Bram Stoker (1847–1912)

I can’t write this review without mentioning how strange it is to read Dracula in 2021. We have so much foreknowledge of it simply through cultural osmosis that we come to the table so far ahead of the clueless characters. It can be frustrating but mostly I just found it comical—every time a character utters the name “Dracula” it’s like you can hear the ominous minor chord on an organ being struck, and when in the beginning Jonathan Harker says stuff like, “Why, this Country show more Dracula is a rather polite fellow, despite his little oddities!” it almost registers as parody.

As to the book itself, looking at it as much as I can separate it from the spectre it has cast onto pop culture, it’s really rather underwhelming. I suppose that’s inevitable with a book like this, but I feel like even if I knew nothing about vampires or Dracula before reading this, I’d still be disappointed—the book is 10% doing stuff and 90% talking about doing stuff. Most of what happens is painstaking preparation for encounters that last less than a page. Characters have to share information, have discussions on how to proceed, gather supplies, type up their notebooks for ease of reading, find the best geographical route to their destination—all things that are usually omitted in books and movies, and for good reason: they’re very tedious and boring.

We are also told how terrible Count Dracula is much more often than we are shown it; he gets very little airtime for a book that bears his name. The characters’ favourite pastime, apart from warning each other of his craven cruelty, seems to be complimenting each other—everyone in this book with the exception of the villain is so bloody good, so courageous, kind, noble, generous, blah blah blah you get it they’re all perfect. Which makes them very uninteresting. And you can only read so much of them all patting each other on the back before you start rooting for Dracula to swoop in and make Swiss cheese of somebody’s neck, just to shake things up a bit!

Speaking of, it’s a shame how often Stoker pulls back from describing the macabre and grotesque, because he’s really good at it. Lucy’s “true death” scene stands out as a memorable moment, as does the description of the Count’s stormy entrance into England—both are dark, richly detailed passages which evoke the oppressive unease of gothic horror as well as the straightforward frights of modern horror. I think they’re also a big reason I disliked the book overall, as they serve as this grating reminder that Stoker is capable of greatness, he just often chooses to skirt around it.

Read Carmilla instead. show less

About halfway through reading Dracula, I paused to look up whether Bram Stoker had, like many other Victorian writers, produced his work in serial form and been paid by the word. Apparently not! Which is mildly astounding. After an atmospheric and gripping opening in which naive English lawyer Jonathan Harker finds himself trapped in the remote castle of the vampire count himself, this degenerates into a meandering, wheel-spinning slog. The book could easily have been half as long and would show more have been twice as good.

Many of the words omitted could be the dialogue placed in the mouth of Abraham van Helsing, a supposed Dutchman who exclaims in German and whose syntax is absolutely unbelievable as Dutch language speaker speaking in English. The references to the "duck thoughts" and the "child-brain" were so frequent and so irritating I found myself rooting for Dracula.

I appreciate the rampant homoeroticism, I appreciate that this paved the way for a century plus of pop culture, but this was so underwhelming. show less

I first read Dracula in elementary school; I believe I was eight or nine years old at the time. You could say that this is the book that started it all - my love of classics, my love of suspense, and especially my love of vampires. There is something so mysterious, so sensual, and so deliciously creepy without being overtly scary or gory, that I never fail to enjoy this story.

The epistolary nature of the novel is a stroke of genius. It not only builds suspense because the reader can see the show more entire picture being established but it heightens the emotions of the reader through the intimate interaction with each diary author's personal thoughts. In addition, what is left unsaid, everything left to the reader's imagination creates its own sense of building horror. The result is a novel that places the reader on a roller coaster of dread and anticipation.

