Hungerstone
The seductive reimagining of a Gothic classic—a repressed wife encounters a mysterious woman who awakens her desire in the “lesbian vampire novel we need.” (Them)
WINNER OF THE LAMBDA LITERARY AWARD • NATIONAL BESTSELLER • NPR Best Book of the Year • Goodreads Choice Award Finalist • Book Riot Best Book of the Year
It’s the height of the Industrial Revolution, and ten years into Lenore’s marriage to steel magnate Henry, their relationship has soured. When Henry’s ambitions take them from London to the remote British moorlands, a shocking carriage accident brings the mysterious Carmilla into their lives. Carmilla, who is weak and pale during the day but vibrant at night. Carmilla, who stirs something deep within Lenore.
Soon, girls from the local villages fall sick, consumed by a terrible hunger, and Lenore begins to unravel. Torn between regaining her husband’s affection and the cravings Carmilla has awakened, Lenore must confront a darkness that will place her at risk.
This immersive reworking of Carmilla, the queer novella that inspired Dracula, delivers a richly atmospheric look at feminine rage and the desires that feed our hunger.
“I didn’t like this, I LOVED it.” —Taylor Jenkins Reid
WINNER OF THE LAMBDA LITERARY AWARD • NATIONAL BESTSELLER • NPR Best Book of the Year • Goodreads Choice Award Finalist • Book Riot Best Book of the Year
It’s the height of the Industrial Revolution, and ten years into Lenore’s marriage to steel magnate Henry, their relationship has soured. When Henry’s ambitions take them from London to the remote British moorlands, a shocking carriage accident brings the mysterious Carmilla into their lives. Carmilla, who is weak and pale during the day but vibrant at night. Carmilla, who stirs something deep within Lenore.
Soon, girls from the local villages fall sick, consumed by a terrible hunger, and Lenore begins to unravel. Torn between regaining her husband’s affection and the cravings Carmilla has awakened, Lenore must confront a darkness that will place her at risk.
This immersive reworking of Carmilla, the queer novella that inspired Dracula, delivers a richly atmospheric look at feminine rage and the desires that feed our hunger.
“I didn’t like this, I LOVED it.” —Taylor Jenkins Reid
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Community Reviews
Ah yes, Hungerstone—that feel-good sapphic vampire tale where love blooms, blood spills, and husbands are best kept at a safe, preferably garlic-scented distance.
Let’s start with Lenore, our gloomy gothic protagonist who has exactly one hobby: repressing trauma and looking dramatically out of windows. She’s married to Henry, a steel magnate with all the emotional range of an anvil and about as much warmth. Naturally, their marriage is going super well. There are no secrets, no awkward silences at dinner, and definitely no unspoken past hunting incidents that may or may not involve death. Everything is just peachy.
Enter: Carmilla. Mysterious, seductive, allergic to sunlight, and practically glowing with main character energy. She arrives after a convenient carriage accident—because nothing says “romance is afoot” like veering off a cliff into someone else's marriage. Lenore, understandably tired of being emotionally ghosted by her husband, takes one look at Carmilla and says, “Yep. That’s the drama I ordered.” Honestly? Same, girl.
Now, while Lenore is busy exploring this whole new world of feminine energy and bloodlust (as one does), girls in the village are dropping like flies and coughing up crimson. Is it anemia? Is it ghosts? Is it an otherworldly vampiric presence that feeds off innocence and lace? Let’s just say the town doctor probably needs a raise. And maybe garlic.
The gothic vibes are immaculate. We’ve got brooding moors, ominous staircases, emotionally unavailable men, morally ambiguous women, and at least three too many metaphors about hunger (emotional, sexual, and also the kind where people get drained like juice boxes). The writing is lush, like if your favorite Victorian horror novel went to a feminist book club and came back with a nose piercing and a newfound thirst—for liberation and possibly blood.
At some point, someone needed to shake Lenore and yell, “Girl. Just leave the manor.” But nooo, she stays. And yearns. And aches. And makes increasingly questionable decisions in corsets. Classic.
Final thoughts: Read Hungerstone if you love your gothic romance with a side of body count and your Victorian feminism draped in velvet. Bring snacks. Maybe iron supplements. Definitely a flashlight—you’ll be up reading past midnight, and your house probably doesn't have enough candles for this kind of mood.
Let’s start with Lenore, our gloomy gothic protagonist who has exactly one hobby: repressing trauma and looking dramatically out of windows. She’s married to Henry, a steel magnate with all the emotional range of an anvil and about as much warmth. Naturally, their marriage is going super well. There are no secrets, no awkward silences at dinner, and definitely no unspoken past hunting incidents that may or may not involve death. Everything is just peachy.
