This book began at an ice-cream social. A few minutes after introducing herself, an octogenarian described to me how she had compulsively read through Stephanie Meyer's Twilight series, which traces the romantic entanglements of three high school students: a girl, a vampire, and a werewolf. Though my conversation partner acknowledged that there was something to be feared in these creatures of the night, ultimately these books were gripping for her because as a teenager she had been sexually attracted to monsters, had used them to navigate the troubled waters of her adolescence. My own snobbish tastes in literature had previously blinded me to the positive work that Meyer's writings could perform. The ambiguous status of imaginary creatures, which can simultaneously attract and repel, began to intrigue me, for I had long regarded representations of monsters largely in negative terms: as allegories for menacing Others, as apotropaic totems, as embodiments of vices, and so on. How, I wondered, might the monsters that feature throughout medieval art look if one acknowledged the possibility that they could service positive ends?

I t has been my great fortune that support for my pursuit of this question has come from many sources. A Faculty Fellowship from the Council on Research and Creative Work at the University of Colorado, Boulder, freed me from teaching and service obligations, and allowed me to devote substantial attention to this book during the 2010–11 academic year. A Kayden Research Grant from the University of Colorado helped defray production costs of this book. Colleagues at Boulder who helped me refine various aspects of my thinking along the way or have provided assistance include Dan Boord, Chris Braider, Marilyn Brown, Scott Bruce, James Córdova, Diane Conlin, Claire Farago, Deborah Haynes, Bob Nauman, Carole Newlands, J.P. Park, and Beth Robertson.