Alexia (and the reader) quickly learns, however, that these relationships frequently go beyond that of master and servant. Most vampires and werewolves keep or employ human followers and assistants (drones for vampires clavigers for werewolves), who perform various tasks for their masters and mistresses in the hopes of one day being “turned” themselves. While it is clear that the integration of vampires and werewolves in society is a relatively recent phenomenon (in America, Alexia learns, such beings are regarded with religious dread, and often ostracized or killed by family members), this tolerance allows some individuals more personal freedom than would be acceptable in “normal” human society. While not a BUR agent herself (her family would be traumatized to see an upper-class woman working), Alexia’s status as a preternatural-a rare individual born without a soul, and therefore immune to supernatural attack-makes her a natural, if frequently frustrated, liaison for London’s hives and packs.
However, as Alexia discovers, the tense relationships between vampires and werewolves make civilized political discourse difficult. Under Victoria, the Bureau of Unnatural Registry (BUR)keeps tabs on vampire hives and werewolf packs, deals with attacks (both on and by those under its domain), and advises human politicians on the best ways to keep the country running smoothly for all citizens. While not everyone accepts the existence of such creatures in “polite” society, most human beings at least respect the social status of the more aristocratic vampires and werewolves. Instead of dominating humanity through force and brutality,they have come to gain power “by the same civilized means as everyone else: money, social standing, and politics” (Carriger, 38). Within Carriger’s alternate version of Victorian England, supernatural beings-werewolves, vampires, and ghosts-live openly in society. However, Carriger takes what might otherwise be bland stock characters and places them in a thought-provoking setting. We see a feisty heroine (Alexia), her annoying family (perpetually embarrassed by their eldest daughter’s spinsterhood and Italian heritage), style-crazy best friend (Ivy Hisselpenny), flamboyantly gay friend (Lord Akeldama), and reluctant colleague/eventual love interest (Lord Maccon). In many ways, the world of Alexia Tarrabotti could resemble a stereotypical romantic comedy. What I found was a humorous spoof of both modern romantic comedies and Jane Austen-esque comedies of manners, with more than a bit of intriguing social commentary thrown in for good measure. Although I was impressed with Carriger’s interviews on sci-fi and steampunk forums, the back cover summary left me reluctantly expecting a steampunked Twilight, with vampires and werewolves fighting over our intrepid heroine, one Alexia Tarrabotti. When I opened Gail Carriger’s debut novel Soulless, I was not expecting much depth of material at all, much less on the specific topic of sexual variance in nineteenth century London. This, in my mind, is a pity, particularly when one considers the wealth of information on the subject-everything from dry medical and legal texts to fiction and artwork-that could provide the basis for “queering” Victorian-based steampunk. While sex in itself is a frequent topic (brothels make important settings in Paul di Filippo’s Steampunk Trilogy, Stephen Hunt’s The Court of the Air, William Gibson and Bruce Sterling’s The Difference Engine, and Neal Stephenson’s The Diamond Age, to name a few), more serious conversations about Victorian social conventions with regards to sexual behaviors and identities are often glossed over or outright neglected. One of the noticeable gaps in most steampunk literature is a lack of variety and depth in dealing with sexuality.
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