Enter: Carmilla. Mysterious, seductive, allergic to sunlight, and practically glowing with main character energy. She arrives after a convenient carriage accident—because nothing says “romance is afoot” like veering off a cliff into someone else's marriage. Lenore, understandably tired of being emotionally ghosted by her husband, takes one look at Carmilla and says, “Yep. That’s the drama I ordered.” Honestly? Same, girl.
Now, while Lenore is busy exploring this whole new world of feminine energy and bloodlust (as one does), girls in the village are dropping like flies and coughing up crimson. Is it anemia? Is it ghosts? Is it an otherworldly vampiric presence that feeds off innocence and lace? Let’s just say the town doctor probably needs a raise. And maybe garlic.
The gothic vibes are immaculate. We’ve got brooding moors, ominous staircases, emotionally unavailable men, morally ambiguous women, and at least three too many metaphors about hunger (emotional, sexual, and also the kind where people get drained like juice boxes). The writing is lush, like if your favorite Victorian horror novel went to a feminist book club and came back with a nose piercing and a newfound thirst—for liberation and possibly blood.
At some point, someone needed to shake Lenore and yell, “Girl. Just leave the manor.” But nooo, she stays. And yearns. And aches. And makes increasingly questionable decisions in corsets. Classic.
Final thoughts: Read Hungerstone if you love your gothic romance with a side of body count and your Victorian feminism draped in velvet. Bring snacks. Maybe iron supplements. Definitely a flashlight—you’ll be up reading past midnight, and your house probably doesn't have enough candles for this kind of mood.
i enjoyed this so much!
Kat Dunn has done it again :')
I truly love how for both Bitterthorn and Hungerstone, the most intimate scenes are a plot point and a character arc most precious moment ; i think it's the most well written and for-me intimate scenes i have ever read <3
I think i need to sit with this, i'm very interested in how i will feel about and remember this story over time.
In the same reasonning, I feel like this is one to reread and that i could get more from it at each read. It doesn't hurt that the book is bloody gorgeous !! I'd love to discuss this one with anyone too, the questions for discussion at the end of the book are a great start off point for sure :)
I love gothic sapphic books so much :')
Kat Dunn has done it again :')
I truly love how for both Bitterthorn and Hungerstone, the most intimate scenes are a plot point and a character arc most precious moment ; i think it's the most well written and for-me intimate scenes i have ever read <3
I think i need to sit with this, i'm very interested in how i will feel about and remember this story over time.
In the same reasonning, I feel like this is one to reread and that i could get more from it at each read. It doesn't hurt that the book is bloody gorgeous !! I'd love to discuss this one with anyone too, the questions for discussion at the end of the book are a great start off point for sure :)
I love gothic sapphic books so much :')
“To be a woman is a horror I can little comprehend.“
♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️
What is it you hunger for? As a fan of the original “Carmilla”, Kat Dunn’s novel delivered exactly what I was hoping for: a sapphic, gory, gothic tale brimming with female rage.
I don’t really have any complaints about this story—in fact, I never wanted it to end! The story follows Lenore, the childless wife of a dismissive husband, as she tends to the new estate she has been tasked with running in preparation for her husband’s upcoming social gatherings. On the way to her new home, she and her husband come across a person seemingly in distress: the mysterious young woman Carmilla, who soon establishes her role in Lenore’s life.
(On second thought, I do have a single complaint—that Carmilla never attempts to change her name into an anagram that she reinvents herself with, as she does in the original text. Where in the world was Millarca?)
(And Lenore, for the record, would have absolutely loved Chappell Roan’s “Feminomenon”)
♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️
What is it you hunger for? As a fan of the original “Carmilla”, Kat Dunn’s novel delivered exactly what I was hoping for: a sapphic, gory, gothic tale brimming with female rage.
I don’t really have any complaints about this story—in fact, I never wanted it to end! The story follows Lenore, the childless wife of a dismissive husband, as she tends to the new estate she has been tasked with running in preparation for her husband’s upcoming social gatherings. On the way to her new home, she and her husband come across a person seemingly in distress: the mysterious young woman Carmilla, who soon establishes her role in Lenore’s life.
(On second thought, I do have a single complaint—that Carmilla never attempts to change her name into an anagram that she reinvents herself with, as she does in the original text. Where in the world was Millarca?)
(And Lenore, for the record, would have absolutely loved Chappell Roan’s “Feminomenon”)
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