On this most recent of many re-reads, I was struck anew by the dynamic between the men and the women in the novel. Mina and Lucy are much stronger, both emotionally and physically, than any of the men ever consider possible. Their patronizing tone and declarations that Mina's mind is just as good as a man's is upsetting at the frequency with which both are used. The blood transfusion scenes are a great example of a poor, weak woman needing the blood of a strong, healthy male to fortify her and help her recover from any illness. I can never truly discern whether Mr. Stoker meant to confirm that a woman's place is at home, safely bundled away from danger, or if he was pointing out that a woman can indeed hold her own with a man. Evidence for both arguments abound throughout the novel, lending a somewhat contradictory air to the implied message.

Much has been said of the sensuality of Dracula, with much debate about whether it exists or whether it is imaginary. To me, I feel that it not only exists but is a huge part of the novel. The nape of the neck is extremely sensual, and Dracula (and his vampire coven) tends to go for the neck when drinking from his victims. When he starts to turn Mina, he forces her to drink from his breast. Then again, the time of the day when vampires prey on their victims is suggestive - nighttime, when women and men are scantily clad. All three combine to imply an intimacy between vampire and prey that typically is only present in the bedroom. This intimacy only heightens the shock and discomfort of the main characters, making Dracula's crimes that much more sinister and depraved.

Dracula is the quintessential vampire story. It is important to remember that it is not the first vampire story but it is certainly one of the most influential. There is a reason for this. Spooky castles, mysterious counts, a tragic loss, a love story - it has it all. Add a touch of gothic, combined with a hint of the supernatural, and you have a story that has ensnared minds throughout the decades, remaining as popular today as it was when it was first released in 1897. show less

I was expounding on my love of Dracula to my poor long-suffering mother yesterday, and realized I should probably confine my effusions to a more opt-in format.

I first read Dracula as a teenager, breathlessly turning pages of a library edition late at night while coyotes howled around the little bungalow where I was staying alone. Even as an adult, in less conducive conditions, the story holds up for me.

It is in deadly earnest, and the emotions are grand, the stakes high: if you can't put show more your cynicism aside, it probably isn't for you. It builds slowly, accumulating unease and unearthliness, until you reach the first vertiginous climax -- and then again, you return to normalcy, waiting to be slowly, sickly drawn to the next dramatic break in the fabric of the world. It takes a while to reach a breakneck pace, but it's well worth it.

I'd call Dracula an anxious book. Not just tense, or thrilling, but profoundly anxious. As a teenager, I found the Victorian anxiety about carnality and sex dripping from the pages interesting: Jonathan's revulsion from the incongruously lush lips of the Count, the menace of the castle ladies, and above all the hectic loveliness of Lucy. It's a terrifically clear look into the Victorian psyche, bringing the cultural subtext so close to the surface it pulses like an exposed vein.

As an adult, I've enjoyed the other thematic obsessions: the clash of science/technology/modernity with magic/superstition/occult; the West versus the East; the train and the typewriter set against ancestral earth and the evil eye; the pagan versus the holy; eternal carnal life at the cost of the heavenly beyond.

Perhaps others who aren't English majors, history readers, or obsessed with Victorian foibles and fables won't find those contrasts as compelling as I do, or greet the intrusion of shorthand, typewriters and railroad time tables with the same affection. But these themes play out on characters we care about, for all their occasional preciousness: the slightly fussy Jonathan, the garrulous Lucy, the careful and self-reliant Mina. They play out in deliciously high drama, memorable scenes, iconic images. A hundred years of progress and easing (or replacement) of cultural neuroses can't rob Dracula of its charm, its pathos, or its terror.

P.S. To audiobook readers: A multitude of unabridged productions exist, many of them with multiple readers to bring the diaries and letters of the various characters, male and female, English and Dutch, to life. I have bought, and often return to, the Brilliance Audio version. Most of the readers and accents are quite good, although Michael Page, who reads Seward's journals, is as usual scenery-chewing. I haven't tried the Audible original, chock full of famous names, so that might be another option -- but I do recommend getting one with multiple narrators, to really do the epistolary style justice. And do listen to samples -- there are some very fake English accents running around claiming to be Jonathan Harker of Exeter. show less