn't shy away from shedding blood to protect the boy she loves, turning the damsel in distress trope on its' head by spearing her boyfriend's attacker on the end of her blade.

Darcy Flotsam, in comparison, has no interest in weapons. She leads with her heart, always seeing the best in others, even when they can't see it in themselves. At any point in the series, she might have been written off as a frivolous waste of narrative focus or, even worse, fashioned into a mask-faced badass fresh off a battle-training montage, but Somper refused to diminish Darcy's female strength by shoe-horning her into an uncharacteristically masculine role. Through Darcy, Somper shows young girls everywhere that you can wear pretty dresses and gossip with your gal pals and still harbor a tough-as-nails spirit.

What's more, Darcy represents a whole slew of underappreciated female superpowers. Sure, setting healthy boundaries with exes, or holding space for your off-the-rails headcase of a best friend, or convincing bickering crew members to see eye-to- eye, isn't nearly as thrilling as raising a legion of dead pirates from the grave or wielding a pair of twin katanas in battle, but Darcy's superpowers are the kind that stretch beyond the page and into the practical. I will never be able to astral project (as much as eight-year-old me wanted to) and I will likely never wield a sword, but I can use my voice to stand up for the voiceless. I can don a frilly dress and dance away my troubles and pin my best friend's hair up with ribbons, not because I'm a silly, vapid girl, but because it gives me hope. And hope, as Darcy Flotsam taught me, is a superpower just as worthy of praise as any number of magic spells or sword tricks.

While it's easy for young girls to admire the femininity of someone like Darcy, it's more difficult to admire the athleticism and stoic strength of a character like Cutlass Cate. As children we're taught that dressing nice and lowering our eyes and apologizing for taking up space is what's expected. And though Cheng Li taught me femininity and confidence are not mutually exclusive and Grace taught me you can be a hero no matter your start in life, Cutlass Cate taught me something even more valuable. She taught me you can be a hero even when you're tired of being the hero. Even when you're battle-weary and heart-sore and angry at the world, you can still rise above your hurt.

Of all the characters in Vampirates, Cate is, to my mind, one of the most tragic. She is a loyal comrade, a true friend, and a dedicated girlfriend. She acts first and asks permission later, wielding her sword and wit in tandem with her lithe athleticism.

When her boyfriend is murdered by the enemy, Cate does not break down and weep. She bottles her despair and shoulders the weight of her grief on her own. She throws herself into plotting combat strategy and honing her sword skills, showing up for her friends even when she doesn't have the strength to show up for herself. Praise glances off her back, compliments refuse to stick, but even in the numbness of her grief she never complains or whines or crumbles. All too often, women in literature are depicted as sniveling emotional messes when, in reality, most women grieve in their hearts what they never show on their faces.

Reading about Cate's stoic resolve to turn up her collar and fight the dark despair of her grief, gave me the strength to push through tough times. I knew nothing of death as a child, but I knew what it was like to be tired of being the dependable daughter, and good kid, and sound shoulder. I knew what it was like to want to fight the world with fists and sword blows. It was a touching novelty to see female grief depicted as something powerful, as a driving force for good, rather than a mark of weakness. A novelty, that still touches my heart all these years later to see reflected in the books I loved as a child.

Some, no doubt, will wonder how a children's book with such a campy name can inspire this level of praise over a decade after its release. Those same wonderers expect children's books to be sunny, colorful daydreams. To wrap the reader in a cocoon of warmth. And though I've enjoyed my fair share of cocoon stories, it's the heart-stomping, laugh-out-loud page turners that have most inspired me. The world of Vampirates, though a children's book in genre, is not a shiny, consequence free cocoon. Despite the magical gloss, it is a very real reflection of the modern world. For all Cheng Li's ambition, she does not meet a gentle end. For all Cate's bottled grief, she cannot resurrect her lost love. For all Grace's prowess as a healer, she cannot heal her brother's self-hate or convince Johnny Desperado to renounce his dastardly ways. And though Darcy earns her fairytale wedding, it isn't without a twisty path and a fair amount of heartbreak. In Somper's stories, the ending you want is not always the ending you need. And the prize at the end of the journey is not always what you imagined it would be.

To some, children's fiction is just a way for kids to pass the long summer days free from the blinding glare of a digital screen. To others, it's a nostalgic reminder of forgotten days spent at dusty libraries. To most, it is a dying art form, shoved in backpacks for take home reading and forgotten until the teacher inputs a zero in the gradebook. But to me? To me, children's literature is what inspired me to seek out a life of adventure. It shaped my love of reading and my passion for writing.

Somper's Vampirates series made me proud to be a woman. It gave me a cast of female characters to admire. It taught me there are many ways to be strong. It taught me to trust the tide, to love the misfits, to fight for the voiceless, to never lose hope and never abandon a friend in need. Children's fiction may be campy. Vampire books may still be too full of shirtless men and sparkles for my taste. And pirate novels might always lack the female representation I crave. But one thing's for certain, Vampirates will always be a home for the female warriors of the future and I'm thankful to have sailed the treacherous waters of my youth with page-bound companions who represented the kind of woman I want to be. The kind of woman, I hope, who will one day write stories that inspire generations of girls the same way the women of Vampirates inspired me.